Marry Me

Boy: Marry me.

Girl: Ok.

Boy: Wait… really? That easy?

Girl: Well, yes. What were you expecting?

Boy: Well I thought I’d have to go on my knees and beg. I thought you’d say no a thousand times and I’d have to keep coming back a thousand and one times to prove myself. To let you know the extent of my love.

Girl: Oh. That sounds incredible! I’m at a loss for words.

Boy: No need to be. I’m just so glad –

Girl: I change my mind now. It’ll be a no from me.

 

The girl went on to be the most controversial judge on the Voice.

No Woody!

Woody Harrelson. So I decided to take an 81 min break and watch a movie. The movie is Zombieland, incredibly violent, asinine, funny as can be and an absolutely awful watch when you’re having dinner (which I was).

Woody isn’t the protagonist but he absolutely steals the show. His character isn’t witty… it isn’t meant to be. He’s just absolutely genuine and genuinely idiotic. But the moment that takes the cake is when he turns into the the world’s best anti-wingman. My man Jesse isn’t even aiming to get laid. All he wanted to do in this life was brush aside some hair. That was his life purpose – much like Woody and his Twinkie. Yet when the opportunity finally arose for the boy to sorta become a man, albeit a hair-caressing one, I found myself screaming:

“No Woody!”

Gotta love the man.

23 October

Morocco and Saudi sure made something special.

Unlike this rap, which is audible ether.

You on the other hand are a lyrical miracle.

“Pew pew” is the start, “pew pew” ain’t your pinnacle.

“I ain’t got friends.” That’s what you said.

Perhaps that’s true and my name’s Jed.

Honestly though, you really don’t got homies.

Just an army devoted to you – your very own cronies.

What else ends with -onies?

Uhm… Pink plumed ponies!

Even if they’re beaten and they’re gory and red.

Your enemies better run scared.

Coz at the flip of a switch they’ll be right there.

Except for me… I’ll prolly be late.

But don’t sweat it, I’ll bring a machete.

Or come swinging my Helicopter Richard tiny though it may be.

This is my blessing to you on this day.

It won’t be deep… But it’ll prolly be gay.

Your star sign’s Success.

You’re failure’s biggest nightmare.

Dream to infinity and beyond,

Cause you’re A Baz Lightyear.

Smile. Laugh. Sing.

Smile. Laugh. Sing.

Cry tears of joy, you deserve them.

Let the giggles out, why preserve them?

Why lock them up? Why detain them?

Time to trump stress! Cause some mayhem!

Stretch those lips out as wide as you can.

Let’s see them pearly whites.

Or sunshine yellows…

Hahaha! They’re still alright.

Now bellow my fellow!

Let them know you’ll be here tomorrow.

That sadness won’t keep you feeling hollow.

That you every time you’ll choose joy over sorrow.

That you won’t ever let stress gain control.

That no matter what happens you’ll still:

Smile. Laugh. Sing.

Maybe even cry tears of joy.

 

ūüôā

Good Pain

From the balls of my feet to the nape of my neck is a low-burning sensation. With each motion (more likely attempted motion) the flames are stoked and burn brightly. My limbs have been rendered near useless. I feel as if my bones have transformed into jelly – my muscle fibres into marshmallow. Sitting up my lower back screams at me, crying tears of sweat for the slowest motion. As I lie down again my calves beg for relief. Just one session of parkour, “just a taster” they said and I feel I’ve had my fill for seven generations. And yet I absolutely loved it.¬†I’m no masochist but I’ve never felt better. Each step takes more effort than the last. At times I feel as though I’m one hundred years older; putting on clothes or getting out of bed feel like impossible tasks. But each time I manage to do something, even the really simple things, the euphoria kicks in. I have gained a greater appreciation for every part of my body – because at long last I now feel every part of that body. Oh it’s pain alright… but it’s so damn good… it’s good pain.

Perhaps I should have listened to myself and one funny brunette I know. Maybe I should frequent the best place for my body, the secret the world would love to hear about; in her own words: “Gym!”¬†

Or maybe I’ll go back to the parkour session next week. Maybe I’ll shake off the cobwebs in my underused muscles and awaken them with a sweet, sweet dose of good old pain.

Man O’ My Word aka Be My Hammer, I’ll Be Your Thor

Dear Blog,

 

Hey you! Yes you! Haven’t you heard?

You can count on me – I’m a man o’ my word.

And you’ll believe it, coz I’ve said it, then it’s gotta be true.

You won’t believe me? Fine then –¬†believe you!

You say it more than I do, I know it sounds absurd.

“Ayanda Joe Munikwa, you’re a man o’ your word!”

 

Maybe if we say it enough times it’ll finally happen.

Coz the sheer number of promises I’ve been snapping is amazing!

Now I’m not making excuses, I put that PhD to the side.

I laid down my pride and decided I wouldn’t ever lie.

Even if it’ll save me trouble later, better to stay humble now.

I don’t want to stumble so I’ll mumble, goo goo gaga, ciao.

 

In the future, even now, trust is gold.

So I’m sorry I’ve been missing truth be told.

I said I’d take care of you. I didn’t even forget!

The truth of it is I just chose to neglect…

 

But I’m a man o’ my word. That’s what we said!

So I think it’s time we finally prepared,

For a rollercoaster ride like never before!

Where you will be my hammer and I’ll be your Thor!

Love,

Joe

 

 

Hold Your Hand

Inspired by Lay Me Down a song performed by Sam Smith featuring John Legend.

 

Yes, I see – I feel – the emptiness that you have left behind in place of you.

I feel your presence is long gone. The space that once was yours is now empty.

Your voice, your laugh, the joy that you once brought – all gone… to say it out loud it feels so wrong.

All that time, all the plans that we made. Our hopes and dreams now shattered and worthless.

Didn’t even tell me that you’d be gone.

I’ve just been here waiting for far too long.

 

Chorus

Can I just hold your hand?

That’s all I ask for.

All I ask for.

Don’t you understand?

That’s all I ask for.

I don’t want more.

 

Good music makes me wish I could sing every once in a while. You should definitely listen to the¬†original! If I had the¬†talent then I would have added a link to a rendition of this version of the song… but I don’t – so I won’t. Just¬†imagine it being done by Sam Smith and enjoy – hopefully.¬†

Untitled Project

There’s a soft buzz just ahead. He’s early – Max is never late – but clearly some students had something to talk about ahead of class. That was always the case, there was always something to talk about; more precisely, someone to talk about. One thing was certain though. They never talked about Max. He just wasn’t an interesting enough topic to bring up. If only they knew. Max methodically pushed the half-closed door wide open and walked purposefully into the classroom. He knew his destination, his prized seat, two rows from the front and right in the middle. It was just close enough to hear the teacher whisper and yet just far enough not to be classified as a teacher’s pet. He’d worked all of that out because he cared about what people thought of him; not knowing that people didn’t care to think of him at all. Slowly placing his satchel under his desk he gathered himself and sat, rather stiffly on the stool. That’s how Max did everything, with an air of royalty and calculation. The few that spared a thought for him (if only for a second or two) found his behaviour awkward. They just never understood him, partially because they never tried. Funnily enough Max knew this but didn’t mind too much. He cared about what people thought of him but so long as there was no hostility directed towards him he could live. He slowly took out his books, (Geography was next) and exactly 3 seconds after inking his pen Mrs. Elston arrived. Just on time. Max gave himself a mental pat on the back. Everyone shuffled back to their seats, the buzz of conversation slowly died down, albeit reluctantly. The question they were all anticipating and dreading fast approaching.

“Good morning class! Did you all do the work I assigned you yesterday?”

Silence. This was going to be one long morning… or was it?

“You really are setting a poor example here. How will the new student know how to behave if not one of you knows how to behave?” she said angrily although bizarrely there was a smile on her face.

A new student?¬†Max thought. At this time of the term? But we’re nearly through.

“Maximus.” she mock-pleaded. “You’ve done your homework, haven’t you?”

Before Max could even take a breath she answered her own question. It was rhetorical then. Why? Because in spite of his elaborate seating plan it was a well-known fact that Max was the teacher’s pet, known by everyone – everyone but him. He was rather oblivious for the genius he was.

“Of course you have. So she’ll be taking notes from you. Teach her well.” She shot him a glance. Max thought it was menacing but he was an oblivious genius. A dunce would have understood that look immediately. Mrs Elston was being rather naughty but she liked Max and felt he needed a win in his barren social life.

“But I’m getting ahead of myself!” she exclaimed. She loved ramping up the energy out of nowhere. “Class, say hello to your new classmate. Her name is Maxine.”

Maxine walked gracefully into the classroom. A sharp hush fell over the room. Max decided to take a glimpse at the new student. Glimpse turned to look… and then to gaping stare. For the next few seconds all Max could hear was his own heartbeat and all he could see was her.