Economics, Literature and Scepticism

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I am a PhD student in Economics. I am originally from South Africa and plan to return there after my PhD. I completed my M. Comm in Economics and my MA In Creative Writing (Poetry) at the University of Cape Town, where I worked as a lecturer before starting my PhD.

Saturday, October 22, 2005

Personal Prevarications

Posted by Simon Halliday | Saturday, October 22, 2005 | Category: |

On the noted need to write more... Here are some more for your personal delictations.


The Journey of Jonah 29.08.05


I see these odd water

creatures flowing

about me, this place

where I should be not.


This containment seems

inescapable, damaging

me, my claustrophobia

tightening in.


But muscles move about

me, thrusting me away

from these acids and

half-rotten bodies;


and yet this place is familiar

clearer, but as filled with a

foreign world of many-legged

animals and bulbous eyes


as that in which I was lost.

People I missed, but the places

where I was not, they made

me believe all the more.



Barbarian invasions 09.09.05


Of the struggling social

event, much has been

written, considering that

we disregard convention


I would not put is past

us to attempt to resist

its degeneration, they

would prefer our resignation


these visitors. Instead we

wage our own offence

we attack with our own

wanton lusts and bloody


frustrations. The wine glasses

shudder in hand noticing a

subversive twist in conversation,

hair seems out of place,


you and I marshal our wills

to this, our last movement

the battle of a lifetime lost on

the fields of our consciousness.

Driven 17.09.05


That the moon

embedded in this

low sky is meaningful

charges me.


Its corona would

be a mirror to halo

my existence, forming

still that which


is nascent, burgeons

beneath the skins that

have and will cover

me, sun-caught protections


and the moon's memory

of that all the stronger.


Crestfallen 17.09.05


wave movements onto

and beyond the sand

along the crest of the wave

moves my conscience


disturbed by its own

spaces, by its intents.

Unsure whether it moves

or whether its position


is stable and the world

moves beneath it. My

inertia. My inability to

move is such, and no matter


my efforts I remain densely

unable to change.



dark night 17.09.05


bark scratched my back

as did your fingers pulling

me closer in, demanding

that i see and be inside you


but not – remaining out with

the wind-driven grass and

the wind's crooning voice

lulling us into a suspended


belief, holding us apart for

that extra moment and knowing,

knowing how passing it was

our whispered intents left


in the dark soils, burgeoning

still, some reciprocal growth

there i observe its movement

and envision its plural paths


overcast 22.09.05


there is a pall of skin

over the smoke of

your eyes locking

out the visions

that hold you to me


i am that solid, that

connected, that held

down and wept image

you need to see, but

dare not for fear


of admittance, i am a

recasting of sin, i am a

doubting of self, i am a

foil to all that once would

have made you laugh


but i am transient, the clouds

of me may move slowly

but move they do and by god

you will return pale and screaming

and wrapped in the caul


of a newborn child, waxy

and dim you will see through

these casts over you and there

the joyous cries of your

release will be that free


139. 23.09.05


Hearing your voice is

looking through old glass

the image distorted

the sound a shimmer

of what I thought

it would be


Moses' lost time 26.09.05


I had traveled hard

sandals tight against my

feet, scratching the sand

of this path, I strike


this staff into the ground

in attempts to hold

myself up, I am not so

young that this is easy.


But beneath me, their

prayers convey urgency

the lost ones no longer

trusting me but sacrificing


their souls to unknown idols.

Would that I were so easily

viewed, so easily pleased,

but He requires more than


blood and milk. I trudge on

and, having borne the weight

of these tablets, know that much

will change and I am bound


to suffer.


Rapturous Escape 01.10.05


There is pathology

in the depth of my

investment in you


each time I have seen

your red-rubbed eyes

and your tangled hair


I wish it were me you

had been crying over

instead I spectate, I


support from the

sidelines joyously

crying your escape


from his fawning

hands yet unable

to touch you


my grasp:

one more to

hold you back



Life Support

to nana


there are opaque tubes

replacing your veins

pumping blood

and breath that

you cannot


these are gene imprinted

images on me

appearing every time

when I would rather think

of you:


with your feet like

gnarled roots planted

in the sand soaking

up the salt and water

nourishing you


instead I see the blood

the beeping green and your

face whiter than the sand had

ever been. your roots are gone

you cannot live without them.


if I could only purge myself

of these memories


feeling in reverse 06.10.05


this movement out of

love with you, if it could

have been the first I felt

and built up to

all with which we

had begun


late night rains 08.10.05


still inside

i sensed the acridness

of rain smudged tarmac


awoken to it from this

bed, enraptured by single

strands of your hair


its allure called me

from my entanglement

coarse bricks cool my


feet as i step outside seeing

how right the rain was

and how the moon's


descent was its hallowed

accompaniment, suddenly

here your hair calls me


so immediate my return to its

broken embrace restraining

myself unheeding of


the rankness without





Imbibed 14.10.05


If only you were

intoxication,

I would recover

from you.


But there

is no awakening

from this

drunkenness


my head cannot clear,

you are each and

every movement of

my eyes


my steps sway because

you have taken away

any semblance of

balance


and what scares me

more is that i would rather

it didn't end, that it

remains irrecoverable


my control, my logic

and my overriding

ability to judge, gone

because of this


Freedoms 15.10.05


What is liberty?

What is unconstrained?

What is this rejection

that you refuse to claim?


You wave your hands

in mock severity

claiming damage and

in-love-ness


how is it that this

prevents your liberty

how is it that I shackle

you? Except by my


presence, which you find

pervasive. If only that were

all I could be every part

of you burned by some of me


no I do not brand you, and

yes I do still care, but do

not fuck with me darling

you'll lose me, that I swear.


Giving 15.10.05


This is not forgivable

these foggy words that

you offer me in an attempt

at appeasement


they cannot suffice and

I will not succumb. Do not

linger here, rather leave me

and be done with this.


I will not bear you. I

will not kiss. I will not

hold you or offer my love.

I gave and you rejected.


I will give no more.


Margaret Atwood's Cat 16.10.05

For Laura


is neither at its beginning

or its ending

but slips between the

words of her poetry

as it would between her

legs as she sits in

front of a desk

altogether crafting


it would be a reverent

moment spent lying

on laps or over

feet that immediately

have so much and so

little to do with writing

but on the body of a woman

maybe my pawprints


would mean more



Peter, oh Peter 16.10.05


My Redemption was a

finger's breadth away

but it was easier to deny

You, to deny Me as the

case would have it be. And


so I crouched down and

wept as the cock crowed

its assassination of my faith.

Hoping I wept for you I realised I

did not. With that acceptance


faith burgeoned within me again.

Against all sin, against all love,

against any proclamation or the

spears ripping into the bread of

your body it was reborn and


I along with it. Momentarily I

was transfixed and knew You

loved me, that momentous joy

and its legacy hearken this voice

and all the lies that have bound it.


Shameful Allure 18.10.05


Crept up the dangers

of my soul you did

as though they were

lures to your hurt,


but you've seen them for

what they are – dislocated

sections of me that

weren't dangerous at all


rather they were the links

between peace and

soulfulness a calm

amidst the havoc that


is my mind. And all you

wanted was the peace

all you wanted was the joy

and an admission


that love would remain

without yours. My

inertia, the bellowing

breath of my time-fixed body


was not enough. There

was no chaos on my tongue

nor danger in my soul. You have

placed them there: in thrall


to my angers.


the sunlit edges 18.10.05 (night of 16.10.05)


of women drive

sanity from me in

one out-breath


your waking shivers

insulting the heat

to action


looking on

each edge is

an experience -


I savour the

sunlight's scent

streams of dust


moted sun alight

on your half-open

slept eyes




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