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Pine Slopes

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Archive for the ‘Fiction’ Category

My New Novel, The Vuvuzela Murders

The Vuvuzela Murders explores the dark side of the transformation of a country’s psyche. The return of the repressed manifests itself in a cast of grisly characters; Tsunami Lou, Psyche Peacock, Skaface Cupido, Citizen Kohen, Dr. Samantha Beckett, The Slit Throat… who are these maniacs and why does everybody speak English in Africa South South (ASS)? If the book is situated in Valkenberg then they must all be insane, but if the book is exemplary for this country we must all be ASSholes.

Published by Mbali Press
1432 Brightside Loc
Ladybrand 9745
Free State

Book details

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An Out of Body Experience

my short story, “An Out of Body Experience”, received a “Highly Commended” in the 2010 Balls Quandary Award

Carbona, airplane glue and heroin are the Holy Trinity of the drug addict. A goofball is seconal, nebutol and tuonals. These are not trippy drugs. You’re really in your body. You have no inhibitions. Six tuonals and you’re dead. Seconal is lighter. Fortral – do it for three days and you’re an addict. I was stoned like on heroin but also paranoid. I took five times the recommended dosage. About midnight I did a shot of vodka. Then I thought I was gonna die. Everything started spinnning round.

Now it’s 4am and we’re in the Seymour Likely watching our beers collide with our mouths. Charlie Manson rolls a massive hash joint. He needs it to help take the edge off the crank. It’s very sharp crystal meth that we scored in bulk from Franky The Chancer. We were supposed to offload the package but Charlie Manson decided to test a little bit of the goods and before we knew it we had been awake for three days.

“I’m drunk.”

It’s not as if I’m telling Charlie anything he doesn’t already know. But sometimes you have to test your mouth and tongue; just tweak them with some muscular activity, if you leave it too long there is a good chance of never speaking again. Not sensibly. Crank does that to you.

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The Getaway

The Getaway
Citizen Kohen – chapter 5

So here I am, throwing out short films about nothing, botched together in a day or two, improvised on the spur of the moment without a second thought in a drunken cloud of couldn’t give a damn confidence and clarity. And what do I get for it? Flown around the world from city to city, from five star hotel to luxury loft, all the free food I can eat and the free booze I can drink, not to mention busloads of teenage girls. I must be doing something right, not so?

Rewind to Rotterdam. Preparations for the premiere. A manifesto of sorts is assembled out of various sources. Incomprehensible to all those uninitiated into the obscure realm of obscurantist digital jargon. The critics love it and the document gleans the nonsensical under-underground short film an amount of overground media attention totally out of proportion to its merit. This is known as hype.

The film has been selected sight unseen for the prestigious festival by a festival director who is plied with bottle after bottle of expensive red during an exorbitantly priced Indonesian dinner. The producer is militantly obsequious, he shloughs and syphons with such alacrity you’d swear he swallowed vomit for fun. Coprophilia is a sexual perversion that is automatic in the film-maker’s world; you always have your tongue up someone’s arse in this “industry”.

There’s a talk-show after the second screening. The talk show moderator has only seen the last three minutes of the film. He starts the question and answer session with a question about… the last three minutes of the film. Then he “throws things open to the audience”. Gets away with it. There’s a Charlie Manson look-alike sitting in the front row, his forehead covered in ugly bruises and a thick, bulging brown scab. He asks the only pertinent question of the evening; “Why wasn’t there any applause?” I like this guy.

Now we’re at a Chinese restaurant. A huge group of hangers-on and desperate wanna-be’s. I’m always so confused when people want to hang on to me. Don’t they know where the real party is?

he next evening I’m in Sweden convincing the amply bosomed Camila to pay me my air fare all over again as I’ve spent all the cash on booze. She’s flabbergasted and furious. Not to mention insulted that I didn’t pitch up for the extremely important question and answer session with all those uptight Lutheran feminists. Fuck her. Fuck all these blonde Swedes with their obsessions about time and hygiene. I’m an under-underground film maker, not Noddy! She gives me the loot, hundreds of crisp krone! Yes! Wishes me luck with my “career”. Film-making isn’t a career you uptight cunt, it’s a freeloader’s paradise. My work ethic is: other people work, I’ve got the ethics!

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12 Shooters Reviewed by Helge Janssen

12 Shooters12shooters

a novella by Aryan Kaganof reviewed by Helga Janssen

There is one film I have viewed more times than I can remember. It is Frederico Fellini’s “Satyricon”. Apart from astounding visuals of extraordinary power and depth there is a scene which (there are many) blew me away. An extraordinary beautiful youth is contemplating suicide and is just about to do it, when the building he is in, begins to collapse:

suddenly he is fighting for his life!

It is this extraordinary turn of events which underpins 12shooters – an aimless person, doing his utmost to drink himself into oblivion, night after night at a bar, skimming within the very belly of despair, without hope, refusing to work, yet believing totally in his self, succumbs to……life!!

He is demonstrating the indomitable human spirit.

He is demonstrating how being informed by literature, how being anchored in the self, sum into liberation!

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“For centuries a small number of writers were confronted by many thousands of readers. This changed toward the end of the last century. With the increasing extension of the press, which kept placing new political, religious, scientific, professional, and local organs before the readers, an increasing number of readers became writers – at first, occasional ones. It began with the daily press opening to its readers space for “letters to the editor.” And today there is hardly a gainfully employed European who could not, in principle, find an opportunity to publish somewhere or other comments on his work, grievances, documentary reports, or that sort of thing. Thus, the distinction between author and public is about to lose its basic character. The difference becomes merely functional; it may vary from case to case. At any moment the reader is ready to turn into a writer.” Walter Benjamin, 1936

great art daily

over 150 contributors:

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Gary Cummiskey on Independent Publishing

important article on independent publishing in sa – by gary cummiskey – on kagablog:

They are passionate about being able to make sure that strange, odd, misunderstood, peculiar, yet important, voices don’t get overlooked, writes Gary Cummiskey


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