love is how you spend your time
My good old Friend Mr Alexander Shafinsky sent me this cool New Years greeting pictured with his beautiful new girlfriend from India in London. Since I’ve known him he’s always one step ahead and smiling as he beats the odds. I reckon he’s gotta be the most dedicated and passionate kitesurfer and instructor in London. Hopefully some day soon he’ll visit sunny South Africa with his girl, his equipment and all his enthusiasm.
Thank You.
Quiting alcohol is easy
Quiting alcohol is easy
Quiting alcohol is easy
Quiting alcohol is easy
Quiting alcohol is easy
Quiting alcohol is easy
Quiting alcohol is easy
Quiting alcohol is easy
Quiting alcohol is easy
Quiting alcohol is easy
Quiting alcohol is easy
Quiting alcohol is easy
Quiting alcohol is easy
when i was a baby i
always used to climb as
high as i could
my parents always let me
go but told me to be
careful
careful became my first
word and i always used
to say it when i
ventured into the unknown
as i grew up i was
always searching for things
to make me happy and
keep me safe
i had lots of fun
but i always got hurt
then i realised that i didn’t need to
search
i had always had everything
i ever needed
- 11.2006, from the collection, Some poems about life and stuff by stuart barnes
A friend of a friend of a friend made this calendar for 2009.
Some guys have a total breast fetish. I never much got this whole trip. I always loved nudes but I’m usually more into whole body shots or closer quirkier details. But I really like to see a focus on a theme like this. I haven’t seen the original yet but probably will some time soon. It looks nicely put together and it’s always great to see indy publishing. Respect.
Thank You.
I had a nice relaxing surf in mellow little waves with a good friend this morning. It was one of those sessions when a minor injury and some stiffness forced me to start a bit slower. As I relaxed into it things loosened up and the pain subsided a little. Then it started to flow nicely and we had quite a good laugh about a couple of silly things.
The rest of the day I took it pretty easy too, just eating and resting and reading between a light cycle and a quick evening surf that turned into a complete joke and was a little bit cold.
Then I relaxed some more and read a bit of nonsense online that made me laugh out loud as the sun went down outside.
Miles Davis Kind of Blue for me is probably the most perfect music ever. It is like a mirror of life itself. It reflects back whatever is there but with a calm and fluid kind of echo that reverberates nicely across the skin and leaves one smiling inside.
So probably I’ll be drifting off to sleep on this note…
I guess this fact is not a very nice one but the pic has a nice touch of humour.
Keep it silly on the small island.
Thank You.
I met Mr Happy Chicken Suicide Cult about a year ago through a very nice girl. He seems quite a nice quiet guy and makes very nice cartoons. Today this one is really for me. He calls it “handy info for teens.”
Dammit! This whole maturity growing up thing is really beginning to piss me off. Every time I reckon I’ve finally grown up there’s some kind of curve ball *cringes* or someone changes all the rules without telling me and I end up like some foolish little kid again. Oh well, I guess I’ll just give up trying and keep wearing more black and skulls and shit. Earlier I was listening to Marilyn’s “I’m through with love…” and I’m not sure if that fits. But I’ve got a skull face watch from Seoul that looks pretty fucked up and I’ve started skateboarding again so that should help too… Why am I writing this bullshit? I don’t even care…
Guess I’ll just go and see that lawyer about that stuff that keeps just going on and on and take it from there…
Thank You.
Teresa Orazio is an illustrator and graphic designer from Italy. She is based in Amsterdam and the moment. Her work is fun, witty and intelligent. Her taste in art, design and music is I think really nice. I am working on a small project with her soon and this should be fun.
Thank You.
The child is not dead
the child raises his fists against his mother
who screams Africa screams the smell
of freedom and heather
in the locations of the heart under siege
The child raises his fists against his father
in the march of the generations
who scream Africa scream the smell
of justice and blood
in the streets of his armed pride
The child is not dead
neither at Langa nor at Nyanga
nor at Orlando nor at Sharpeville
nor at the police station in Philippi
where he lies with a bullet in his head
The child is the shadow of the soldiers
on guard with guns saracens and batons
the child is present at all meetings and legislations
the child peeps through the windows of houses and into the
hearts of mothers
the child who just wanted to play in the sun at Nyanga is
everywhere
the child who became a man treks through all of Africa
the child who became a giant travels through the whole world
Without a pass
- Ingrid Jonker