things i haven't taken photographs of

• a man with a beautiful black birthmark masking his left eye
• a woman's bowed legs poking out of her beautiful schwe-schwe skirt
• a man dark as the night speaking animatedly to a blue doorway
• jacarandas in bloom
• jupiter, venus and the moon

description

in the back of a truck with a coffee, i explain that there is "the girl" and "the friend who's a dancer" and "you and me" and "the american" and...

a trio of mucky children play football with an empty coke can. they want to look at the girl's beads. they want to touch a white man's hairy legs, the want to climb all over and tell all about school, football, soweto. they want to be the stars of the show, the want 50c-a-piece. they want to show off their shoes and their dancing skills. far far away, an alto-stratus translucidus shapes up to veil the moon with a dark drape. a party goes underway, sloppily, while the market winds down outside. baristas make coffees and grappas. the girl dances on her own. black boys and girls stare shamelessly and smile. black girl in white skin, they say, and what can you say about that.

dancing in the rain

dancing in the rain
Originally uploaded by ladelentes.

love is in the air plays for the second time in a row and there is no way you can contradict this. girls and girls dance under the rain. a woman takes the pin out of a woman's hair and lets it fall loose, keeping her gaze. a sigh passes silently across the still air between them. a distant peal of laughter breaks the spell. the party goes on. unawares.

the rain

some things last a long time and some not. either way things happen. and it is good that they do. and sometimes it's bad, but then it is good too that it is bad that things happen sometimes. the rain came and went without a whisper. followed by lighting and light. over in a flash. flash flood. flasher. floods of tears. torn between you and me. you in between the lights. lights flashing overhead. alien landscapes. dominoes. games of scrabble. mysteries to solve. rain.

badness

dry, questions, will-power, boys, sunshine, cash machines, dead ends, washing lines, thunderbolts, period pains, telecalls.

post-apocalyptic

the sun glares on empty streets clouds gone the sea has shrunk birds scream in flight scared of heights people don't belong. in. this. landscape. in. this. landscape. songs ricochet across empty park lots full of wooden heads no one knows why. the city breathes heavily. hot. dry. dazzling.

variety

a night in johannesburg may consist of: four real time car-crashes in the corner of a house, an intricate, illustrated conversation about a toilet that doesn't fit with the imagined version of it, a tender recollection of a child's wonky teeth, a story about tungsten wire harnessed dancing paper dolls, a quick song and a dance, a quart of whisky, a puff of smoke. some coffee.

everything is going to be ok

everything is going to be ok
Originally uploaded by ladelentes.

seeking wisdom from my spam mail has produced no pearls no more, but now i can find comfort in south african urban graffiti

going there, just there

a small adventure, a mini-taxi, a walk to the mall, a taxi rank outside a mall, a moment's hesitation. she wants to go there. wants to walk alone along the dark street. wants to defy rules. transcend conventions. put herself outside the norm. stay in character. but. but. there are certain things, she knows, that are not needed as life experiences. not wanted. not to be called upon oneself.

first impressions

aries woman, the book said...

the southern cross is reassuringly still to be found just four lengths of an imaginary line away from the true south.

after the second play of the week, the girl walks along a dark road, heels clicking on the pavement, skirt floating in the calm breeze. a story is told about another heel, in another pavement. this will be our little secret, she says, joining in the joy of walking around forbidden times and places.

cockroaches scuttle away on the kitchen work-top, antennas betraying their owners relaxing behind the useless trap. a taxi is called, a bottle of wine fetched, locks locked and double-locked.

shooting starts are not the same as falling ones, he says. what is the difference? which kind am i? when will i find out?