Tuesday, February 26, 2013

I've been inspired by an array of things lately; from symbolic to superfluous, I have found inspiration in, and taking a rather unprecedented liking to some elements that I always presumed I'd scorn at. Unapologetically. That's like one of my new favorite terms to go by, despite having imbibed it into my vocab cavity, some light years and eons back...when Pokeman was still cool, Ktv had something going on, and people actually meant anything to each other.

Artistic Photography, Influence, and Symbology.

Oracles of inspiration. Prophetic splendor.

Art is but a masquerade. Art is a better way to say it.

Anyway, without running off on some dramatic tangent, let's about those influential particles (fuck, I hate sounding so pedantic sometimes) that I just talked about; firstly, in trying to understand what has been the sole reason for its emergence or sudden existence, I pondered deeply over the possibility, that it may have something to do with (if not directly related to) the fact, that I had recently been showered with a multitude of educational, romantic, networking, and prospective opportunities. There's no better liberty, than waking to a day that's filled with something to look forward to.
Pic: Bruno Mars performing during promotion of sophomore album- INSPIRATION

 I guess that's why I like writing so much too, apart from the other heap of explanations; there's an element of surprise- a certain kind of novelty in writing, because you think of the story when you've take a break, and then depending on how long that is, you really look forward to what you're about to write. It's almost like having a really riveting TV series in your head, that you tune into religiously to follow. Opportunity then transcended its definition, and surmounted now to being a point of influence, subjectively- for me, that is. Secondly, I think that the void I have come to occupy; being at home is something I really had to adapt to, because I was so accustomed to my 7am coffee-table-antics with Sam, Nadia, Darrian, Dean, Lucia, and all the other famous cohort, whose daily bread was passing, but lived by the adage: "dance and learn". Pretty radical, huh?
I've been writing like the plague ever since...what the heck-else am I supposed to do?
Investigation Discovery, E!, and one or two of the monotonous movie channels can't keep me entertained- I can't be a tourist forever- yes, the novelty of freedom has worn off, and becoming agitated, jittery, and eager to move on, to whatever I've got lined-up for the near and distant future.
Let the procession begin....(Drum-Roll)

Photographic Inspiration: relates to aspect of history. 

Okay back to the discourse already. I'm trying to sound as ordinary, frank, and unedited as I can muster- even careful to repeat sentences, as I do in real conversation, or quite frankly miss gulps thereof. It's rather obvious I would think, for those who read my posts often, to pick on the alternation between the voices used in this one, opposed to that used in the more planned, structured, pre-planned posts that I scribe into one of the many notepads I have. I'd get to the computer sometimes, and sometimes those things won't ever see the LCD light nor ever come to know what the others spoke of when they said, 'Hey page, look I'm on screen!' HA HA okay I should not have said that. Saajid would have asked me; 'Are you zee zee again?' now I'd answer yes to that, indefinite and inexorably because lord have mercy, I have transported from a sense of bewilderment to a strange sense of indifference- a transient phase, you could say- wherein I am wholly aware, conscious, receptive, demonic yet sweet, aggressively excited, and somewhat inexplicably nervous, or anxious rather, for the want of a better word.

Music is another one of then remnants or part of, because remnants alludes to pieces or shades left behind from, and hell nothing here shattered.
Here's why, clearly:

  music is an excuse
  notes can be rung to good use
you can feel the shadows comin'
out the eccentric rhythms
oozing like polyphonic slugs out
the polished surface of the clarinet
or the bass, space-gliding around the
chorus in which you may very be acknowledged
or find the answer you have beckoned
the music to find
music is a way to retain
heal or further implicate pain
music is satisfaction
lyrical degradation at times- resurrection,
complexity, music is felicity
LP's moving through sound-infused gravity
music is power
a certain kind of knowledge
music is a journey- a bridge
between your heart and desire
music is benign fire
the message of the conspirator
and the prophet alike
music is a confidence
a way of life
a conglomerate of metaphorical verses
doused in beats and tones
music is the matter of the bones
your song is written in its stone

Kaleidoscopic representation lending light to the utopic

Phew! talk about being here, there, and everywhere, whilst simultaneously being subjected to startling bangs, clatters, and other noises, because Asa like so won't chill though. Ha ha. Yes, we were talking about inspirational things weren't we? Yeah!

 By the way, the above poem was a sleek attempt to evade typing out some long-ass-point-style explanation. Look I'm brave, but that would have tested me in some really confuckulated ways!
The one other thing that I want to wrap up on actually, is the point that HISTORY has been a focal part of the inspirational wave, I've been drenched and carried away in. History because I've resumed enhanced introspection- attempting to reconcile with past vendettas and/ or grudges. I want to at least be able to ascertain between why I came to hate someone, and also why I still hate them even when it's no longer geographically, socially, and even personally relevant.
I was asked the other day, why this history thing is such a big deal of me. I'm not good at delivering such revered sentiment in response to, opposed to in presentation of. So, I withered a little- before finding some warranted agility, by which to bring myself to answer.

Nostalgic collage. Collection of cleaned dirt. A re-telling of sorts.

I am that kind of person- seemingly moody, though not all. I don't know what it is. I also become quickly infuriated when someone is repetitive, irksome, and nags all the time. So that I guess adds to that whole moody things. People rely on you, to fulfill and meet every single ideal they have envisioned you, and once you start playing out that role, they never ever expect you to stop doing so, so you do things on your own terms, and subject to people only when you feel it won't be as efficacious, so as to implicate you in their destiny. You don't want people to latch on, but you want them there- hence, it's deductively logical to assume that, if you want people to be sources of ceaseless authenticity and beneficial presence in your life, than you've got to start treating them, as if they have their own lives and don't just merely exist in yours.

And that's history- it's what I'm writing to use a means of catharsis, or a platform for reinvention and the recreation of things that had fallen beneath the weight of time to difficult to bare, or a generation to stubborn to care. It's been a recurring theme in my poetry lately; nostalgia- ardent longing for, remembrance, reflection, introspection and recollection- or the reemergence of, I suppose, of a life lived in rather shady circumstances, that had nonetheless turned out to be one I seek to zestfully rewrite, write through, and create a legacy, for whomsoever comes to be piqued therewith.

Countdown: 3 Days to Go

Unbelievable isn't it? That a mere three or so weeks ago, I was sprawled over my desk, languidly browsing through junk mail, and other such related technological garbage, when I got an email suddenly and came to find my languished demeanor drowning in the excitement I had just encountered. More credulous than all of that dramatic repose, was the onset of physical rehearsals, the photo shoot (pics coming soon, dolls!), and the extending of invitations to a select few (only). Thursday is the sound check, fitting, rehearsal, and one more social, heading up to Saturday's festivities.

Once again thank you to the wonderful designer, Twy, whose remarkable sense of austerity has abetted her, to create an inspiring, regal, but moreover, a developing brand that I trust will come to make its predominant mark on the already filled rug of the South African Fashion Industry.
Peter of PT Models, thank you for your ceaseless patience, and your eagerness to see us both, overcome and equally perfect, all the while reminding us how important our prospects and our presentation mean to us. To Lerato who emerged from the netherworld, literally, thank you for "popping in" on our rehearsal, and being so vigilant in your criticism, as well as in your compliments. You are the sort of persona most people rely on, in situation as these, to help them ease into being, 'natural' and in your own words, 'charming.'
And then obviously, to my girl, Sting- Wow I can't begin to express how inundated with gratitude I am- thank you for believing in me, and urging me on despite all my rejections and concerns toward that platform I had never even yet dreamed of walking. It's motivating to be in the presence of motivational people; people who drive themselves and others, who aren't psychological egoists on a quest for their own happiness. People like you are the reason there is survival within this intricate and at times damned industry that is the arts.  Everyone at Impikelelo and Twy Fashion, I'd like to extend further acknowledgement to you, for making it possible, against the preconceived and misconceptions, for one to become amenable to such worthy and lucrative prospects, like the Royal Fashion Show.
To the other guys and girls, in so much as we walk this brand and sell it to those in attendance, we should never feel as we've been compromised or neither should we take to selfishly wanting to own the show, as whether we like it, Saturday is all for Ms Twy and the display of her most royally chic and timeless creation of a collection that I have since come to believe in.

For more information on Saturday's show, please head on over to the Facebook page and leave your queries, comments, and other concerns on the wall of the RFS13 page. Alternatively however, you can send an E-mail to the coordinators for the request of more information.

For direction or the accurate GPS Coordinates please visit this Google Maps Link

Can't wait to see you all there, it's going to be a truly remarkable evening, rain, snow, tsunami (psst), tor-
yeah you get it...it's going to be great, irrespective of the atmosphere in which it is taking place.
Allow me to throw up in a brown paper bag...Jokes! Ha ha this is Fashion...not grunge.

Good night Glamsters!
Love u x

Monday, February 25, 2013

#87: The Confidence Issue

Yesterday my cousin asked me the question: "What do you think an adolescent should do, if they want to build their confidence." To which I was meant to list at least four things, for her Life Orientation project. I thought of four apt-on-concise things and then launched into answering her, as she jotted them hurriedly against the rapidity of my repose.

-They should immerse themselves in trying to understand who they are, because that knowledge of yourself, entitles you to be outwardly expressive, outright, firm, and clear of who you are. It also allows you to have an unscripted and realist perception of your innate preferences, meaning that you're more likely to do what brings you happiness than had you never ventured down that road of knowledge.

-They should engage in the things that they are most passionate for, or like the most, because those things satisfy us, not only intellectually but socially and psychologically too; they allow us to expresses the sentiments we're bound to conceal, meaning that through the function of acting on the passions, they bring those things out, and deal more comprehensively with whichever issues they may have. Doing so further makes one amenable to staggering confidence, in that we engage with other people, through social engagement, we find that space in which we can be expressive around and to others; a point by which we venerate ourselves, socially at least.

-Confidence is arduously attainable for many people, but for most it's a rather preemptive step toward building themselves into the envisioned ideal in their minds. The lines between those who can and can't are blurred, albeit we see so many of the focal characteristics in the mannerisms, dispositions, and reactions that people portray before us, but that doesn't necessarily entail that, they surmount to an overview of someone's mind, it is candidly an assumption or presumption that we base anyway on what we are used to seeing as actions of a nature related to people of a certain demeanor. So, it makes sense that they should enroll into societies, cultural groups, forums, and other means of technological geography, so as to know the directions around the places and people they often frequent anyway. You'll be surprised at how doing so actually propels the ego.

-Belief in themselves. This is arguably the most momentous of  the four listed here. It's integral to the employment of the first three, or a prerequisite to their success in reality; bereft of this quality, it would be unfeasible and ludicrously unattainable for one to arrive at even attempt being sociable, engaging, and connected to. Belief in oneself is related to the fact that, unlike the belief we have religiously or anthropologically, this belief is premised on our own perceptions, realities, dreams, experiences, relations, and identities. Some people go to war with themselves, trying to believe in themselves, winding up grossly discombobulated and exhausted through all their innate struggles. There are many factors which may influence how we come to view ourselves in the end, and no one is exempt from the opportunity to explore such influence, implying that what happened to you, should never define who you are. Belief in yourself ascertains that, because in retrospect, you believe and understand yourself enough to be cognizant of your reality, and have transcended the narrow-minded way of thinking- which is blaming yourself for consequences that were really out of your power. Strong people can lift cars and trucks, and walk off with them, but powerful people can work with and do everything with the minds; including evade emotions, which many say is improbable.


Now, on my terms, I happen to harbor other ways to ignite confidence and boost ones ego, and don't always believe that these methods work. (Sometimes, it's best to opt for what you find within yourself- no great 'self-help' or 'HOW TO' book is going to ameliorate your situation, nor will it ever omit the demons you struggle with angst to horde off, using more than just first-grade holy water and garlic-tied-in-bags.) Your thoughts are the first place to start, in trying to peruse your mental propensities- so, it makes sense to start doing as you think...You know that subconscious voice in your head, that innately whispers bitch in your head, while you lean in (consciously) to hug (consciously, again) someone you're pretending to like? Yes, that voice is really you talking, and should be the one that guides you. You're no better off than the girl you're calling, Bitch since you're lying to yourself every single day of your sordid and sorry existence. No one pities people who lack self-confidence and you're usually scorned at, for holding such grotesque opinions of yourself. Some times people will offer words of advice and lend an ear, but usually, people become irked with such characters, and lose the patience by which they first approached the scenario in question.

I am one such person...I hate having to advise someone about something today, and than have to do so in just a few months again, especially if there is no inkling of an effort resonating from the situation. Did you try this, that, and then what about that? All no. It doesn't look good on your life resume, and it may sound hurtful or disrespectful, but despite how grandiose your problem, if you don't do what's needed to help yourself overcome it, then you are the first and last to blame, even if someone else brought it about. The adage: "I am a reflection of how people treat me" pays homage to this recurring idea, and abets ones understanding in the structure of the mind (NOT THE BRAIN), so that they are knowledgeable of exactly how much they are responsible for how they are treated, welcomed, viewed, and then whether or not they are lauded or disregarded as if downtrodden or something.

If you want to be confident, be confident. It's that simple, literally. The phenomena that is shyness and withheld characteristics is something that still befuddles me, having myself been a rather feeble and shy character for most of my life. It doesn't matter, because yesterday has no bearing on today...yes, problems don't diminish overnight, but who says I have to feel the same today? Help yourself to understand your emotions, and mostly why you feel them in the first place...in this way you know, unbiased and in sheer sophistication, the face of your preferences. Having perused this face, you are a product of yourself, empowered through your likes and dislikes, desires, dreams, affiliations, the things you anticipate, and hold vendettas again- herewith you are granted access also to being able to answer some of the questions that had looked so rhetorical over time. Don't ignore the things your mind showcase, because there's a reason why it's there in the first place. The mind imbibes and definitely does filter, and having thoughts agonize or taunt you, is a clear indication of the fact, that you're disallowing yourself the chance to do something you subconsciously wish to reenact in reality. Sometimes they show themselves through dreams (mostly the ones we often can't explain, or relate back to our own lives.) or they egress as random thoughts at night before we go to sleep...sometimes preventing that sleep from even taking place.
Psychologists have explained this as a way of the mind reconciling with our failure to act upon our propensities, noting also that it can lead to a life of ardent guilt, shame, and regret, especially beyond the periphery of youth. Convincing yourself consciously that you don't want something won't serve, because you're being biased by omitting the supervenience of the adjoining subconscious, which should frankly have been consulted first and in the foremost. The former idea has no bearing on the latter, though the latter is what causes the former to be void of that bearing anyway; if you're in the purgatory, or vortex rather of your mind, trying to understand things for the use of your confidence, then it's a good idea to start by believing in your TRUTH and being who you really, despite having lived through years of being someone you're not. Don't be conventional, and don't subject to liking and disliking just because you have been socialized into perceiving of that thing as likable or not-so-likeable- first try to see if you actually do agree with it, in the back of your mind.

The mind is inexorably the most intricate, and unique-cum-perfectly designed machine known to have ever come into existence...and of all places, it is housed within the anatomy of our being, making us amenable to its unmatched perfection, and its slew of functions. Many philosophers believe that, if we surmount to the FULL use of our minds, we'd be able to do things so powerful, we'd scare ourselves to death. I reckon that carries some truth to it, since I am profoundly and ceaselessly dumbfounded at how afraid people are to come to understand themselves, through their own minds- as a human, its our evidence of what is not on the outside. The exterior is nothing really, in fact, the exterior need not exist for life to be evident, since if the imagination is active, there is life therein. Life doesn't imply "living"- it's only figuratively, and we often assume that living, as a state whereby we function daily...waking up, showering, going out, etc. but that is not the only form whereby we can live; living can play out by alternate modus operandi too; such as through the 'life' of the 'imagination' recurrent and ongoing, and also through the harboring and nurturing of vivid and fulfilling dreams, as well as narcotic-infused mental states. Life is not limited to the use of our bodies, which is why I've always been an advocate against people killing those in vegetative states, because yes we can biologically infer that they are near-lifeless, and can do nothing that classes them as 'living entities' despite their pulse and heartbeat. The mind nonetheless, is a part of the process we can't really account for, and honestly by which memorandum, do we deduce that living within that conclave for a prolonged period of time, is not conducive to living? Had we such knowledge, perhaps we'd let those people carry on, allowing the imagination to overfill while the body drifts towards decay. After death, the mind carries on thinking for at least another 7 to 15 minutes, it has been said, and that is after the heart stops meaning that we as individuals do have the reflective audacity to realize what has befallen us, so contrary to many shared beliefs and concerns, dying won't be such a heavy set surprise.
I think that the key to a good and confident being, is the use of the mind, and the understanding of its functions- without such an understanding, we'll never bring ourselves, not even six blinks close to even being able, to believe in ourselves (Truthfully, that is).


The official countdown, to the 2012 Royal Fashion has begun- there are only four days left, before the glitz event, that is slated to be over-royal launches at the Leondale Centre, in the cultural hub of Johannesburg. The event which is headed by Creative Director and fashion label entrepreneur, Ms. Twy as she is commonly known, is expected to turn into an annual affair, with suggestions of Africa Fashion Week already being whispered here and there.
It's a royal brand- conservative, chic, upmarket, modern, and boasts a slew of regal-like colours, ranging from gloss blues to matte and silk blacks; something like Versace is prone to, or Thierry Mugler. In retrospect, the line possesses the key proponents, to merge with and rise above the fashion cohort already monotonously existent locally, from the likes of StonedCherry, Gavin Raja, Thula Sindi and the good-for-nothing, overly exposed and eccentric, David Tlale.
Rehearsals have been well underway, and the selection of both male and females makes for a promissory showcase, as fashion coordinators and Runway Model instructors expressed great excitement and seemed impressed, at how steadily, ceaselessly, and quickly most of the few selected, quickly learned to muster the courage, to avert their concerns into practice and just walk casually to perfection. For those who watch from home or fill the infamous front row, and to the bloggers who know only how to wear, the walk may look like the easiest thing in the world to do, but it takes a lot of energy, muscle-use, poise, and an unblemished mind-state to walk as if there (literally) exists nothing else around you.
"You're great, but there's nothing in your face." was the most common criticism handed out during intense rehearsals, and stubborn moods, infuriated six feet tall expressions began to emerge as the uglier comments soon began to emerge; 'She's beautiful, but she needs to lose a lot of weight.' was one such comment. A week later, a girl reappeared looking rather "ameliorated", and thankfully not emaciated, having shed quite a bit of weight in only five days. No questions were asked I presume, since I can only imagine the extremities to which she had subjected herself to, in the hurried effort to look the part, more than just exude it.
Overall, the event as aforementioned, promises to be something that will be talked about, talked about again, and then overly repeated, until the next event takes place. Ms. Twy, whose website you should definitely be ogling at, has proven herself a master of the fashion and creative milieu. On her own and with the help of those dearest to her, she has ascended the rut, or the trying, and has surmounted to the final stages of piecing together a fashion line plus show. Hereafter, she can reap the rewards of being famous, and enjoy the fruits of her success. If you would like to attend the event and find out more about The 2012 Royal Fashion Show, simply head on over to the events page on Facebook or come back to Ray After Dark for updates.

Thursday, February 21, 2013

And the nominees for this years' Oscars are...

The annual academy awards are slated to take place, February 24 live from The Dolby Theatre in Los Angeles, Hollywood. The panache movie ceremony will honour, and equally recognize some of the best motion pictures screened during the past year. With stars such as Hugh Jackman, Noami Watts, Jennifer Lawren, and Tommy Lee Jones, as well as Anne Hathaway up for possible Oscars, it is undoubted that this year's ceremony will be the most outre, sophisticated, and grandiose one yet, with 84 others behind it. For a comprehensive list of this year's nominations, log onto film and media website, Film Contact by following this link or follow The Academy on Twitter for up-to-the-minute exclusive details and updates.

Poem: Felong of The Soul

Felony of the Soul 

desecrated, left-in the masses of the shadows you breathed
falling through the crevices you pulled open with your savaged hands
watching your smile melt like unfortunate currencies, killing all that survives in you too
glancing at physical karma bring down the frame of a picture that thought it owned its beauty
a picture that never once acknowledged its maker- gleaming before their eyes, radiating artistic lies
of a past that it had never lived through
of a heart it struggled to sustain heart, of a heart it hardened through some spite and loneliness-
leaning toward being coined a psychological monstrosity
falling and getting looked at all at once, and watching the ground shy away from the dirt of his fall
feeling in its dwindling heartbeats what rejection feels like for the very time
thinking then only in his despair of the day he committed that "silly little romantic crime."
but you insisted on arriving afterwards, painting the world sepia and black, eloping from time.

©RaeezJacobs. Poetry. 2013

Best Thing I (Should Never) Ever Had

Best Thing I (Should Never) Ever Had

that sunrise makes itself

'remember that silver cloud?'

the voice breaks through
the already-shattered window
but first dances in the billowing-tube
of the wind-dancing curtain

making it sound so far-away, far-off,
as if its arriving through a century
of discombobulated traffic and space

my hands meet my temples
the gods are alive in my eyes
and those written letters never-sent
rise in the grains of wisdom
spilling from the ego that had long pushed me
the one that said, 'relent makes you look mistaken'
the one whose foot fell in front
of all the tombs I wanted to melt into

I know two things in this state
i know more than s'posed to me                                maybe
i should
less than i do
maybe i should listen 'stead o'know
maybe i that way i could help you go,

'No, I don't remember those silver clouds.' I mutter
and to that you would take off,
like an emotional kite into the night you lived trying to avoid
into the night we used to talk about; that made your skin crawl
and your eyes water like prophets, the night that was the dooms day
of our union-

'Maybe,' I'll add.
'If you promise me this one thing,
maybe just maybe, I won't 'em you
were the one who led me to bask
in the manila fold of your soul- in your furcula
of sin- tell 'em you bred the lie,
and I'll remember that cloud, boo.'

©Raeez Jacobs. Poetry. 2013.

In Retrospect

Maybe this posts is a bit superfluous and wanton, since it is very unplanned, opposed to several others. Yes, I do set aside work for my blog in advance, usually opting to write them down in one of several note pads I have. In that way, I ration, I could work from something that's been well thought over, edited and ameliorated, from it's former draft-(ness) HA HA
So this one is coming along to me as I happen to sit here, listening to music, BBMing, and thinking ALL AT ONCE. Being higher than Kesha, P.Diddy, Mick Jagger and Courtney Love doesn't help either, since my thoughts may just be in disarry. SALTS (Smiles A little Than stops) I think there perfectly abreast and sorted.
Today, albeit waking up rather disoriented, moody, and nostalgic, I found my way at the edge of some unexplained jovial feelings, and warmth- finding myself happy, and less-moody...I don't know...my emotions tend to fluctuate, or oscillate like that; nothing new really, since I've always been that way...
Perhaps it's all the excitement for BJs modeling competition and there been a mere 4 hours left to vote for him- it's rather tense, but we're sure of the win or maybe it's that there has finally been something in regard to Mobean, or it could very well be that tomorrow I'm seeing, Sammi and Nadia at Wits and also that Shaquille's coming for the weekend. You just know great things are happening, when you anticipate something with so much zest; like the outcome of the competition, seeing Sam and Nadz, and then my weekend.
I'm doing somersaults in the cavity of my subconscious ego, and doing gymnastics in my ego; yes, the Olympics are live in my head right now. As it so happens, most of my seemingly-never-ending applications for scholarships, to the NY academy have finally been submitted. Subsequent to that nonetheless, is the nerve-gnawing wait for responses. I'm positive nonetheless, because this entire endeavor was approached with so much caution, hindsight and deathless determination from its onset, back in November last year. I remember reading the brief from my agent, and thinking of how I should pass this one, as I regretfully did for those 7de Laan ones in October (I mean now really, ME? what AM I GOING TO DO on flippen' 7de Laan) Ya I regret it now, I guess but I'm over it. So anyway, the next monday after first receiving the brief, I get a call from the agency, asking if I'm going to go because they want to send our show reels and photos through, so there on the spot I just found myself blurting, 'yes.'
The audition was far; right there along the entrance, or adjacent to O.R. Tambo International, in Kempton Park at a quaint and appeasing resort were the auditions for the New York Film Academy. The website called them 'Touring Auditions'. There were only about 16 other people present that day, who had come through hearing of the auditions from having heard through social groups and media platforms, and only about 5 were there through some of the more well-known casting agencies in JHB. I wasn't tense or nervous for this one, because I had rehearsed so many times that it became rather dehumanizing to continue- like I was mocking myself in a way ha ha. I had opted for the monologues; 1. Charles Manson's character in the movie, Helter Skelter, and 2. Arnold Beckoff in the play and movie rendition of the classic, Torch Song Trilogy. I did both my monologues seated, and suddenly thought; 'I should not have done that....what if they think I had no life in me?!' but had to relent of those thoughts as I was summoned to a quick question and answer session with the two auditioners present. The one was skeletal, tall, and had dread locks that fell to his waist; with an incessantly-languished expression, he personified the word, exhausted. The other looked a little livelier, and note that the degree of comparison here is not immense or grand; by 'little' I summon the expression: pinch of salt. He leaned forward every time he had to ask something, as if reenacting the notion that authority was rigid and upright. He threw himself lazily backward every time I answered, as if he could only understand others in that position. Their calmness eased me really; I love laid-back, tired looking people but then I guess it's because this is acting, and not metallurgical engineering. A peak of the artistic milieu.

Without running off on a tangent, they thought my audition was impressive, and asked me about my plans, my past, and all those mundane things they ask you in these types of situations. They talked about the scholarship, and spoke about all the amenities one would become privy to after enrollment. I did one of those mental somersaults aforementioned. I left the audition and went for some drinks by the pool with my cousins and watched the sun set, splashing the sky in the most scintillating burst of cashmere pink and diaphanous white ever. The light peeled over our car as we sped home, heading into the dark.

I've been so inundated lately, running to and fro with inquiries here and applications there- it's quite a roller coaster. Most of my applications have now been submitted and I can finally breathe, and enjoy the wait in the wake of nothing! As the Italians would say: Dolce Far Niente !! (Sweet Nothing) or the pleasure of doing nothing. However, much as I am piqued by the prospect thereof, it is not apparent that I will be able to lend make myself amenable to such luxury; I've taken on a modeling gig that's been hosting rehearsals for three weeks now, with the last one this Saturday. I've asked Chanelle to join me at this one, I know Pete- the instructor would take well to her, and wish to use her, since he did mention wanting another girl to join the cohort of tall-beauties already there. I get to arrive at 1 this week since there's nothing I need to work on. The show is on the 2 March and there'll be a fabulous after-party afterwards!! I can't wait. My two complimentary guests are going to be, Mobean and Chanelle and then all my other close friends are coming too.
If you need details for the show, go here

Anyway, stay cool, crazy, and don't be afraid to do what you need to do. Question. Inspire. Create and Recreate. Leave a legacy and become a legend. Love yourself. Love all. Now fuck the media, and the illusion of society. Breathe!
And vote for BJ, Text: Stem man 13 to 32005.!

Mi tesori, non dimenticate credere nella conoscenza e essere reale!! vi amo!


Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Poem: Black Widow Talk

maybe it's okay,

    I tell myself
   as my body deliquesces through
   the magic silver duvet
   thinking of that summer when all
   the nice things turned to little seeds
   that god said i should plant
   when i aksed him for the answers

it was so empty, doors stood open
through which no shadow walked
i stopped playing the piano
and stopped all that Madonna on the radio
so the longing would dismember itself
in my rejection

i still remember how your face
began to melt into your chest
the more i tried to touch it in that mirror
i kept at my disposal all the time
-our means of communication, our way
of being there,

            in our absence

maybe it's okay

           i think
           if there's no one there

-Raeez Jacobs
©RaeezJacobs. Poetry. 2013

vocal gymnastics en route cavity
cast through the wired cabin of epiglottis
openin' as moons do
fowl-hearted, indoctrinated, dis-com-bo-bu-lated
and earthly bent and then tirelessly belated
with balloons like slot machines turning through 'em iris
up into the little neuron-park flashing like christmas lights
where thinking spills like sea-drool in the mind.

- Raeez Jacobs.

©RaeezJacobs. Poetry. 2013.

Fashion Flashback: Mark WestingHous

It's Saturday and Alice didn't do these floors/ You were out all day, what do you expect?/What's that you're wearing...are you tryin'a evade something?/ It's a fabric revolution...and you had better dress for the occasion. 

Act like a woman, think like a (?)

In light of recent events in South Africa, the country has surmounted to speculation around Gender-related violence, and issues of women and child abuse have taken a pivotal toll on the country's development toward furthering and nurturing the democratic ideal, by which it solemnly leads. The death's of recent women, and the modus operandi by which their lives were ended, have led many to reconsider that democratic ideal, leaning instead toward their own justices and defense mechanisms. Truth is, no one feels safe and secure anymore, and people aren't trusting of each other; at least not trusting enough, that is. Survival is both a conscious and subconscious desire, and all else is eroded by that, so people look out for themselves more than they would a fellow citizen. Obviously this is not a generalization, because not everyone leads this tightly knit life. Some people are free and go about life in the ordinary. It's not strange, and it doesn't matter that they do. It certainly doesn't infer that they don't care either, it's just that they have a different perception of something- it's a priori, I think to arrive at the conclusion that the least bit of democracy we can live up to, is having our own point of view.

Violence, particularly violence against women will never go away; it may abate overtime, but will continue to exist, so as long as there is human life in occupancy. Because violence is inherent, and stems from whichever mental states and behavioral propensities we may harbor, not through our assembling or merging as people. Yes, it is largely exacerbated and exposed to us through media platforms, and in our families, and then societies, but ultimately, it still stands...if you have the tendency or inclination to, then you will lead up to. Just as there are intelligent people in the world, there are violent, prejudiced, hateful, and sadistic people out there.

However, I am of the belief that we have been socialized to reenact violence, particularly violence against "feeble" counterpart...women, through the ongoing presumption that women occupy a smaller margin of society, or that they're inadequate. Sure women are in different places today, than they were in the past, and this is nothing like the East where perverse means of subjugation against Palestinian women are exorcised. The fact is, to take away that violence, you're gonna have to take away all the influences of that violence, such as; caste, religion, family traditions, culture, learned stereotypes, and self-formulated thoughts, which I dare warn you, is virtually impossible. There is no solution, and fighting for one, won't bring about either. How do you alter the mind states of dozens of 'other-thinkers', by showing them boards with words of anger? Presumably, they know that already, and still participate in those actions, pertaining that we're not fighting a altercation here...we're at war with minds in opposition. Call it neurological warfare, maybe?

When the Banyana Banyana soccer star was brutally slain a few years ago, people gulped and felt themselves becoming frail, against the news that her alleged murderers had gotten away with a very light case. People are wondering what sentence Oscar Pistorious will receive, after allegedly killing his supermodel girlfriend, and former FHM model, Reeva Steenkamp, at their panache-cum-private estate in Pretoria. Similarly, people are calling on justice for victim, Anene. Activist are going crazy. I say, let's look at this logically; maybe if we think neutrally and not create that binary between genders, we'll see the violence as violence towards each other, and not particularly towards women. Because in so doing, we ourselves further preserve that notion that women are weaker, by continuing to assert that self-pity and worthlessness, by which women are met. Though it be unfeasible to arrive at that, it's not difficult. However, what we have today and how we see things today, is a result of how we've taken to what we saw yesterday and how we imbibed that, based on our subjective needs and preferences. If you're disposed to, you're amenable to, and so action will follow. If you can abstain, or aren't in that way inclined, then you're not.
My point is people are people. We create the things we fear the most, and we barely realize that. We are a product of our own doing....
I think that has something to do with that trust issue I spoke about earlier....

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Stray Cat on The Catwalk

Ferragamo Model making it look so simple

Yesterday was the most arduous rehearsal I ever partook in. Literally, my legs are still aching like I imagine a messenger's, without any mode of transport must feel after walking to and fro, in the effort to be heard. It feels like I have helmets apt for cockroaches laying scattered in the abyss of my soles! Psych!
When I first arrived, I hardly knew what I was doing. I've never ever thought of, nor had the intention of becoming a runway model. It just didn't appeal to me. Sure, I'm a fashion-crazed personality, but those models have always possessed something I didn't recognize in myself. Until yesterday, that is!

Model in action during Thierry Mugler show

After about two hours of repetitive walks alongside the patient instructor, I finally mastered it, and decided to practice it, deathlessly and even mentally, so as not to lose it. Recognition, and the "eye of the actor" as my agent would have called it, helped me quickly copy the steps, and my walk so MASCULINE it even drives me wild ha ha...I guess it's being really good at imitating. The fashion show coordinator arrived, and made me feel really good for learning "the walk" so quickly, and begged me to literally admit that I had experience in the industry, having said it was my first time doing something like this. The closest I ever intended of getting to the runway, was after the models did their final walk, and I stepped out to bow away my collection that had just been displayed.
BJ is a model and his pointers abetted too, to a great extent, and I would have been utterly clueless if it was not for him, and his experience here, there, and everywhere. He is really great, on a side note.
Anyway, the other guys walking for the show are really good, and I thought I'd be intimidated by that, but once again having learned how to manage castings, etc...I was not in the slightest intimidation. The next rehearsal is Saturday, and I get to arrive at 1 instead of 9, "because there's nothing you need to work on to remaining patient throughout, and never once making me feel small and inadequate!
The show's on March 2nd, and we get to bring along 2 complimentary guests....I've asked Mobean and Chanelle to accompany me...although I remember asking one other person a while back- argh hy sal maar net moet betaal jong. LEAVE THE DRAMA FOR YOUR MAMA...no time to stress over here.
I've surmounted to a novice respect for runway models, because of the arduous nature of perfecting the craft; from your expression to your posture. It's not as easy as it looks!!
 For more on the forthcoming affair click here

Because pictures say a Thousand WHOLE words, right?f

Zaakir sent me this photo a while back. Ain't it fab on another level? It's a campaign for the infamous red-soled Christian Louboutin collection of mens and womens designer shoes. The model picture is confidently strutting a pair, and glancing at the Eiffel Tower in Paris- the city in which Louboutin was brought to life.

Bruno Mars adds a whole other dimension to this varying gallery of images. Mostly however, he makes the list since his album, Unorthodox Jukebox is currently atop my "Most Played" list.

The Deathly Hallows. If ya ain't watched Harry Potter or read it, ya probably thinking...ILLUMINATI. Give yourself a  sip of whiskey and relax the fuck out, it's NOT. It's a splendid symbol with an allegory that can appeal to nearly every personality in real-life, not just in the world of witchcraft and wizardry.

This is an old photo from my agency shoot, redone and re-edited using my own editing software. Isn't different, and cool? 

I love this pic, it was my wallpaper for a while. Peace is a major theme in my politically correct universe; striving to undo the knots of injustice in more than just a few places around the world. It's out there everyday- those things by which you are infuriated, causing others to become fickle in the face of violence and other acts of prejudice. Let's practice and preach PEACE- Blunt?

He's a model, who walked the runway for both Cornelliani , D&G, and  Armani recently. Isn't he just something worthy drooling over? #ToDieAMillionDeathsByBeauty

#StyleBook: Black-on-Black will also be alluring and is never out of season. Adapt your fashion though, by adding metallics, silvers, and soft greys to all-black outfits, and maintain that rockstar image- if it's what you're wearing black for, or mourn in style HA HA.

Style Inspiration: Soft tones always merge well together, even though it may seem bleak, when envisioning them altogether. Light contrasts of brown, charcoal, white and silver, when properly put together, can be eye-catching. 

Fashion Editorial from unknown publication of Vogue Italia. 

Left to Right: Chanelle J, Raeez Jacobs, Zenobia Whitney S, looking ultra-chic for an amateur shoot. 

Britney Spears looking rather HAWT, not Hot for a shoot. Very reminiscent of the 2004 Toxic  music video. I love Britney Spears more than I love, love! Faark, yeah!

Former "Angel" campaign with Naomi Watts. Eva Longoria, the sultry Latin beauty has since become the new face of the brand by fashion boffin, Thierry Mugler. 

When injustice becomes law. Rebellion becomes necessary. 

Friday, February 8, 2013

Extract: Short Story

The Taming of The Ignoramus by Raeez Jacobs

Here is a piece taken from a story, that I am currently experimenting with. It has so much potential, to grow into a full novel, but I am not keen on the idea, since I don't feel that now is an apt time to be lending myself, to the arduous task of prose writing. The Black Crystal was the first novel I wrote, of about 29 chapters and I am still working on that, after writing the last word on the date of 21 December 2010. I wrote "When The Jersey Talks"-a semi-autobiography after that, and then "The Sex life of a Dreamer" (which has nothing to do with sex actually, but is the austere story of a demented, schizophrenic narcissist who becomes an enraged killer, but masquerades as a clinical pyschologist, being not only unusually intelligent, but also egregiously deceptive) I have deleted When the Jersey Talks, and "Sex Life of A Dreamer" which is being currently edited by my ex english professor, Dr. Michelle Adler, is also stored on my best friend's hardrive and then my sleezy ex, who I had to literally beg to delete...eventually. Trust me, it's deleted...I checked. I worked hard to get that out of the real prude of monstrosity who probably would have published my book whenever he thought suitable- when he needed the cash or something. Anyway, before I go off on a tangent...have a wonderful time reading this extract, while I work on the rest and most of all, be riveted by it.


"Isis," Shiloh had said softly and surreptitiously, as if he was trying not be heard. "When the equinox starts, you must then make yourself ready; open up to the elements that will prevail before you. Now's the time to reflect on all those aberrations; why you despise your life-givers, why you can't live with your own image, and why your heart is not in its rightful place. It's not that you are special, or that you have chosen for anything, Isis, it's simply that you are begging of yourself, to bring about the change you consciously want, but subconsciously prevent, through meddling in what rarely should matter anyway." She felt her heart yelp slightly, as every word left his speech cavity. There was not much allure in his gaze nor his touch this time; now she just felt hatred and opposition- she felt like the other, in the world where not even Shiloh was someone she could call brother; all were enemies of her state, and her only allies were the shadows and the stark voices.
"What did Jung say about the self?" He asked her, casually, as if it were an exchange between two friends, ascertaining a fact just before an exam.
"That the self is not what happened to it..." she cleared her throat and looked out into the black city through the window behind her; there was only darkness, and a streetlight flickering, repeatedly like a frantic wire, on and off while the street remained unoccupied. She imagined a shadow egress behind a nearby building, but shook her head at the thought and continued to speak: "the self is what it chooses to become."
"Nice...Isis," his voice became stern, to which she brought all her attention; he was going to something worthy. "You are never the reason, and you are never the answer. It is not a consequence of your birth and it is not your birthright. Nothing you can see, feel, or touch belongs to you, and so how do you blame yourself for the effects you reap therefrom? No one preordained, and certainly you have not been cursed. You need to come to understand that life is a borrowed state of survival, whereby we are merely meant to survive; get by, carry on, live, try, achieve, fail, all those things that make us who we are inside. What we do on the outside is not so much about those aspects, Isis, it's about what we've seen done there and what's still being done there, that creates that very false impression within us. It can only feel ugly, if you take it in under that description. Don't be defeated by your own world and people, let it and them be..." He closed her palm in his fist and brought it to his lips. She was crying efficaciously and shaking like a wet pup. "Rule in your head, and be governed by your intentions, not the philosophies of others."
Candle-light burst into the room suddenly, upon the three candles that had just been novice and unlit, one between the two of them. He laughed at her surprise, and rose to get a decanter of whiskey from a nearby cabinet.

"But Shiloh," she began. "why do you think evil is finding me like this? Is it because I've been subjected to evil all my life, that it has made me a mound of fertile ground, in which it could just dump its fiery sand and watch me turn to a tree of thorns? Why am I paying for what I've despised in such an evil way, Shiloh?"
"The prophecy denotes us all amenable to evil, though some practice far more extreme types of evil, others simply entertain innately. On your hand however, is that the equinox coincides your birth, qualifying you amid the rank of celestial bodies still surviving on earth. On the night of your 19th birthday, two things happened simultaneously, your name was mentioned in the celestial vigil in the conclave of saints and then the first equinox of your birth was signaled- your star and your prophecy merged, meaning that you would come to possess the qualities of a celestial being, though you would never know this."
"Why would I never have known that?"
"Because Isis," he began patiently, pouring two glass of whiskey and placing them on the ankle-length table between them. "Your mother had been a celestial goddess, borrowed to this world, merely and only to give you off- to lend you that is, to what you and I are so very afraid of facing right now...the return of Geralia Epgutah...the single most notorious force of evil known to the celestial sphere. So much has gone into keeping this at bay, and power has been exhausted in like effort, but her evil before it is birthed in physicality, is stored within a cavity of imagination, because that is her element. And you Isis, you are the mind in which she is growing day by day." He looked relieved as he neared the denouement of his repartee, and she waited until she thought he was done, before addressing him again.
"So I'm her womb? That's what you're saying, Shiloh?" She laughed a little- surprised at how easily humor could still prevail, even in the presence of the most extreme or adverse situations.
"Precisely, but you are her tomb too, her final resting place."
"That is so mundane seriously, Shiloh. I'm sure you can weave a better answer than that- be direct." She looked at him imploringly, waiting for his eyes to glisten- his mark of knowledge.
"When the war was over between Esotetics and the Ignoramae, a single wish was granted, as was the order of the prophecy then, and your mother who was heir to the castle of Ignoramae, making her the somewhat first lady of the celestial universe, was caught in a situation of bitter indecision, when she was given two choices...you rested in her womb. They begged of her, "your life or this war." She could choose neither, until they presented her with the ultimatum; she could either annihilate Geralia on the eve of the 3999th night of the war or she could fall and risk losing you. The destruction of Geralia would not be easy nonetheless, because Esotets, after death claim the body of what had killed them, and since you were alive and growing within your mother's womb, Geralia would rather nestle within your soul, than your mothers because she herself, intelligent to the prophecy, could reason that she'd rather breed within you and return to shudder novice sovereignty and take revenge out, on who better than the yet-to-be-born daughter of celestial dynasty...you, Isis."


You used to say very little
to all the words they hurled your way
folded in, thinking you were a foetus
or that your silent prayer
would end it that day

i used to watch you go still
as things crossed your mind
in the still of the moment

i watched you discard of pasts
and hang onto what mattered

i've seen you carry yourself
all along the arduous social shelf

i remember how much your feared the void
riddled by a life lived in paranoia
of the things your history would come to do
i saw your eyes become unemployed-
vacant, empty, as if you were looking at me
but couldn't see me at all
like being able to swim
yet still drown in dead waters

i watched you confuse me

doubt myself, and throw myself
at things moving faster than meteors
lending myself to the open most doors
hoping to find someone a little bit more like me
someone who could hurt and let that be that

god-induced, able, and strong minded
absent to the things that made them wet
as if they were being baptised again
anointed to another cycle of disdain
only this time
they'd bear the grunge under a different name

i think you only began to realize
that the answer was not in the title you held
the day you got life back into your eyes
the day you stopped staring wide-eyed at the changing skies

the day you came out of the manilla fold of your shadow-
opened up, stepped in, unmasked yourself, and let your intentions show
they stopped laughing at you that day
i started to trust myself again and stopped throwing myself at the wind
hoping it would carry me to the furthest and darkest corner of the world
i felt haughty, i felt proud that day

because nothing could have prepared me
or ever made me think that there would come a time
in the sordid existence to which we were privy
that my eyes would literally glance at liberty
as if it had metamorphosed from mere state to a physical inanimate thing

i began to believe in things i had been sceptical about
realizing what i could and couldn't do without
that even though you we spent our lives drifting to and fro
we always knew where our souls would go
we always understood that home within each other
that no matter where you went or who you saw
your heart was still beating in the shadow of our abodes door
so you could be who you wanted to be and fulfil your every dream
and i could do the same under my own sentiments and my own regimes
comfortable enough to watch you make the most of your dreams.

©Raeez Jacobs. Poetry. 2013

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Thoughts, and Unorthodox Hearts I

Thoughts and Unorthodox Hearts I

You have outdone yourself again
virile, tempering with whichever organs you can

as if you've grasped my twisted veins, my anatomy
as if you think you got a hold of me

tugging at my shoulders and pulling on my hours
defending your own ego, soliciting your powers

rising out the crack i made form
subject of illusion- embedded in the deception you deem a norm

graduating from the things i taught you

proving i was right though false, and all you wanted came true
falling from your eyes into your hands  and shaking them to their virtue
some wicked benevolence that would become our point of view
there’s nothing left to figure out, no more colours left to paint you

like a beast you’re eating at the hearts
that beat in the shadow of your soul
and drinking down the souls who make pilgrimages in your name-
burns your incense and coal

the aftermath of your love bursts into hellish flames
sweet adjectives die as i try to describe you by those names

language itself has escaped from your cavity of speech
hanging from your disorder, on the periphery of repentance border, with saints outta reach
the last sermon in the word you hold dear is yours to preach

of your lacerations, guilt, and how you were defiled and misguided
growing into who you had turned out to be in the world you say they conspired

you said your ex burst like a firework the minute you walked away
some intended story of loss that would make me stay
and i sat in the fold of your shadow, head against your arm till night became day

oblivious to the curses flying like winged blood cells through your core
if only it were possible that each heart had its own door
i’d never make it known that i stood behind my own, eyes to the scarlet floor
awaiting some promise, expecting something better than i know
willing to go wherever the music and the beautiful things go

falling into your unorthodox dispositions
laying in the wait of your prolonged decisions
regretting harder than a god who created a devil about his people
chewing the ashes of, and tasting the bitterness of literal evil

i’ve misled myself by this, spreadeagled at the foot of some steep hill
with tomorrow at the top, today at the centre, and yesterday on the ground
in a cube of silence, deaf to my own words, only my breaths and heartbeats make a sound
i can hear how nervous i am, i can hear the sound of nothing
breaking against the silence like if a spectre ever had to sing

i glance toward my sides and see the world you’ve left me in
and think of the things i had dreamed of, the placed i wished i had seen
and you were my binoculous not my guide
walking within your step, not right by your side

taking in the world through your eyes
as if when we merged we metamorphosed to smaller floating skies

looking down upon all the things that mean little to what we wan’t
though as the moon emerges behind a lone cloud of grey
i feel my weight dwindle down and my wings have gone away

and i fall but you still hang in the clouds with a smirk about your facade
aghast by your unorthodox eyes and heart, hitting the ground twice as hard
with nothing left to console myself by
no answer in the book, to the question why
and some unorthodox history, by which to remember you and i

 ©Raeez Jacobs. Poetry, 2013.