from strugglinghuman

Day 1: 30 Days of Healing Post Breakup Prompt: Describe the emotions you are experiencing post breakup.

Betrayal, pain, deceit, insecure, deficient, angry, confused. I am feeling all of these things. They swirl through my brain, completely unrestrained wreaking havoc on my brain. How to you coalesce the feelings of love you have for someone with the knowledge that they are not good for you? How do you make your heart believe what your brain already knows?

Throughout this relationship I was honest, giving, loving, and caring. That's not to say I was perfect, because I was not. However, I know that I gave mt all and put in my best effort to make my partner feel loved. There were multiple occasions where I did not feel like this effort was being matched. I would voice my feelings only for my partner to turn it into something much bigger than it was, unwilling to compromise and making it into an attack against their character instead of listening to how I am feeling. This repeated dismissal of my feelings lead me to feel inadequate and like I was simply asking for too much.

This feeling was intensified when I made a compromise I would normally never make in shoving my own feelings aside about my partner being in contact with their ex. They swore to me that there were boundaries, that they don't talk every day, that its only ever texting, never phone calls. All of these were lies. Even on a weekend with just the two of us on vacation, when we rarely see each other in person due to being long distance, they were texting their ex. They texted their ex while we were in bed together. The claim was always that they are just friends and completely platonic, but I know better. The relationship between them is one of codependence and one that never, for one day, took a pause. They went straight from romantic partners who talk every day to “friends” who talk every day. This constant gaslighting left me confused and feeling pathetic.

When I finally said enough was enough and that I couldn't do it anymore my partner chose their ex. When push came to shove and they had to pick who stayed in their life they choose their ex. This makes me feel pain and betrayal. I feel like someone has hold of my heart and is SQEEZING it. I am so heart broken over this betrayal. I am heart broken that someone I put so much love and energy into could treat me this way, could choose someone who treated them so terribly instead.

I feel lost and hopeless. I feel like I'll never find someone who gives me the same energy and effort that I give them. I feel scared to trust anyone or open up ever again. I feel broken. I feel everything and nothing simultaneously.

 
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from Tuesdays in Autumn

I was all of nine years old when I first heard Blondie on the radio and first saw them on TV. Like many others of my generation I was fascinated by Debbie Harry. It's an appeal that still hasn't altogether faded: even now I have a couple of Blondie LPs on my shelves & half a dozen of their 7” singles. On Wednesday, I finished reading Harry's 2019 memoir Face It. I had been mildly curious about the book when it came out, though not quite so curious that I didn't mind waiting until I found a cheap second-hand copy of it somewhere. Not until the other weekend did one turn up: at the Oxfam shop in Chepstow. The asking price was a reasonable £2.99.

As is very often the case with celebrity autobiographies, it's not entirely the subject's own work. At least in this instance there's no hidden ghost-writer: a line on the title page states up-front that it's “in collaboration with Sylvie Simmons and based on a series of recent exclusive interviews.” There is very much the feeling that the story is told in Harry's own words, but, perhaps because of the collaborative composition, one feels at times not quite fully on-board a first-person narration. It's no masterpiece, but there is plenty of interest even for the casual fan. For me, the most absorbing chapters were the ones tracing the singer's pre-fame progress through various bohemian milieux in late '60s and early '70s New York. Among the illustrations are many portraits of Harry sent to her by fans: these provide a intriguing counterpart to the numerous snapshots of the almost invariably photogenic chanteuse.


In today's post, a CD including a selection of Philip Glass's Etudes for piano, performed by the Dutch pianist Feico Deutekom. For what are relatively recent compositions, there are a good many different recordings out there. Indeed, I used to own the composer's own renditions of the first ten Etudes. I didn't hold on to that one as I didn't like all ten of the pieces, and there was sometimes the sense that Glass was playing near the limits of his ability. Deutekom's versions appealed precisely because they weren't a complete set. I gather Vanessa Wagner's recent recording of all twenty pieces has been hailed by many as the best yet, and I was tempted to acquire that version. My suspicion, though, is that ca. two hours of Glass on solo piano, no matter how well-executed, is likely to be just a bit too much for me.

I wonder if Phil and Debbie ever crossed paths in the early '70s. Might Debbie have served Phil a drink in one of her waitressing jobs? Might Debbie have hailed Phil's taxi when he was a cab driver?


The cheese of the week has been Roquefort. I bought a wedge from the Newhall Farm Shop on Saturday. I'd long been resistant to the allure of blue cheese until my first encounter with Roquefort about nine months ago. I had wondered if a sheepsmilk blue might have any more appeal than the cowsmilk ones I'd hitherto disliked. Not only did I love it at first taste, it opened the way for me to be able to appreciate the likes of Stilton and Gorgonzola, that I had previously disdained.

 
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from audiobook-reviews

CD cover of the audiobook «The Proving Ground» by  Michael Connelly

Audible link

This latest thriller by author Michael Connelly is putting it's finger on a very timely issue. Combined with the excellent reading by Peter Giles this makes for probably my favorite audiobook of 2025.

Story

How much do people, young people, teenagers even, get influence by AI chat bots? Especially since there are numerous apps promoting AI companions as friends, therapists or girlfriends even. This is a very real issue and a very new one. Michael Connelly tackles the issue in convincing fashion.

In the story, an AI companion advised a teenage boy to kill his ex. Now the two families are suing the company behind the bot. The company, which is trying to sell to one of the big players, is under immense pressure to settle the matter quietly. It also has vast sums of investor money to work with.

But don't fret — we are not about to get bogged down in endless legal maneuvering. This is both due to our main character, the Lincoln Lawyer, who is pushing hard for a trial, but also due to how the story is written. It is not wasting any time, progressing fast and often skipping unimportant bits, opting to instead summarize them in one or two phrases. This makes for a surprisingly short book, but one that is never boring.

Michael Connelly shows the sort power these companies have, yielding ungodly sums of investment funds. But he also makes a point that they cannot go unchecked, that there need to be boundaries. He manages to raise hope without getting unrealistic or too idealistic. He stays real.

Missed opportunity?

I was hoping the book would broach the subject of deep fakes. I even thought it was going to happen, when a video of questionable origin is brought up. We are seeing AI generated videos of mind-bogging quality show up every day, created by people with little to no knowledge of the technology that enables it. So an AI startup with lots of money and talent could conceivably do even better.

But trying to influence a court with a generated video would be a reckless maneuver, possibly not worth the risk. So maybe that's why the story takes a different turn there. Still, I thought it would have been a great opportunity to highlight yet another issue.

Jack McEvoy

Journalist Jack McEvoy is my favorite Connelly character. He's easier to identify with than other characters from this author and his books are some of the best. But if you were hoping for another McEvoy story, then I need to disappoint you. This is very much a Lincoln Lawyer story, with McEvoy only playing a supporting role.

Recording

Unlike the Harry Bosch series, the Lincoln Lawyer books are still read by just one narrator. In the absence of a second main character that makes sense. And with Peter Giles doing the reading, there is really nothing more I could ask for.

His low, gravelly voice is very pleasant to listen to. Different characters all get their own voices which are consistent and exhibit little to no flaws across the entire book.

The recording is clear and crisp. Bring it all together and you have a masterclass in how to make an audiobook.

Who is it for?

This audiobook combines a great story with superb reading. If you know and like the works of Michael Connelly you won't de disappointed by this one. If you're a fan of the Lincoln Lawyer books in particular, you should not miss this one!

But there's more to this one. It focuses of an important and very timely issue. AI is changing our lives and we need to be careful with what we allow and where we draw our lines. Because of that, I recommend everyone listen to this book. It makes some great points.

 
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from Ernest Ortiz Writes Now

Thought I change things up a little bit. Why not? For a couple of months, my wife and I have been feeding our younger son baby food. It’s been a challenge.

Normally, I would write about this on my other blog, but it’s down for maintenance and revamping. Truthfully, I don’t know when I’ll bring it online again. All I know is that it will be used again in the unforeseen future in the off chance I go back to the workplace.

I discussed this new blog with family and friends so updating them isn’t a problem. But since my other blog is offline I’m wondering if I should write about being a stay-at-home dad, private investigator, and other topics. I don’t want to limit myself, but I don’t want to do the extra work of copying an article on this blog and pasting it to my other blog.

My best solution is to let the topics come out naturally on paper, type them on the WriteFreely app, and decide whether to publish or not. We’ll see.

Finally, my red Blackwing 746 pencil is about two more inches useable before I throw it into my tiny pencil collection. It’s been a great pencil, but I don’t plan on buying another one soon. And buying a box is out of the question. So what pencil should I use next?

Maybe I’ll use a Blackwing 602 from a box I bought at a discount. More on that later.

#writing #article #babyfood #pencil #privateinvestigator #stayathomedad

 
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from Faucet Repair

28 January 2026

Star in a bag (working title, or maybe Ornament): think I was interested here in trying to fragment in a new way. It seems like the approach was to try to paint like collaging, to allow shapes to overlap while remaining as faithful as possible to the logic I initially perceived in my visual source (a plastic glow-in-the-dark star cloaked by a red Chinese New Year envelope). To cause an incidental explosion or a breakdown from a center or axis and then probe any odd relationships that materialize as a result. To encourage forms to collide and conjoin and echo each other as they expand outward. A kind of polyphony. Have been looking at Schwitters a lot this week, particularly his 1925 collage Untitled (Heures crépusculaires). Stacked blocks of muted values and slices of visual information coalescing into gradations of color and thought.

 
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from Faucet Repair

26 January 2026

Last night I reorganized a drawer of ephemera that had been piling up in since I moved into my new place. Noting some arrangements and encounters here. Print of the top of a silver spoon protruding from the opening of a Chinese New Year red envelope, which contained a plastic glow-in-the-dark star. On an envelope that contained a wedding invitation: an ink-stamped snowman overlapping a postage stamp with a pink begonia on it, the word “forever” arcing over the snowman's torso. Pink tissue paper cradling a neon-yellow tennis ball. A program from the Tate with some Cézanne apples on the cover partially obscured by a slightly blurry polaroid from Winchester of a black cat nestled into an angle made by two pieces of wood in the guardrail lattice of a wooden footbridge over the River Itchen.

 
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from The happy place

I’m thinking that I’ve been a dead fish floating downstream for a long time, but then suddenly I’ve come to life swimming upstream, unable to complain because no words come out of my fish lips, only bubbles, and suddenly I feel the strong current trying to drag me with it, but not me! I swim nimbly with muscular movements and lo and behold even I make it up this waterfall.

I know that that’s where the bears are, I’m not stupid. And yet these dangers must be faced, even though this is just a matter of luck, isn’t it?

It’s just a matter of luck. Being a fish in this example, is also just luck (or lack thereof)

The only real choice was coming alive swimming upstream

And for someone such as me, it wasn’t a choice at all!

 
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from Jodan/ZAI

The Creative Discipline Behind JZAI: Turning Vision Into Sound

In the world of independent hip hop, talent is only one part of the equation. What truly defines an artist over time is discipline, clarity of vision, and the ability to transform ideas into consistent creative output. The project behind JZAI is built on this principle: music is not just inspiration—it is structure, focus, and long-term commitment.

Behind every release, every concept, and every step forward, there is a process designed to turn creativity into something sustainable.

Creativity as a Daily Practice

Many people think creativity appears in moments of inspiration. In reality, for an independent artist, creativity is a habit. The work behind JZAI is based on the idea that artistic growth comes from repetition, observation, and constant refinement.

Writing lyrics is not only about expression, but about clarity of thought. Each idea is developed with intention, focusing on themes such as:

personal evolution

mental resilience

self-discipline

ambition and long-term thinking

navigating challenges with perspective

Instead of chasing trends or external expectations, the creative process starts internally. The goal is to produce music that feels honest, focused, and aligned with a consistent artistic direction.

From Concept to Track

Every song within the JZAI project begins with a concept. Sometimes it comes from a personal experience. Other times it comes from a mindset, a question, or a moment of reflection.

The process typically follows three stages:

  1. Idea development Defining the message or emotional tone behind the track.

  2. Writing and structure Building lyrics that balance storytelling, rhythm, and clarity.

  3. Sound direction Choosing production that supports the mood and reinforces the identity of the project.

This structured approach allows each release to feel intentional rather than improvised. Over time, it also helps build a recognizable sound and narrative style.

The Importance of Consistency

One of the biggest challenges for independent artists is consistency. Without the structure of a label or management team, progress depends entirely on personal discipline.

For JZAI, consistency means:

continuing to write, even without immediate releases

improving technical skills over time

maintaining a clear artistic direction

showing up regularly in the creative process

Growth in music rarely comes from sudden breakthroughs. It comes from steady effort and long-term focus.

Building Identity Through Sound

In today’s music landscape, listeners have access to unlimited content. What makes an artist stand out is not volume, but identity.

The sound behind JZAI is shaped by a few core principles:

emotional authenticity

modern but timeless production choices

balance between introspection and energy

coherence across releases

The objective is not to follow a single trend, but to develop a sound that evolves while remaining recognizable.

Identity is built track by track, decision by decision.

Independence as a Creative Advantage

Operating as an independent hip hop artist brings challenges, but it also creates opportunities. Without external pressure to follow commercial formulas, the project can grow at its own pace.

This independence allows:

full control over creative direction

flexibility in release strategy

freedom to experiment and refine

a stronger connection between artist and audience

For JZAI, independence is not a limitation—it is a foundation for authenticity and long-term sustainability.

The Role of Mindset

Behind the music, there is a strong focus on mindset. The philosophy of the project is based on a simple idea: growth happens through discipline, patience, and self-awareness.

This perspective influences both the creative process and the long-term strategy. Instead of measuring success only through numbers or short-term attention, the focus remains on:

improvement over time

building a solid body of work

developing a professional presence

creating lasting value

In a fast-moving industry, mindset often becomes the difference between temporary visibility and long-term progress.

Looking Forward

The JZAI project continues to evolve with a focus on sustainability and gradual expansion. Future steps include new releases, deeper sound development, and a stronger digital presence across platforms.

Each stage is part of a larger vision: building a career that grows steadily, without losing creative integrity.

Discipline, Vision, and Long-Term Growth

Hip hop has always been rooted in self-expression, but the modern independent landscape requires more than passion. It requires structure, consistency, and strategic thinking.

The work behind JZAI reflects that balance—creative freedom supported by discipline and long-term vision.

Because in independent music, success is not just about making noise.

It’s about building something that lasts.

 
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from Jodan/ZAI

Building an Independent Path in Hip Hop: The Vision Behind JZAI

In today’s music industry, being an independent artist is both an opportunity and a challenge. Technology has opened doors that didn’t exist before, but it has also created a highly competitive environment where visibility, consistency, and identity matter more than ever.

The project behind JZAI was born from a simple idea: create music that reflects real experiences, personal growth, and a long-term vision, without compromising authenticity.

This is not just about releasing songs. It’s about building something meaningful over time.

More Than Music: A Long-Term Mindset

For many artists, the focus is on quick exposure or viral moments. While visibility is important, the foundation of JZAI is different. The goal is to develop a sustainable career based on consistency, discipline, and identity.

Hip hop has always been a culture of expression and storytelling. For JZAI, music is a space to explore themes such as:

personal growth

resilience and mindset

self-awareness

ambition and purpose

the process of building something from the ground up

Each track is part of a larger journey, not just a standalone release.

The Power of Independence

Being an independent hip hop artist means taking responsibility for every aspect of the project. From writing and creative direction to branding and digital presence, independence requires more than talent—it requires strategy.

The decision to remain independent is intentional. It allows:

full creative control

a clear artistic identity

long-term flexibility

direct connection with listeners

In a world driven by trends, independence makes it possible to stay focused on authenticity rather than short-term attention.

Building a Digital Presence

Today, an artist’s career exists as much online as it does in the studio. Visibility is no longer limited to radio or traditional media. Platforms, portfolios, and digital publications play a critical role in shaping an artist’s reputation.

Part of the JZAI vision is to build a strong and consistent digital footprint that reflects professionalism and growth. This includes:

music distribution across streaming platforms

professional artist profiles and portfolios

written content that shares the vision behind the project

strategic online presence focused on long-term positioning

The goal is simple: when people search for JZAI, they find a clear, credible, and evolving artistic identity.

Authenticity in a Fast-Moving Industry

The modern music landscape moves fast. Trends come and go, sounds change, and attention spans are short. In that environment, the most valuable asset an artist can have is authenticity.

For JZAI, authenticity means:

writing from real experience

staying consistent with the artistic vision

avoiding shortcuts that compromise identity

focusing on growth instead of comparison

Success is not defined by a single moment, but by the ability to evolve while staying true to the original purpose.

Looking Ahead

The journey of JZAI is still in progress, and that’s exactly the point. The project is designed to grow step by step, with a focus on sustainability rather than speed.

Future plans include:

new music releases

expanded digital presence

collaborations with other artists and creators

reaching broader international audiences

Every step is part of a long-term strategy built around consistency, learning, and continuous improvement.

A Project Built to Last

Hip hop has always rewarded those who stay real and stay committed. The vision behind JZAI is grounded in that philosophy: build slowly, stay authentic, and let the work speak over time.

This is not about chasing trends. It’s about building a voice. A presence. A legacy.

And this is only the beginning.

 
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from 下川友

弁当クラブという部活動を、もう10年続けている。 とはいえ部員は2人だけで、高校のときに知り合った親友だ。

活動内容は、毎週土曜にそれぞれ弁当を作ってきて、公園にレジャーシートを広げ、互いの弁当を見せ合い、食べ合い、そして本気で評価し合うというものだった。

最初の頃は「正しい温度の弁当」という基準を作り、 「正しいそぼろ弁当」や「正しい唐揚げ弁当」を作っては、 うんうんと2人で満足げに頷いていた。 だが10年も続ければ、いつの間にか2人にしか良さが分からない創作弁当になっていた。

「ははは、海苔が襲いかかってきたぞ」なんて笑い合っていたとき、 野球ボールがコロコロと転がってきた。

「すいません!」と、小学生が走ってくる。 ボールを拾って投げ返すと、「それ、美味そうっすね」と言う。

「食べる?」とウインナーを分けてやると、 「めちゃ美味いっす!」と礼を言って、また練習に戻っていった。 最近の子にしては、こんな訳の分からない大人にビビらない、いい子だと思った。

翌週、また弁当を見せ合う日がやってきた。 弁当箱を開けた瞬間、俺は固まった。 あいつは、とんでもないものを作ってきたのだ。

たこさんウインナーだ。

「おいおい、これ絶対あの子に食べさせたいだけだろ」と俺が言うと、 「いや別に」とそっけなく返される。

「俺とお前だけの時間だろ、これは。 これからも、俺とお前だけが喜ぶ弁当を作ろうぜ」と言うと、 あいつは少し黙ってから言った。

「実はな……1年くらい前から、人に食べてほしい弁当を作りたいって思うようになってたんだ」

なんともくだらない。 人が食べるための弁当だって? 弁当のための弁当を作れよ、と心の中で思ったが、 自分でも変なことを言っている自覚があったので、強くは言えなかった。

その日は結局、あの子は来なかった。 不貞腐れながら帰ろうとしたとき、 「来週もやるよな?」とあいつが言う。

「……別にやるけど」と、不機嫌なまま返事をして、その日は終わった。

 
もっと読む…

from Attronarch's Athenaeum

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from 3c0

You can’t love someone who doesn’t want to be loved.

At first, it was a saying, a reminder for me to be open, and that I could easily fall pray to my old habits of being a love vampire myself.

This is important to keep in mind when opening yourself up to someone else too. Allow yourself to be met where you can meet yourself.

If they are unwilling to meet you where you are willing and open to meet yourself, what’s the point?

You will have to learn your lesson again and again. You will meet the same person again and again.

If they don’t stay, they are not your person. They are just another lesson, yet another love vampire, living in a fantasy world.

They would rather run in circles around you and in their heads than live out the present with you, where they inevitably must meet themselves.

 
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from The happy place

Today I had this dust cloth sticking out of my back jeans pocket. While I was cleaning sexily.

Later the same day when at the grocery store I saw this sausage type of meat pressed into the shape and form of a teddy bear, you know? For children…

Much like the HP inkjet printer, this too I think of as an object of pure evil.

The sadistic smile of this teddy bear made of thousands of pig carcasses like taken from a nightmare !!

 
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from bios

2: The Corruption Of My Understanding


Hands locked behind our heads we are sitting on the cold concrete floor in front of each others laps, our elbows on the knees of the person behind us, stale invective spits from the cops searching the curtains, the mattresses, every broken item in the room is broken, they search the door frame cracks for crack, cracks in everything – they tear the newspaper coverings on the broken windows letting the light in.

They will find nothing, or something, or plant something or pretend to plant or whatever, it's daily this shit. They're here for money, they're here to get something if there's no money, the magosha are already undressing in the room next door, they are here to steal our time, because they have time to waste, we only have to wait, they'll move on, so we can remove our drugs from the various places we've hidden them, the cracks in the door frames, the mattress, the curtains.

It's daily this shit, we all have holes to fill, some fall on you like a stone and sometimes you dig your own. Sometimes you get poesed in the face with the back of a gun for upsetting the balance of power. For control.

The scrawled phones numbers of various policemen, a particular policeman, on a decaying scrap of the back of a flyer for a penis enlargement sangoma service, and a side of the road pay by the second phone, whenever all else failed we can always pimp our dealers. The guys who give us squalid and dash us Sundays, who we wheedled and bothered and whimpered at, begging and scraping and then finally selling out, because they were careless under which rock or in which fucked switch can they hid their stash.

You sleep on the pavement next to where they ply their trade and you watch them pay off the cops daily and you call the cops and they pay you off with the drugs you can't afford to buy and the dealers pay off the cops with money they need to buy the drugs the cops are paying you off with to get money that they need to buy food at home and the dealers trade drugs for food from the shoplifters and the fraudsters, and for phones from the phezula boys and two finger kids and sometimes someone goes to prison but it's all just time.

The Quantum appears on the security cameras twice a day. Before even they are banging at the gate Mike or Prince or Dave or whatever name interchangeable is already counting out, looking at the screen, “How many are there? Six. Okay.” He counts out three hundred in the smallest dirtiest notes possible. If he's been shat on by the boss today he'll sometimes rub the notes up his ass crack. For control.

In the drug houses, where we sometimes crash, on the floors of the magosha's rooms, between clients -the larnies have the mapusa's phone numbers and sometimes if a client is out of hand, too much meth, too much no sleep, beating the dogs is fine but beating the magosha, damaging the merchandise for resale, they will call the cops and they will come quickly. Fights on the street reported by the neighbourhood embattled whatsapp group have no such swift luck. This is an informal relationship that is often a solution for the woman trapped by a raging ego high on crack raining blows down on her, because she is merchandise.

Unless the raging ego high on crack is mapusa himself. These are the exceptions. This is not daily and treated with force and phone calls and conferences and the redrawing of lines. The money that is paid daily to the Quantum or the Manchester Boys or the Polo comes from the money the magosha bring in. Cops on drugs are slowly edged out of circulation. For control.

Trapped by economics, living above a Tanzanian restaurant, in a tiny room, with all my things I can't afford a lock, so I can't leave my things in my room because I'm one flight up from a busy restaurant in a street where I buy my drugs. Out of one window I can call to the Somalian shopkeeper for supplies, out of another window I can wave my late night food order to the Bangladeshi take away, out of the sliding door that opens, an abandoned idea of a deck, dizzying to the street I can throw down my bank card to my dealer who throws up my supplies for the day. I sit online earning, asking, failing. I am always in my room.

I don't know how they get in. It's past midnight, my drugs have run out and I am passing out while trying to subtitle a you tube video at $0.25c an hour. Three of them in full body armour and more crashing through the kitchen below. I am the only one here at night and they want me to call the restaurant owner, the obviously suspected Tanzanian drug lord.

They find not even drug evidence and then they resort to violence, one of them has me against the wall. I don't bother to ask if they have probable cause or a warrant. I am not Dick Wolf. The mapusa in charge is going through my belongings on the floor, my technology, my clothes and he pulls out a hoodie and says, “This looks too small for you but it will fit my son.” They are shopping now. I tell them, sure, and take them through a tour of what I no longer need.

One of them shifts a piece of rhinoboard and finds a makeshift cupboard, gleefilled they assume they have found the drug stash. They fully empty out the only furniture, these recessed makeshift shelves, jumper cables, hello kitty hot water bottles, a assortment of those tiny tool sets that come in either red or blue plastic, boxes nondescript, half used bags of pollyfilla, three different parts of three different vacuum cleaners, a less shiny but more valuable guitar, reams of now rat shredded blue plastic, a small child's car seat, a now broken set of plates with Olde English recipes glazed on to them... these are less the contents of some feared drug dealers apartment, and more that of a struggling suburban dad. Which of course is what the proprietor is. The policemen's glee is palpable. They are also suburban dads. I donate some pots and pans to the officer who had just poesklapped me. For control.

Its a golden hot afternoon I am selling dog food samples gleaned from a pet store to the dealer who is looking after the dog I am trying to rescue from him. In the yard of the sprawling three property nymandawo we are unconcerned by the circling sirens, we are after all doing nothing illegal, we are merely in proximity to illegality, we don't anticipate heat. But I am white and in this particular yard and the quantum boys are hungry and I am dragged through the golden dusk to the police van.

I am well dressed, clean, without any drugs on me and they do not give a fuck. Someone must cry. They make me wait in the cells with everyone else waiting in the cells, people squeezing the last battery life out of their should have been confiscated phones, begging their people to send ewallets. There is a another cell, behind the main cell, where we are encouraged by a junior officer to go, to make calls, so no one can see. Call your people she says with care, these guys, they will take money.

There is an ATM around the corner from the police station. I am driven by this young officer. I have negotiated a spot fine of R800. For feeding a dog. In the wrong place. This is not something I wish to defend in court. I have a record. A first offence admission of guilt for possession and assaulting a police officer. It's easier to pay the spot fine. To buy the cool drink. To drink the Kool aid.

The ATM is out of order and I have to go into a shop to do a cashback. The officer asks me politely if I can also get her some things. But to please not tell the other police. She needs some maize, some salt, some maybe a few vegetables please. Its mid month and there is no food at home.

An age ago, drunk on the way home from a bar the two of us stopped to swing in the park, and were arrested, me for solicitation, her for soliciting. She chose an admission of guilt fine, paid to the policemen directly. Admitting guilt for fear of going to prison, which is where the guilty go, ergo not being guilty. I opted to go to the holding cells for the weekend, and ended up in Westville Prison, where I begged, because I was afraid of Gen Pop, and was sent to the Psychiatric Section, three days cowering under a sheet while faeces was flung about. At no point did either of us campaign for prison reform.

The power goes off in the beach house I am renting. The landlord is unreachable. I try to figure it out phoning Eskom. It is a maze of an unfathomable tangle of departments before I find out that my landlord owes a size-able amount, even if he pays today, the power will only, because of the backlog, because of load shedding and cable theft, be put back on the week after I leave. And I can't reach the landlord.

Driving home I pass an Eskom truck at a sub-station. It seems to me so much easier to make them an offer, to pay the workers directly, to side step this behemoth of a failing system, to not contribute to it's obviously corrupt ways, and so two men, working for the the crippling civil service minimum wage (I am helping them, I tell myself) come to the box in the street outside the beach house where I am on holiday and reconnect the power for R500. There might be a fine to the landlord later. I won't be there.

Often I am caught driving without my driver's licence, because I simply have not had the time and it is simply easier to pay a spot fine. So I slip a clippa to the officer. For control.

 
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from Lastige Gevallen in de Rede

zonovergoten

Ik zit in een baan om de zon ben een jaar onderweg voor ik weer op dezelfde plek kom elk rondje maal ik met iedereen mee te land in de lucht en op zee bij iedereen in de atmosfeer neemt al het goede zijn keer en al het andere evenzeer ik zou willen dat het niet zo was maar ook ik draai mee om eigen as net als ieder kind in elke klas elke vogel in zijn nest van noord naar oost van zuid naar west elke koe op stal iedere muis in de val elke kat voor het raam ieder wezen zonder naam massaal in het reusachtig draaiend rad keren en draaien om het eigen gat zowel de levenden als de dooien of we nu hoge of lage ogen gooien wel of niet zitten klooien de oranje, de groene en de rooie de lelijken, goeien, slechten en de mooie het herdertje, de rammen en de ooien hetzelfde blokje aan onzichtbaar spit rondom de grote hittepit als halve garen rondom draaien terwijl dat roekeloze vuur blijft laaien en wij maar maaien eerst de ene kant dan de andere die golf beweging zal niet verandere sommigen keren in de duisternis anderen in het volle licht sommigen mensen gaan lekker rond anderen voelen zich ertoe verplicht de ene gang valt zwaar op de maag een ander maaltje vederlicht het is maar of je er om maalt of niet of je de lol van het ommetje in ziet zo ja dan heb je het diploma behaald zo niet dan wordt het een moeilijk verhaal

 
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