kagablog

Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Krisna.
When a loved one lies dying
We call these names
To ease their passing, to comfort ourselves.
For death is as much about the living as the dying;
Relationships shift and change,
Both inside and between people.
We don’t know who hears our pleas
I mean, how do you talk to a god?
Do you pray, do you meditate,
Do you send out good intentions?
Do these names resonate somewhere …
Is a heavenly eye cast in our direction?

Death comes for the dying, like a dog to its evening bowl,
Hungry, expectant, confident.
It adheres to the living in the vicinity
It fills your aura and lives in your dreams
You can see signs of it in the sky and birds and sea.
But, for all that, death is not to be feared.
It’s just the flipside that comes with every single.
What else do we really expect, when we tire of living?
Only modern man has pushed it aside;
We assume our medicines will keep us going indefinitely.
Death, like our horses, cows and pigs
Used to live in every household;
It was never far away, from our minds or our lives.
Festivals were held in its honour:
It had a face, a name, a character.
Death was respected. It was present.

Once, I cornered a mongoose in a tree
It stared straight back at me
There was no fear in its level gaze -
If I was its death standing before it
I was neither welcomed nor rejected,
I had simply come there on that day.

Does a mountain fear death?
When it opens a grassy eye,
What does it muse when it surveys
The brief lives that flicker on and off,
Death-life, life-death,
Upon its slopes?

A samurai contemplates his death
Every day.

The most blasphemous thing the Bible ever did

was to claim knowledge of the workings

of the mind of God

One can imagine the workings of lower consciousness,

never the twirls of the higher..

1 The words of the Teacher, son of David, king in Jerusalem:

2 “Meaningless! Meaningless!”
says the Teacher.
“Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless.”

3 What does man gain from all his labour
at which he toils under the sun?

4 Generations come and generations go,
but the earth remains forever.

5 The sun rises and the sun sets,
and hurries back to where it rises.

6 The wind blows to the south
and turns to the north;
round and round it goes,
ever returning on its course.

7 All streams flow into the sea,
yet the sea is never full.
To the place the streams come from,
there they return again.

8 All things are wearisome,
more than one can say.
The eye never has enough of seeing,
nor the ear its fill of hearing.

9 What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.

10 Is there anything of which one can say,
“Look! This is something new”?
It was here already, long ago;
it was here before our time.

11 There is no remembrance of men of old,
and even those who are yet to come
will not be remembered
by those who follow.

Wisdom Is Meaningless

12 I, the Teacher, was king over Israel in Jerusalem.

13 I devoted myself to study and to explore by wisdom all that is done under heaven. What a heavy burden God has laid on men!

14 I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind.

15 What is twisted cannot be straightened; what is lacking cannot be counted.

16 I thought to myself, “Look, I have grown and increased in wisdom more than anyone who has ruled over Jerusalem before me; I have experienced much of wisdom and knowledge.”

17 Then I applied myself to the understanding of wisdom, and also of madness and folly, but I learned that this, too, is a chasing after the wind.

18 For with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge, the more grief.

if you bluff with conviction people will respect you no matter how wrong you are.
if you tell the truth and admit to not knowing the answer you will be the subject of contempt and ridicule, especially from those who pretend to want to hear the truth.

Foreword

I am Abraxas.
I am nobody.
Nothing.
No one.
Headless.
Mindless.
I am neither desirous of change
nor even remotely touched by the sentience of others.
Whether they exist, whether they are some-one, is no concern of mine.
I have no thoughts.
I am sense-less.
Non-sense-cycle.
I have no hidden agenda.
No skeletons.
Not even a cupboard.

*

The glamour of Losers fades with age.

*

An eccentric without money is risible;
Poverty drains him of his charm.

*

Becoming an eccentric is a time-consuming, painful, and Entirely organic process. One does not plan to be an eccentric; It creeps up on one, a bit like middle-age.

*

I used to think I preferred Blondes
until I scalped one And she tasted
the same as All the others.
(Venal).

*

*

It’s always wet t-shirt night In South African bars.
“Where do I Know you from?”
“I’m not trying to Pick you up.”
“I’m from Pretoria.”
“Why do I know you so well?”

*

I have to admit I have no idea what to
Say to South African women.
They certainly
Don’t want to hear the truth.

*

Why do South African women
Drink so much?
I think it’s because they’re
In so much pain from pretending
To be stupid all the time.

*

Why do South African men
Drink so much?
Just plain stupid.

*

In the bars Insecure Drunk women Behaving like Animals In order to be “Wanted” By pig men (But animals don’t Behave this grossly And Pigs are Noble creatures.)

*

In the bars I watched great minds Destroy themselves Out of boredom And lack of alternatives. I did the same for a while In a futile attempt To “fit in”, Until one day I decided I was man enough To “fit out”. And be happy with it.

*

*

Every wet t-shirt contest winner
Is a tragic blow to the myth of Progress.
There are always twice as many
Tits at these contests than Women.

*

Beyond its statement as an Aperture, a cunt can hardly Be described as functional.

*

It was only after I retired from poetry
That I was able to write poems.
Now I’m going to retire from laughter
(and dancing!).

*

There is a loneliness so vast, so dense, so Complete, that only Art or God can Emerge from it.

*

Regarding the inevitable:
Remember, it’s only a matter of time.

*

Abraxas expects the best from God. Then God may expect the best from Abraxas.

*

“But what does Abraxas really mean?” Cry the over-educated.
“Exactly!” retorts ‘Braxie.

*

*

Abraxas the consummate artist.
Everything he does is poetry.
Even the poems.

*

Now is precisely the time to Leave the foggy humanitarian Goals behind. The next evolutionary Leap will be into the Youniversal. Youniversalization is the prime Goal of; the fundamental reason for, our existence as individuated Forms of Consciousness.

*

Abraxas uses a sharp knife
To cut his water:
He slices it!

*

Abraxas suspends his broken heart
From the chandelier.
In this way his grief is at least
Illuminating

*

It’s not by design that Abraxas is alone.
At least no design of his own.

*

Not many understand Abraxas: Josh understands him. But Abraxas has not called for Understanding. His needs are Minimal - to worship, to Rejuvenate, but primarily, To create. The creator’s is The highest calling, and Everywhere, Obstacles! But Abraxas never forgets what Zarathustra whispered to him In the cave: “You have to go Under before you go over.”

*

the multitude of seekers
of wisdom and salvation

the wise lord
on his faithful horse

the lord spoke
the horse farted

the sound of the lord
was not understood

the sound of the horse
was understood

the lord left
on his faithful horse

the multitude of seekers
of wisdom and salvation

they followed
the horse

*

What Abraxas learned from the feminists:
Rape is power!

*

What the feminists learned from Abraxas:
Roll with the punches!

*

Not content with merely reading between The lines,
Abraxas has undertaken to write Between the lines.
This he does with
sublime precision.

*

Abraxas walks the streets of Sea Point Searching for poetry.
He finds only whores. Fast food. Degraded humanity.
Then he realizes” “This IS poetry, the poetry of Decline, Poetry of the Fall”.
blissfully Content, He pops into the Kauai Juice Bar
For a Toasted Island Chicken Sandwich And A Spiced-Chai
- sweet, creamy and deliciously different!

*

Heavens! Abraxas thinks to himself, out again In this déjà vu bar;
same wine, same cigar, Same crowd – I’m even spilling the same milk!

*

Fuck the crisis!
Always look good!
Deport the illegals!
Deport the legals too!

*

Abraxas asks the rappers:
“How much of you is poetry?
How much is merely rhyme?”

*

*

What does Abraxas know?
Very little.
What does Abraxas want to know?
Even less.

Only drained, Only empty Can Abraxas grow,
And Abraxas wants to grow,
Like his hair,
Until he’s bald.

*
What is a thought? Where does it come from? Can it be generated artificially? Abraxas thinks about these things until, Suddenly, he realizes he might only Think he’s thinking about his thinking (thoughts).
Does thinking about the thought of thinking Qualify as a thought?
Can one not think, as opposed to thinking About nothing
(which is a thought and hence something).

*

If I dared presume the vanity to consider a thought Original
would it be my thought? Be mine?
And yet, those thoughts that I think are original;
I know not from where they come.
Do they come from me?
What is me? Where do I come from? Am I a thought? An original thought?
And if so, whose? My own? Have I created myself or do I merely think I have?
(And is this not the same thing?)

*

*

Abraxas drives to the end of his rainbow.
This is not an accomplishment It is an ontological fact.
Abraxas’ colours miasm, He projects them out onto the diaphonous film of the Waiting world, Not the other way round
The world shivers. Such labour Abraxas, such
Immodest gestures! Abraxas shrugs, stretches,
“Like any retired reprobate,” he drawls,
“I’m up for a challenge now and then.”
The Peanuts cheer, put Abraxas on their shooter list.

*

Abraxas imagines the horror of a virgin birth;
Hymen erupting from within.
Abraxas flabbergasted by the awful denial of
female sexuality implied by such a myth.
Abraxas confused. What exactly constitutes a
Christian? He looks around him - Yes these
Creatures all dangle a cross around their bull
Necks but have they ever read the good news?
Thank God It’s Friday! Don’t let it out,
Don’t let it in. Abraxas sighs, burps.

*

Abraxas asks: What does anti-social mean in a society predicated on greed?

*

Abraxas dysfunctional?
Yes.
(If small talk is functioning.)

*

What Abraxas IS is never Certain. Abraxas is always Becoming something else. A definition Is always a limit. Abraxas’ Position is primarily opposition; but This is not always the case. Abraxas is at his best when he surprizes himself!

*

There is an Abraxas
Deep inside every one of us.

*

*

Becoming an Abraxian means that you Relinquish fear’s hold on you.
Becoming A sleepwalker means that you live your Dreams.
Reality is a consensual form.
Choose to disagree; impose your chosen Reality by willpower and you change and Create new realities.
Reality, the Youniverse and the Future Are not given, concrete states; they are Processes in flux.
When you realize this You are empowered to consciously enter in To the process, to engage in the flux as An active, creative participant.
You cease To be a victim of predetermined “fate”, but Become your own saviour!

*

Abraxas, tired of pretending To go through the motions of Falling in love in order to Obtain free sex, nowadays Contents himself with cash Transactions. This way he Actually spends less money; Has more sex, and no headaches.

*

“What is the secret of your success Abraxas?” the Losers chorus.
“Never give up! Never admit defeat! Never ask others for their Secret! The rest is just luck!”
Abraxas marches off wielding His axe in his left hand and a Brick in his right.
Out of the Corner of his eye he notices The Losers frantically writing Down his every word.
Yells out: “Spelling mistakes are fatal!”

*

In any room full of people A woman always knows who is Likely to rape her.
To have Coffee with him is her choice.

*

The mechanic asks Abraxas: “Are you a Sign writer?”
“Yes,” Abraxas smiles, “I suppose you could Put it that way.”
“Do you always write that small?”
“Only when I laugh!” laughs Abraxas.

*

*

We change frequency to that very Burgundy bar just off Lower Main Road

*

Abraxas spots an Angel, asks her what Baggage she’s carrying.
She slaps him.
Slaps Him again.
He says “mercy” and buys her A glass of unpasteurized milk
that she promptly pours Over his head.
He moves to the open window And drips onto the glue-sniffing street Kids
that litter the Observatory pavement.

*

How deep you go Abraxas! Mocked the Fly from Its illustrious position on the wall.
“But the Young girls don’t want deep, Abraxas, they want Party, Party! They want shake it! Shake it!”

*

Abraxas the sleep walker: always on time.

*
A man in an Hawaian shirt winks at Abraxas. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Abraxas, confused, Punches the man, who bleeds to death, rapidly.
“I’m really sorry I did that”, Abraxas laughs, “This round’s on me!”
Everyone in the bar cheers. The corpse is covered with blind roses.
A Touch of the wind in the circle.
Abraxas is Intrigued by how well the homicide has gone Down with the crowd.
“I might become popular After all!”, he chuckles to himself.

*

What is a maniac?
Abraxas frowns.
Someone who dares not to be grey
In this make-believe world.

*

The only thing between woman
and her true sexual nature
is false morality.

*

*

The journalist lady asks Abraxas what he’s Writing.
“I am writing about the abyss that Is at the core of all us happy shoppers. Writing about the void we try, vainly, to fill Up with bargains, discounts, and specials.”
She hands him her lip gloss.
He is unsure What to do with it. Rubs it under his arms.
She snatches it back from ‘Brax, horrified. Rushes back To the crowd.

*

Abraxas, bored, leaves his table and sits at The bar. The wine is Boschendal’s Le Pavillon Rouge 2000. No, no, they can’t take that away From me. One reaches the age when that empty Bed is simply too unappealing.
Wild whores Couldn’t drag Abraxas away from his desolate Bar stool.

*

Abraxas the evocator: He thinks no evil and there is none.

*

*

Abraxas fills an entire notebook With unanswered questions and crude Reflections. Meanwhile his barmaid Carefully lowers her boob-tube. On-Lookers suspect they might be having An affair. People do not understand That Abraxas needs candle-light and Virgin’s blood to make his heartbeat Race.

*

Now it’s after midnight again, Abraxas Removes the “reserved” sign from his Bow-Tie. “Tell the Truth and Shame The Devil”, his bar-maid demands. Abraxas reaches through the hole in His pocket into his soul and leaves her A soiled lament for a tip.
“Beautiful!” She scoffs and scalds him with boiling Laughter.

*

Some chicks go for the troubled look.
Some chicks go for fun.
They all like it if you pay for the drinks.

*
A visiting puritan asked Abraxas if he Was selling his notes. “not a bad idea,” Abraxas mused, rolled up a page, placed It in a bankie and asked a German tourist For thirty rand.
“Shot man!” The German Tourist got high. The puritan was out-Raged. Abraxas spent the money on a Second-hand magnifying glass that he Used to enlarge his Penis.

*

Just before he left the bar on his Suicide mission, Abraxas asked for A doggy-bag to wrap his tears in. None were available so he used a Sanitary vowel instead.

*

There was a debate in the bar concerning The collective noun for a group of horses. Outside the street-kids sniffed their Glue out of sawn-off milk cartons, And doggedly refused to participate In the shambolic discourse of the Alcoholics.

*

*

When Abraxas reached the bottom Of his abyss, he lit up his candle, Reached into his pocket, took out His 9mm Rotring Pen and wrote in His notebook:
“This sentence is all I am.”

*

“What wisdom can I learn from you Tonight my dear?”,
Abraxas asked His barmaid.
Laconically she replied, “Tips make it all worthwhile.”

*

There has to be excitement; one of the Customers quipped. A white lady whose mind had been opened on A trip to Budapest.
“I can’t tell you the effect of seeing White street sweepers had on me. I realized how controlled by the official Media I’d been.”
Abraxas listens.
Abraxas broods.
Abraxas crawls to conclusions.

*

“Have a Sambuca”, the Devil smiled wryly, Zipping up his fly.
“Never again!”, Simone the Blind Rose Seller Got up off her knees and spat out his Thorns.

*

Abraxas plays chess with the Devil. Wins. They play again. Wins again. Stakes are high. Best of five: Winner gets to keep the loser’s soul. Third game goes to the Devil. Fourth too. Devil looks ‘Braxie in The Eye. ‘Braxie is back; plays the Rubbish defence. Long, slow, Arduous game. Afterwards Abraxas Has to buy a soul-hanger and a Cupboard to hang it in.
Devil, De-souled, joins the Health and Raquet Club. Loses some weight.

*

It is never when eyes are looking at you that you can find them beautiful or ugly, that you can remark on their colour. Abraxas’ look hides his eyes, he seems to go in front of them.

*

*

A glimpse of freedom to the slave
Is like vertigo:
Nauseating.

*

Abraxas ploughs his way through the “great books of wisdom”.
Libraries full of vanity, weak thinking and nonsense.
The philosophers. Hah!
The spiritual leaders. Hah!
Abraxas does not feel humbled by the wisdom of the ancients,
by the tedious folk-lore that dominates most discourse,
by the pseudo-science of the doctors of the mind.
Abraxas looks dispassionately at their failures.
Sees the predicament of the addicted masses.
He knows their pain.
Has been there. Is there.
But Abraxas finds his own answers.
INSIDE.

*

the more you have
the more you have to lose

*

The nature of all urban relationships is essentially pathological.
Because urban people are essentially pathological.
What we are best at is lying to ourselves.
Self-deception is our lowest common denominator.

*

Abraxas the patriot. But patriot of what? South Africa? The Rainbow Notion? NO! Everywhere Abraxas travels he feels connection. Is at one with the locals. His patriotism is not limited by short term national boundaries. His is a Youniversal patriotism – a love of all humanity.

*

Every day in his kwaito hat
Abraxas steels himself to write poetry
Some of the verses are fragile
Other robust
His style depends a lot upon the state of his hangover
Every day he gets a little closer to glory
Every day tells its younique story

*

*

Bad philosophy is that philosophy which uses many words to say very little.
Such a philosophy is Sartre’s. His pursuit of Being is tedious.
The gravest flaw in any philosophical system.
Abraxas waiting for his flight to Rome. Drinks three glasses of milk.
Tries reading Being and Nothingness.
Impenetrable. Drive-thru philosophy.

*

Everybody’s over-eating in fast food heaven. Over eating their blues away.

*

How much of Abraxas is raw material? How much invented?

*

War is for man what abortion is for woman.

*

If you can’t cope…don’t!

*

It is better to deceive others than deceive yourself.

*

God is that nothing we cannot conceive of.

*

*

The Youniverse is Younicentric.

*

All the Yous You are are always, simultaneously,
the chrono-spatial centre of the Youniverse.

*

The Youniverse is always centred around YOU.

*
The Youniverse is sentient.

*

All matter is organic.

*

There is no such thing as nothing.

*

Everything matters.

*

YOU MATTER.

*

If is a word
I choose
not to use
too often.

*

*

In defense of the Outsider: he has not chosen his status.
he has been placed there to provide insiders with a context.
He is the goalpost shifted.
He is the envelope pushed.

*

Aging depends on the speed you travel.
Live fast stay young.

*

The moment just before the moment just before.
I love that moment.

*

It is in the act of hearing that the story gets told.

*