Ninja…

Posted: Mei 15, 2015 by Francois in Life
Well fak....

Well fak….

I was invited by VSO International-one of my partner organisation working globally with populations at risk – on WAD (World Aids Day 2012) to write this article.

I’ll place the link to the original article at the bottom…

By doing evaluations of two VSO supported projects working with LGBTI students and prisoner populations in South Africa, I have realised that there are individuals within the society who honestly believe that human rights is open to selective practice. That we may – without guilt – decide whose rights we defend and whose we do not.

The constitution in South Africa is the envy of the world, enshrined therein is the rights of all people regardless of sexual orientation, ethnicity or faith. Yet the paper is not always reflected by practice.

Students we spoke to who are brave enough to be open about their sexuality also open themselves up to harassment and ridicule and report violation against their person or violation of their basic human rights. This puts them even more at risk of physical exposure to HIV and other STIs and deters them – out of fear of repercussion – from asking for sexual health  advice  because of the external risks i.e. society’s prejudice and ignorance effectively preventing their very existence from being acknowledged.

Prisoners lose more than their liberty. Prison health is public health, and yet somehow they don’t receive antiretrovirals (ARVs) [the drugs used to supress the HIV virus] appropriately nor is post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP) available to them readily whilst incarcerated. [PEP is an ARV that if administered soon after potential exposure to HIV can dramatically reduce the likelihood of infection.]   By denying prisoners the right to access ARVs, they, their families and sexual partners are put at risk upon re-integration back into society.

Until organisations start working together and find a holistic approach to tackle issues of gender, sexual orientation, human rights and right to health care violations, there will be an imbalance in the outcome achieved of any project.

On World AIDS Day 2012, let’s not forget why we are doing this work since people’s lives depend on our ability to put politics and personal feelings aside and work for the greater good of all those we fight for.

TO READ THE ORIGINAL ARTICLE CLICK HERE

’n Man karring mos nie in die kas as dit nie nodig is nie. Daar is goeie rede daarvoor en as jy enige iets soos ek is beteken die “DO NOT OPEN” plakker op die boks net een ding.

Maak oop en dink eers as jy bloei oor hoekom jy nou eintlik hier kom krap het…

Dit is nou as jy soos ek is, want ek kan mos nie los nie.

Nee, ek wil gaan krap, soek, huil en verstaan. Laasgenoemde is nie altyd ’n ‘given’ nie. En meer as eenkeer het ek al lelik my gat gesien as ek soos Buffy demone probeer jaag, en soms jag.

En net vir die rekord, Buffy like baie beter as ek in Leather-tights..

Nietemin, dom soos ek is, leer ek nie. Ek het ’n blindekol op die vlak en keer op keer donner ek in dieselfde stof gange af. Ek ken elke geraamte, elke suur-asem terugflits en steeds draai ek nie om nie. Ek wil weet, verstaan en miskien ook nooit vergeet nie…

As ek sou vergeet was alles vir niks.

Is dit die lafaard wat nie kan vergeet nie? Wat nodig het om homself te ry en met die karwats te tug oor spookbeelde en trosmonsters wat net nie wil gaan lê nie?

Wat ’n harde tyd het om homself te laat berus by wat was, was gewees…

Of dalk, net dalk is hy die ewige dromer, soeker en stem uit die donker.

images (3)Dis nou vir ’n paar dae wat dit my opval dat daar ’n paar verdwaalde afrikaner wit siele is wat daarvan oortuig is dat die “swart massas ons gaan moor” .

En as dit nou nie fucked up genoeg is nie,  probeer hulle ander met die kak stories en vertraagde retoriek  beïnvloed.

Hulle probeer teer op vrees, maar wat dit so ongelooflik fokken simpel maak is dat hulle self die “vrees” probeer skep.

Wat is fout met die mense?

***Ps: Ek sou bitter graag veel eerder na hulle wou verwys as ‘dose’ , maar ek probeer minder vloek…

cropped-bill-oberst-jr-apple-blood-ditch.jpg

Ek het deesdae nie die vaagste benul van waarheen ek op pad is nie. Dis asof ek outomaties my  een voet voor die ander neersit. Sonder om vir een oomblik daaroor na te dink en om eerlik te wees, sonder om om te gee.

Nou vra ek die laaste paar dae vir myself….

 Wat is dit wat my nou eintlik pla omtrent die huidige situasie?

Is dit die eentonige, rigtinglose swerwery van iemand wat nie huisloos is nie, maar dors is vir ’n uitdaging en dan seker ook  vir die honger  om  die rekognisie wat saam met enige oomblik van sukses kom te geniet.

Of is dit my vrees vir die dood, die proses van doodgaan en die afskeid wat voorlê wat my siel so versmoor?  Is dit regtig moontlik om absoluut fokôl te kan voel?

Ek het voor die tyd van my lewe nie so gedink nie, maar ervaring neig mos om ons in die bek te bliksem van tyd tot tyd.

Net om jou te wys wie is baas.

En soos  vrouens wat vir jare deur hulle mans mak gebliksem is, staan ons daar en vat dit soos ’n bitch.

Dit is inderdaad moontlik om fokôl te voel en dit is een van die grouse en koudste plekke waarin jy jouself ooit sal kan bevind.

Elke dag is een groot produksie en dit laat Andrew LLoyd Weber se shows op Broadway soos ‘n Vrystaatse budget sirkus lyk teen wat jy moet optower net om deur jou dag te kom sonder  om ’n kyk vol simpatie van die om jou af te kry nie.

Simpatie sny jou testikels af…

 Dit ontman jou so totaal en al dat jou testikels by die blote gedagte daarvan wil omskakel in feromoon spuwende fabrieke terwyl die man in jou gaan lê.

Wat anders bly oor as jou rol as beskermheer en sekuriteit vir jou huwelik begin verdof omdat jy kan voel jou liggaam is nie wat hy ses jaar terug was nie.

Maar nou ja, ek kan hier sit en skryf daaroor. Ek kan dit gewelddadig  uit kots op ’n skerm, maar niks meer nie…

Sit jou hart weer terug in jou sak.

 The show must go on.

Lag hier, glimlag daar, exit stage left.

Dim lights…

Ek ken ’n koue wat groter is as enige koggel-monster of demoon.

Dit is ’n koue wat deur die vel trek en ongenadiglik in die murg van  jou bene gaan lê.

Dit is ’n koue wat aan jou vreet en jou menswees sal verteer terwyl jy vuil koerante om jou hart vou, net sodat vanaand se koue nie veroorsaak dat jy nog ’n emosie moet laat amputeer nie.

Om niks te voel is mos die kokon waarin ons onsself veilig probeer hou.

Maar eintlik is die meeste mense wat jy raakloop in die donkerste koue van die lewe reeds dood.

Die koue het sy tol by meeste mense geëis en baie van hulle se siel se verstand  is reeds geamputeer omdat die koue moet eet om te oorleef.

Ons voer ons eie duiwels en hardloop ons dan moeg  om van hulle af weg te kom. Ons het almal ons demone wat aan ons hakskene byt, ons hoef nie vir mekaar nuwes te maak nie….

I scream at the other prisoner in the holding cell with me:

I must get through this. I have to keep at it for just a few days longer. It will get better. There is no God in this world. No godliness or sainthood. If there was a God, He would be helping me right now. He does not give a shit!” I’m delirious from withdrawals.

 “He does not give a shit? You think that God does not give a shit? He does not care? He could not give a hell about whether you piss heroin from all the injections you gave yourself?”

 He walks over to where I lay sweating on the thin mat, and sits down.  

 “You think that He does not care whether you don’t believe in Him. He does not care about addiction or Aids? He does not allow for Himself to be tied down with the burdens of withdrawals? You should know that, that’s why God created the concept of grace. It’s by His grace that we live.”

 He puts his hand on my head.

 “God is a forgiving father. “

He is bigger than that you see. He could not give a shit about your faith, because He is Faith. He made YOU, and I truly believe that He experience all things through us.

It burns, God how it burns!

Withdrawals consumes me; it absorbs me fully in its painful embrace.

I read all over the net about withdrawals symptoms. Bullshit little lines like:” Difficulty sleeping” and “some nausea”.  Don’t they know that nobody can describe the hell you are in whilst going through the throws of withdrawals?

Don’t they know that you are incapable of feeling guilt or shame at that time? You don’t need their anger or sympathy. You need their decisiveness and their strength. When in withdrawals, you can’t decide for yourself. You don’t have the ability to make rational decisions.

You are in physical agony. You are hot and sweaty, and your whole body cramps up. Your kidneys are in pain, and that causes huge discomfort, en when laying flat on your back. That is when you can lie down. You are restless and your skin crawls.

You can not sleep. Every single time I went through withdrawals I could not sleep until week three, and every junkie I ever knew agree with me on this.

Your body becomes weak, and you shit yourself. Yes, I wrote that because it is true and not to offend. You vomit on yourself. You will be laying in that mess until day three, at least.

You have delirious hallucinations, and can not distinguish between reality and fantasy. You cum in your pants at the mere movement of you pants over your genitals. Your whole body burns from within as every nerve awakens from months of “sleep” and sedation. Heroin is an opiate. It’s a derivative of   Morphine which is used as a sedative and pain killer. And as every nerve awake, you know about them.

You sneeze and cough up phlegm. You go through hell every time your body shakes from a sneeze or cough. Then you open your eyes afterwards, and it starts all over again.

Somewhere around day four you become half human again, although a bit sleep deprived maybe, but you will know your name.

Nuwerwetse werksonderhoud.

Posted: Desember 2, 2013 by Francois in Life

The Ant and The Butterfly

Posted: Desember 2, 2013 by Francois in Life

Ek reblog die, want almal voel soms hulle klap net hulle vlerke en doen niks besonders nie. Jou teenwoordigheid alleen maak jou 100%  awesome.

wolfshadowwhispers

An ant carried a giant piece of breadcrumb on his back. A butterfly hovered nearby…

Butterfly: ‘Why do you always work so hard. Will you not rest?’

Ant:’ I live to serve others, because they live to serve me. In dark times, my ant brother brings in the bread which feed me, in turn I do the same. What you give, you receive.’

For a moment the butterfly just hovered in the sky.

Butterfly: ‘Dude, that’s deep!’

Ant: ‘That is just how the Universe work.’

Butterfly: ‘I just flap my wings.’ *sigh*

Ant: ‘You have a place in the Universe, Butterfly. You bring joy with the beauty people see reflectîng from you.’

We all have a part in the Universal scheme of things.

Don’t sell yourself short.

 

(c) 2011 Allen Simpson

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Die bloed van ‘n hoer.

Posted: Desember 1, 2013 by Francois in Life

Die woonstel was op die negende vloer. Die een reg op die punt waarin jy vasloop as jy op die stoep afstap. Die deur met n venster langsaan was altyd vuil. Junkie’s en prostitute het sienbaar die drentel deurgeloop. Ek sit met ‘n gesteelde laptop en selfoon op my, en die onttrekkings byt aan my hakskene.

Ek klop aan die deur en binne sekondes verskyn ‘n swart meisie by die venster. Haar oë twee ronde pierings, en ‘n uitdrukking van afgryse op haar gesig. Ek is seker die girl is paranoid van crack-cocaine of iets, en steur my nie veel daaraan nie.

Ek vra haar waar is die dealer en sy wys iets van hy is nie daar nie. Ek besluit om ‘n rukkie te wag aangesien my gewone dealer nie tuis is nie. Ek gaan sit op die brandtrappe en wag.

Kliek hier om verder te lees.