Subsequent to having studied a course in Policy Analysis in my Honours year of Economics and now having completed a development style course in Masters, something has become horribly apparent to me. This problem is that people pre-judge the discipline of Economics because of its idealism. Not only is this 'sin' committed by policy-makers external to Economics and by politicians attempting to derogate the discipline, but also members within the discipline itself.

What makes this doubly frustrating is that Economists have to sell their models and their methodologies to government in order to create some kind of actionable change in policy or in the economy itself. However, if Economists themselves cannot agree on what is necessary in order to have a decent Economic model, then this is more than problematic. When I talk about this dispute I am not referring to the mundane nature of the New Keynesian-New Classicist debate, but rather an approach to statistics and economics combined.

Now, every economist who reaches a high enough level of competence and study inevitably encounters the problems with assessing whether a program or intervention works or not. In order for us to know whether an economic or policy intervention works, we need to be able to answer a counterfactual question: How would those who were in the presence of said intervention have fared were they not treated or in the presence of the intervention? Or equally, how would those who were not in the treated group have fared were they treated? If we cannot answer these counterfactual questions then the whole point of applying policy in the first place is irrelevant. The reason for this is that policy is meant to enact positive change, change that will help the economy and that will provide for people in an optimal way. Moreover, it is meant to do so in the most cost effective way. If a policy is rolled out to the entire population, but it is ineffective then spending the money in the first place was inane and a poor choice when there are so many opportunity costs to poorly spent resources.

Now, the methodology of Randomised Evaluation¹ is easily understood by Econometricians and by Statisticians. However, policy makers in attempting to address specific population groups and constituents often ignore both statistics and econometrics in favour of attempting to look as though they have done something when in reality nothing has changed. This is all to reminiscent of the Peron style policies of giving people pots and pans to make them like you, but these pots and pans DO NOTHING to help these people in reality.

Where the problem lies for Economists is that people often don't like 'The Truth'. When I talk about 'The Truth' in this context, I refer to statistics or qualitative statements which provide us with some reflection of what occurs in reality, rather than some peoples rhetoric about 'poverty alleviation' or 'employing the unemployed'. These themselves are worthy goals, but claiming that a project or a policy will do one of these things is inaccurate when we have no way of measuring if a change occurred.²

This is where the problem arises, both within Economics and with those who attempt to deride it. Two main problems that people have with such statistical practices are as follows: 1) it's unfair, and 2) it (randomised evaluation) is ivory tower intellectualism that doesn't work in the real world. I will deal with both statements.

As far as the first is concerned, this is a drastic misrepresentation of what Randomised Evaluation is and does. A randomised evaluation attempts to find two very similar groups, intervene in one with some treatment (say an extra teacher in a classroom, food provision or some such) and compare this treated group against the similar group which remained untreated. This is often performed on a fairly small (depending on your interpretations) scale, for example looking at 20 schools: 10 of which get the intervention and 10 of which do not.

Now, if we need to roll out a program to enhance school quality, BUT we are unsure of how to do this just reading what other people have done and claiming that 'This is what is good for 'our country' does not actually tell us if it is. In order for it 'to be good for our country' it should fulfill some criteria – test scores should improve, attendance should increase, numeracy and literacy levels should improve. However, the only way we can know if they have improved at all is if there is some basis for comparison. If we expend money without knowing whether a program will do anything, then how is that at all fair? As far as a utilitarian argument progresses, welfare has not been improved by any measurable outcome, but large amounts of money have been spent, resulting in an overall decrease in welfare (same people, less money).

If a small pilot project is run with some people getting the intervention and some not, then we can know whether it works. However, people then claim that on the ground if we have two households one receiving a treatment and one not, then the one not receiving the treatment believes that it is being prejudiced against. Notwithstanding the myopia of individual consumers who could voice frustration at not receiving some patronage, the individual unfairness is overridden by social benefit. Hence, again using a utilitarian argument, the overall utility is improved because of us knowing what programs to run and what the impacts are regardless of a small number of peoples' discontent. Contemporary society is riddled with personal injustices which are for the overall benefit, to take a few examples: progressive tax rates are individually unfair on the rich – they give away money for which they have some claim because of work, but this is taken away from them in the name of a greater good, equally so with government intervention in a number of other spheres: government providing free water to the poor (or providing a market for water to the rich), government re-modeling education structures so that they are more equitable and less competitive. Individually, this irks people and people find it individually unfair. However, they are intended to provide for a greater good. People then re-frame the questions as a one of poor vs. poor. 'How can you tell one poor person that you are going to employ their equally poor neighbour, but not them?' Government does this all the time anyway when it initiates public works programs, or when there are programs by international bodies as part of disaster relief or some such. This means that there must be some other motivation – the 'fairness' argument does not stand up to scrutiny. In fact I believe that it comes down to the second point which is the attack on 'ivory tower intellectualism'.

The problem with this second point is that it is predominantly a normative or perspective-based debate. Almost inevitably it remains as a post-modern attack on Statistics and Economics which I foreshadowed earlier with my comments on 'Truth'. People (myself included), often like to believe that they are individuals, that they cannot be described by observable characteristics and that they (because they are special) do not fall into any stereotypical roles or cultural boxes. The problem with this is that it ignores a host of economic, psychological, sociological and anthropological evidence to the contrary. As much as we would like to believe that our free will can and should override any genetic or social imperatives, it often does not. People DO fit into general and describable categories. This is where statistics and econometrics are useful because they DO REFLECT REALITY. Granted this reality is not in an individual or unique sense, but as far as most people are concerned providing them a situation in which they can begin to have food, family and something more than just subsistence living is good.

This then begs the question of where this attack is directed? This is a far more controversial question. My belief is that it is pointed at the perceived elitism of the intellectuals, i.e. people who are intelligent are obviously out to get everyone who isn't. This can possibly also be seen as a misinterpretation of Marx, who wanted equal provision for people but without preferential treatment based on capability. So the problem here is that people perceive that intelligent people are rich people and that rich people abuse poor people. Therefore Academics (in their ivory tower institutions and intellectualism) are out to get the poor. This is a drastic misrepresentation of many academics' intentions. In fact the causation underlying this, possibly generally held, misperception is horribly flawed. It is actually the reverse – the appreciation of an intent to find truth from rhetoric is the intent of the academic. Hence the academic is trying to distill reality to find the constituent truthful parts. This can only be done in a situation where it is not being undermined by rhetoric or by the polemics of politicians whose own interests may be undermined by the 'truth' that is found through a rigorous statistical analysis.

In conclusion, it has been argued (possibly overly vociferously) that the attack on statistically rigorous processes such as Randomised Evaluations is actually based on a normative position, which is inevitably based on the self-interest of the politicians (and maybe other economists whose findings may be undermined) as a result of it. Sadly, it seems as though economists who are striving to find 'truth' are in the minority, or if this quest is their initial intention they become bogged down by political rhetoric and doublespeak which undermines that which they try to achieve. This leads me to my last appeal, that of a belief or at least an acceptance of the hopeful ideal situation of good econometric and statistical analysis in an ideal world, if economists begin to continuously excuse the rhetoric which undermines their work, then their work will suffer. In order for good econometric work to continue to be done in the future we cannot bow down to the intentions of too many self-interested individuals who target a polemic of elitism at those who are, in reality, trying to find new and innovative ways of solving problems of unemployment, poverty and welfare. It should be noted that this is not an attack on government as a body, but rather at individuals who may believe that government and academia are incompatible because of cursorily observed superficial differences, this is not the case. The intentions of government and a host of academics are those presented above – without by in and collaboration from both the possibility of brilliant solutions fades.

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

It's almost been two months since I updated this. I had a few complaints about the delay. Sorry guys, I've been lecturing and concentrating on other things. Nonetheless, here they all are some of them in their glory and others in their mundanity, but still all about the joy I derive from writing.

73. 28.07.05

I don’t speak ‘You’.
I have not been trained from
an early enough age,
the intonations of it
are strange, more than foreign,
beyond the grasp of most
interesting patois.

It is an alien cuneiform
that makes ‘You’ up
unreadable and (equally)
unwriteable for this
novice.

I lament my inability to
Learn, but notice that
this lack is what draws you
to me
in my primeval incomprehension
lies that which has been
dormant in you

learning ‘Me’ is what you’d
rather do.


79. 28.07.05

echoing voices
a patina of browns and whites
overheard colours
escaping from our speech

a fallen autumn oak leaf on
bright snow


83. 30.07.05

It is a tragic paradox
that claims the academic
we are, by nature, sceptical –
the doubting,

the process and upholding
of the existence of
truth, yet seeking
and advocating some

profound science. The claim
of its non-Art astounds
and the absurdity of it
doubly resounds within my head

that again is our nature.
And how sad that in
the Pursuit of truth we can
never acknowledge its existence.


opaque clarity 30.07.05

labyrinthine – twisting turning
no centre blaring
these emotions, these calculated
non-reactions to

that which you shot
into me, a flare of
information its bursting
impact clean

but a gory legacy.
This body stands
hands clutched tight
around a holed abdomen

shrouded with pale
lights and far too raucous
noises, these are the echoes,
these are the sounds

of my pain, and the heritage
of my distrust


scraped 30.07.05

push me into the wrinkles of
my own skin
further than I’ve went
yet still closer than I would
have expected

fist tight clenching
frust(fast)tration
at this

this is not
wood of my grain
direction crashing
straight-skew

fuckit scream KGAA
(feel the phlegm mounted
in your palate)
angular yet
unlessly rounded


Ménage a moi 30.07.05

ça sera chaque moi(s)
chaque type de nous
mais si on pense a nos
petit Victoires de Pyrrhos
ils ne serons jamais avec
des pensées ‘belle’
ou ‘jolie’

moi, je pense a l’odeur du
sang, mon sang :
le notre
et il tombe
continuellement
sur ça

le cœur de notre
sans la beauté
c’est navrante

des mots en sang
dans un lis
du neige

sous laquelle
du brun


A Lifetime 03.08.05

Were I to die
I would prefer it be
bloody.

Possibly a stabbing, or
something equally
penetrative

I want my guts wrenched
out, pulled to the floor
visible

The experience necessarily
sensual, a culmination in
violence

A silent or painless death
would not become my
complexity

Pain, and its sudden end,
would be far more
memorable


The Man of the House 03.08.05

“My dear Sir, please Correct me if I’m wrong
But I can no longer view your Courage
As the symbol of something strong”

And there the death of the Gentleman goes
In a delighted critique
By its bellicose foes

“And maybe I should enlighten you too,
Why Loyalty should die similarly,
While I cry out Honour’s poor doom.”

And thus High Nobility falls apart
So laughed and jeered at
By those without heart

“This Code that they live by, strange vanity:
A self-righteous plague by Disciplined boys -
These men of so-called Quality.”

Long may they rue it, their call down on us
The few who remain
Those who you can trust.


Such prayers 03.08.05

A votive for ugliness:
that which would have
me love it, but which
I could so easily deny

I wish momentarily you were ugly
that seeing you wrapped around
me, while I bury myself in you
could disgust me

Your hair trailing its
path over my skin
and the pebbled
softness of you cheeks

They make disgust
the furthest thing
from my limited mind
falling to me to

lament limitations
corrupted by
your beauty to
revel in my agency’s

execution, it
is only here where
I am no longer I
here where pale-hairy

me meets this soil of you –
planting myself
in you would be
the glory of all past and

present seeds,
but its denial,
its denial
makes us all the more

one and another,
of this latent strength
and the palpable
irrelevance of power

latched and fallen,
grossly tumbling keys
slotted yet traced out
beyond this blend of us


clean 03.08.05

friction – the heat of
my fingertips, their pull on
your skin, oil-rapture
high scent of you

odour of sharp
deserts my feet slipping
into the sands of the dunes
this your body



89. 03.08.05

the languor of you
lying atop me

the perch and outspread
wings of a possessive
falcon


Libertine 04.08.05

I would you were not
constrained
by history
the hysteresis of each
scarring act

I see him above you
a fury and you lost
freedom in those moments
slowly and by degrees
yet inevitable

Now, this is your way
of regaining that lost
and I rail against the
reality of it, against its
injustice

I had seen us dancing
barefoot and tightly-pressed
sunlight and cobble stones
but you require manifest
freedom


97. 04.08.05

freedom as skin
is too constraining
too full of passed
images – past

these lines of ice on
my skin, deep crevasses
of meaning, white moles
buried throughout me

closeted (up) not (free)
yet wanted, desirous of
everything out there, now out
all I wanted was in

skin once boundaried me
plugged me tightly into
this time held on, held
regularly stopping beating

freedom me alone without
you, you, You, but love
god love in all and falling
but falling is lawbound

“I cannot deal with the dishonesty
Of it, but will myself to be constrained
And finally, admittedly, free”.


101. 07.08.05

Conscious of a hearkening
of a process that is
becoming

archaic, words unused
relevant in
translation

from this idea in
me to gift you with
understanding

vowels creeping around
the tails of harder sounds
written

words are unsound
their presence some
ostentatious

attempt at immortality,
Me, I would rather be
mutable


103. 07.08.05

It is my hope
that we are not Victims
of Circumstance
that our coming together
is not predetermined

Chance is elaborate
and that we could
give in to its insistence
means much more
than Pre-destinations


107. 18.08.05

caught in the midst
of some words
hemmed in on
all sides by logic
and grammar and
concord and every
single agreement

these walls of words
of construction permeate
and in their permeation
imprison

i would i were
rather lost than
caught between
by language
and none


109. 27.08.05

Do we have to have
a reason? When has
reasonableness ever
entered into such games?

It is not that my movements
are untrue, or that they could be
dishonest, it is simply that
they are insufficient.

Perfection is useless unless it
achieves something, but your
wants do not coincide with mine.
My perfection shines still

ebullient in these grey environs
voices echo off of it unchallenged,
unscrupulous in their attempts to
undermine it's glory.

They will not have their way.


113. 27.08.05

you are blurred
so close to me

you are water-laden clouds
choking out rain
hurting my eyes
with your agitation

the lack of distance between
us disorients me

the sky and earth are no
longer polar, they blend and
I am lost in their forlorn
attempts to join

lips tightly brush my forehead
and eyelids, firm adieux

since God is not here and
neither do I wish to bother Him
with my tithes, I wonder whether
it is time for polarity once more


this fire we lit 27.08.05

cinders floating on
thermals - the hawks
of my thoughts my
disposition

but burnt ashes are
flightless
there joyous airplay:
simulacra

dreadful in their
sincere attempts to
portray that which
they are not


Kali's frustration 28.08.05

i have impaled myself
upon your death
my several arms
flailing for control

these, my fangs, more
dangerous to me than
you, and, as always, I
am dark and it is

the blood on my skin
imperceptible, but the
sacrifices to me, the flowing
of them compensate

I do not cry, my evil self,
my female essence denies
its will to cry, it and I will not
that would betray the faith

yours and mine


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.


Integrals 29.08.05
“Girl, you'll be a woman soon”

To what end do I
remain constant,
do I maintain some
semblance of consistency?

These 'virtues' seem damned
by a pledge against
their requirement, by some
dislocation from their need.

Although arrogant, I do
not claim to understand
nor be aware of all that
plagues you. But I am

disturbed. By your
fickle nature, by your
mercurial insistence
the euphemism of

what you become, the
clouds and water of
too long a winter. I
am the furrows that remain.


Interchange 30.08.05

I am these winter gutters
of Cape Town
at once overflowing
at once overlaid with
the throwaways:

pallid brown leaves
clog my flow, the discarded
skins of oranges a sharp
orange against my
moribund greys.

The waters flowing
over me are as impure
as any thought I
may've once conceived
making me at once

immediately imperfect
at once bared beautiful.
My flooding is the temptation,
the clarity held by the discarded's
shared allegiance.

127. 16.08.05

I am resistant
the tautness
of my skin

pushing out
urging the tension
within me

to explode
but its containment
is paramount

shored up between
Me and I, the external
and internal

intensity of
this gamble

131. 16.08.05

kestrel
sharp-winged
flght

(hands) together
clap clashing
sharp-height

that glimpsed air-speck
was once me
against a backdrop
of fertile clouds

the sun struggles to
get through, but its
cutting glory
makes (right) sense

presence, this
feathered me
flying around and unsure
of where I should (if
I could) land

ultimata 27.08.05

Would I were a man
of ultimatums.

Is it at all possible that they
would change the present
if any future?

What action would it
require from me? A final
romantic action?

Evidence would suggest
I should rather damage these
women, maybe that would
result in their devotion.

It seems to have done so
for others.


we worked 21.08.05

with large loud drillbits have I eaten into these walls
i still feel the vibrations in my fingers, in the
muscles of the palms of my hands

we tried to tie handkerchiefs over our mouths
the dust had been getting into them
into our clothes and noses

my awkward attempts to hold them
while i breathed, while the bricks fell about
me in that vicious rhythm

i was not listening well, my hearing was
damaged by those days of demolition
i feel the tinnitus return on a whim

challenging me to break down the walls that
are here once more, it was odd to be so much
stronger than you, but its predictability

was the more damaging, that i worked for
longer, that you were sad when I would work no
longer, tired as I was of the dust and cement

137. 17.08.05

this is where i
start,

(vision)

regretted on a
dark table

maybe this
is it, the place
where i begin

(image)

sunlight falling
your breathing
placing me
white sheets and us

(gestures)

fingers interlocked
(chain(ge)ing us)

hands mussing my hair
(dis-connect re-connect)

(perhaps not)

i cannot find a
beginning i am
a mess of moments

N'Orlans 05.09.05

There was once a mountain
and above it circled the
whitest dove in
existence

It had rained so long,
had stormed so mercilessly
that we had come to
question

But retain faith we did.
It is strange how I wish
that now there were a mountain,
that it had rained for 40 nights

that would make it all the
better. Instead it took one night
to destroy all I had... built?
But I am not allowed to

question the intent of God. Instead
I parade myself on the flat roof
of this flooded building searching
for a whitest dove and an

olive branch to grant me
salvation. If only it were that
easy. I await the vrrt-vrrt of an
easier rescue.

Namaqualand Flowers 05.09.05
“We do not love white women... We kill them.”[1]

This is a rite by which I assert
my authority. I am the king,
the ruler, by this blood ritual
you will come to accept me.

Bearing a number grants me
power, access to all you would
have denied me. Outside the
world exists, in here it is ruled.

But kingship has its costs, although
I am no Hamlet I yet see blood
soaking my prison-issue clothing
even though I was not wearing these

then. My butter knife seems sharper
somehow larger, and about me is
scattered the gore of my leadership.
It is not difficult. That which I had

once denied has come and closed
its wretched claws around my heart.
They have had their vengeance, they
have called me out, called my number.

[1]Doggy Dog, member of the Flower Gang, as recounted in the testimony of Laston Chavulla.

So I realised that I hadn't put poetry up in a while, actually about a month. So here's some of my more recent scrivings.

Something honest 14.06.05

“Tell me something true.”
“Lying is the most fun a girl can have with her clothes on.”
Larry and ‘Alice’ in Closer

I have my clothes on,
yet my animus spreads out
in the screaming tendrils
of all that can possibly be
honest

but do not claim, in your
piety
that honest is beautiful

we aren’t

neither is truth

many things aren’t truthful

rain clambering down the sides of
trees, or settling into
the leaves and petals of roses

so many wet faces and eyelids
of milling people in the street

blinking
you confuse my tears
with rain

neither of which are honest
both of which are beautiful


13. 14.06.05

Intractable
each and every facet
of the variegated shadows

oakleaves
on my tight-hair pulled
facial skin

Your hands pulling
backwards on my face,
depressed fingerprints

in new soil, dappled in
the ground, speckled
replicas of birth

17. 14.06.05

in this time of mazes
where me sits
on a blank carved
fountain right-in-the-middle

(at least its seeming is
the middle of some(thing))

of what should be a maze
grace me with touches
of your eyelashes i equally
lost as me without

the idea of mid(mid)dle
to comfort marble unsolid

middling is my understanding
of always turning left, when
there is no left when I am lost
in your opaque irises

they mist preventing my senses
exploring outside (you)



19. 17.06.05

skin flakes off
there is no more
left of me than the
stars that

make up my atoms
in this instant
cremation
carbon (I was) based

there is no reason
for this impassioned
non-existence
the release of

energy was the cultic
reason, there are flecks
of me remaining
I expect


23. 17.06.05

Palindromes, perfect
reflection symmetry
of inhumanity

my face cannot echo
that idealisation
it is overwrought

habits of frowns
and one-sided smiles
there - one place

in which I feel I reflect
I complete some
space, I echo that

which is in you
let me send it back
this palindromic

relationship is complete
momentarily centred
polar


29. 17.06.05

Automaton
such god-pious
hands wrought me
prime-perfect
impervious
(to what I remain
Unsure)

These hands clay
they may seem
glazed and burnt
in places, patched
pathetic. A grip
tentative and shirking
its dutiful perfection

that which binds me,
makes me real
and not of the me-
commanded-dreamscape
nor of your fantasies
but of this acid reality
calmly caustic

in each and every intent
manufactured by
thousands of hands -
my construction
yet I remain
perceived-perfect
godly?


There is no excuse 20.06.05

for your beauty, it
simply is
it doesn’t have
a Reason, nor Meaning
nor Motivation
it is
simply fact

(not cold though,
nor ever hard)

it is inexcusable
in the way that rain
is, making me wet
when I am where
it is


31. 20.06.05

I do not understand Christians
who try to offer proof
of God’s existence

proof that God existed
would contravene the need
for Faith, He would be fact

a fact (by its nature) does
not require Faith

it is necessary to consider
though that Faith and Logic

are both beautiful and
honest simply choosing one
gives us an idea of God

what could be better
than an idea, or a concept
that makes God real


37. 23.06.05

I would not, had I
known, slumbered well;
there was a paucity
of shape in it
such a lacking of breath
and out-fled mouth-mists

It was dry, the
flowers forlorn,
lay rotten forgotten
much as you
did:


41. 24.06.05

Grey dustontrolleywheels
floors
mirror nothing as

[wishing for an extra moment
when my back is not
turned in case I miss
a final glance this way]

good

godforsaken glass windows
allowing me to see your attempts
to stride away

you [but succeed only
in] trying


43. 25.06.05

poverty my friend
i [small as i am]
clutch all You
to tightly ;i; me
only through this [in[it[macy]
can sadzanenyama,
sampnbeans or porridge
clear these thoughts
contagious
yet incommunicable
and under this line or that
i am still poor and small
and not even unique


47. 25.06.05

the foot of an
ant slowly crawling
over you in your sleep

knowing you for such
slow moments

height lacks meaning

it is purely the textures
and the beat of you
leading me in a direction
when there isn’t one

everywhere is the direction


53. 25.06.05

clambering off of this bed
notes falling off of
a page of music
most of them staccato and
part of a minor


imagism 25.06.05

i observe this
possibly you
or this

“SPACE”

in
which you are

it has
[tail swallowing snake]
Moment

captured picture imperfect
less than a1000words
telling

but petals
scattered by metro
trains clean

meaning


59. 29.06.05

sinister
these clutchingly acute
complaints deriding
existence (not Platonic or godly)
but scientific truth –
H(ysteresis) I(n) V(acuity)

in denial power is claimed
for them, for this
debilitation

society (they say) is at fault
as is poverty
but do not claim that
it might be
biologic verity

as it strengthens
as sex is given potency
and blood, its inevitable
fear casting its amorous
shades over all who would
hear, spills over

I digest them: the fears

but cough up the phlegm
and mucus of its arrogance
A(ltered) I(nstincts) D(estabilise) S(ociety)

too soon am I hooded
and prepared for execution
condom-thick was my
mistake, but theirs is the black
cowl of a death sentence
in a free country


61. 29.06.05

“No, I am not gay, neither have I ‘used’, why do you ask?”

shattered these pieces of time
sloggingly I try to collect them
reassembling them to try to re-identify
this moment, to assess why it broke

there It is, contained in the blood
of it - the humours of me, blackened,
but its opaqueness carries clarity
and there the moment of impact

still you would like me to be a minority
some unpeopled other to whom you
cannot relate. I am all to close, that
is why you deny and would repress me.


67. 13.07.05

so He stands there in a black-white
suit declaring ‘freedom and fairness’

these political silences and
declarations of agreement do
nothing to assuage my cravings –

my burnt down house is not free
nor are electrodes on my mboro fair.

my cravings for extroversion live
unfulfilled lives

there are no manically dancing
denouncers, nor sufficient parades
in the street

I have memories of murdered fathers
of acid-burns – her black breasts pink-pale
unable to suckle her child.

why is there toyi-toyi against him in the street,
but never in the parliament?
why are we in the only to denounce, and they agree
in their tacitly colluding silences?

He is no madala, no umfwethu!

No wise man, no avuncular grandfather
and yes I care and yes I crave intervention
and yes I will scream till action is taken

but I have little faith that a one of them will
care, Rwandan-scorned I look upon
the Ruins of Zimbabwe and lament.

an epitaph: here lies the neglected civilization
of a man fallen, another Lucifer in the fall
that has been Africa before the dawn
that would never come


reclamation 16.07.05

insistent is this
fractious reality
impinging on each and every
edge of me

your breasts flush against
skin, the heat of you this
insistence disturbs
my professed borders

the horizon of your aureoles
are beyond the sights and sounds
of this hybrid hereness
you and what is left of me

these coarse hairs are barely
protection for me, yet our
mutual invasion proceeds
unresisted the requital estranged


hallowed hermeneutics 17.07.05

some would claim my
actions execrable
a carving out of
words from the page

to interpret the meaning
of the women I’ve known
to place them sacredly on
these pages

they see it as
immortalisation
that act saved for gods
and the devout

they do not realise my
devotion is that which makes
them real – holy, this
sacred truth

of the female form
and I merely the vessel
carving the darknesses
out of the page

that which makes them a word
that making them true

Just thought I should fill you all in on some of the books I’ve read recently:

A Short History of Nearly Everything - Bill Bryson
A Really good introduction to the history of science. I especially enjoyed his anecdotes about how people we idealise because of their role in science are so damn whacky. Really liked the story of how the Yellowstone Park Volcano was found. It is comically written in parts and includes many interesting commentaries of how he met some of those scientists who are still alive (i.e. not Newton et al). Good book, 8/10.

Freakonomics - Steve Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner
Written by a recent winner of the John Bates Medal (an Economics award for the best Economist under 40) and a journalist for the New York Times this delves into interesting new approaches that Levitt has for economics, hence the title. This is a really good layman’s introduction to what economics is all about – a return to trying to understand what incentives really are and how people respond to things which manipulate incentives and hence behaviour. He makes important reference to problems of modern economics, law and social norms. Was the drastic reduction in the US crime rate as a result of the legalisation of abortion in the 70s? Does education legislation incentivise cheating by teachers? How feasible is it to ask people to voluntarily pay for things? The only thing that this book suffers from is an occasional aggrandisement of Levitt by
This book deserves its rating purely because of the ideas that Levitt has and the new ways that he deals with old issues. 9/10.

Mukiwa - Peter Godwin
This is a memoir of a Zimbabwean white man who fought in the Rhodesian war. It recalls what it was like being white and growing up on a farm in eastern Zim. It shows how being political but trying to survive are very difficult things to reconcile. Although Godwin became more and more political as time passed and he basically lived in exile, and he portrayed how awful the ZANU government was in its dealings with the purges in Matabeleland, Godwin did not portray accurately enough how violent the Smith government was. Note that this is simply in my opinion. This side has been portrayed by others. The book is good because it portrays the paradox of being white in Africa. Believing you are African, but others believing you are not. Does race place us on the side of an irreconcileable barrier? I don’t know, but it is a good read, a suitable memoir, and a good introduction to the beauty and ugliness of Zim. 7/10.

Surely You’re Joking Mr. Feynman - Richard Feynman.
This is another non-fiction book. It’s an autobiographical work (one in a series) written by Richard Feynman, the Nobel Physicist. Although, he hated being classified as a Nobel Winner, his genius is conveyed on every page on the book, from his frenetic discussions of repairing radios to his portrayals of cultivating hallucinations. He goes into everything from his experiences of Japanese language and culture to his ability as a ‘code cracker’. You cannot help but be astounded by the brilliance and the comedy of the man. I cannot help but recommend this book. 9/10.



Chainfire - Terry Goodkind
This is the 8th (I think) book in the acclaimed Sword of Truth series. The thing about Terry Goodkind is that he comes up with incredibly good ideas in a fantasy environment, innovative concepts for dealing with magic and how people and magic interact. His dealings with the phenomenon of prophecy are also interesting and fun. The idea that forms the backbone of this book is that somehow someone has unleashed a massively effective spell that has forced everyone to forget his wife the Mother Confessor, Kahlan Amnell. The problem is that Richard is the only person to remember her. Everyone thinks Richard is mad, he believes he isn’t, etc. The book reveals how this forgetting has come about. The problem with Goodkind is his verbosity. Although the ideas are really fun and interesting, wading through verbose and almost arresting dialogue and sentimental dealings with self-doubt can become problematic at best and a reason to put the book down at worst. The book also ends with a serious ‘to be continued’. It’s a good book for the ideas, but Goodkind really needs to learn how to write more eloquently and to learn when to edit and abbreviate what he is writing. 5/10.

Things Fall Apart - Chinua Achebe
This, his first book, displays the ways in which a new writer is trying to come to reconcile his own background and the life and context in which he now lives. This was obviously a landmark book as far as African literature is concerned, delving into Nigerian tribal custom and the unique perspectives of a man within in that context trying to struggle against the advances of the culture of White Europe on his own. Okonkwo, the protagonist, is an ambitious, troubled character trying to overcome the shadows of his father’s laziness and lack of ambition. It is forcefully written, and I can see why he was lauded for what he has done. The problem for me arises in the intricacies of writing and literature, I don’t find this book at all intricate, but it definitely serves a purpose and was one of the better written works portraying the clash of African and European culture. 7/10.

The following are several recent poems. You’ll notice that when I decided not to title some of them then they are numbered. There is an ordering – they have been given prime numbers. Some will be missing, but hey, you don’t get to read all of them.

Seasonal love 07.06.05

Wet-trampled leaves, my
lovestumbling cushions

Impregnated by raindrops
I am weighty

falling onto once-hard
soft leaves



2. 08.06.05

caught in
this malaise:
loneliness

it is a crack
in which there is
nothing but darkness
the inescapability
of deep rents in the earth

lightly, if only a star would
appear, some
motivation to heal


3. 08.06.05

pilgrimages have become
broekn simbils
no longer building
nor restoring Faith

yet i attempt this
down pot-holed urban
roads to trace some path
back to restore me

little Faith do I have in my
ability to walk
crawling or pulling myself
along on bruised hands would

be more honest if
nothing else this broken
pilgrimage should attempt
some form of honesty



7. 09.06.05

Kneeling, I have cast
my dappled sorrow
at your feet

ignored, dew clings to it
and moss inveigles its
way in: enlivening

the contrasts even more.
I wait for one of
your footprints to

mark it and, so doing,
take possession of
its dank pain.


11. 11.06.05

I have seen
a mother
trying not to cry:
my words, I deem,
insufficient
to capture
the moment of that
pain
yet…

her fingers clasping a
breaking cigarette
filtering the air

charred proteas lying in
the damp ash of
winter fires

My Ex-flatmate, Kate (she's gone to Aus)
New Photo from Si

Clear winter 06.06.05

The sky was
raucous clear today
sounds carried
too far

had I heard
your voice, I
may have thought
it pertinent

to scream
both the sky, and you,
would have heard
its insistence

Memorised passages 30.05.05

the morning has every memory
etched into the soil, bark and brick
of each and every begun day

the night cannot help but recall
the howling winds, laughters and
joyous screams that she held

the day is the place in which
I feel memory is often lost
it mourns its quotidian nature. I

have left flowered wreaths at the
noon of each day to display my affections
for those escaped facts, lost and dead

among the multitude of days,
memorised passages of people
continuously forgotten.



A gap in nature 30.05.05

Crescent-shaped is
my remorse
at not having demanded
more of you,
it can only reach so high
before coming
down once more
it is these depths with which I am more
familiar


Moment-ous, 24.05.05

the realisation
I gave power
to you, to
the memory of you

there you hobble
around ranting
I stare at
these recollections

constructed ideas
of who and what you harmed
I wear that shadow
it hinged onto my

feet when you died
I feel its weight
trying to pull me into it
questioning my resistance.


Elle m’a dit “jamais” 17.05.05

To contemplate neverness
I sit here and attempt
its intricacies

but this dramatic winter
with its bellicose rain
and clouds that quarrel

above me, inspires something
beyond contemplation
for which I am unsure of

my capability


Calibration 14.05.05

I cannot
begin to fathom
the ways in which
you think

such depths are
too womanly,
I am unequipped
yet remain willing

this possible sufficiency
is several times daunting
chance may lead me
to turn and face it