TRIBUTE TO THE KING OF POP

Well I thought it will be good to do a tribute to the Wacko one, after all he is the king of pop and all the pop puppets that followed were just trying to emulate the Wacko one. Like Neo, he is the one. Michael Jackson was sent to the world, the brother came to save the music and he did just that, well amongst other weird things. The man came through as a music genius, music god; he flipped the pop culture 180 degrees by dominating the genre that was known to be of white people and the pop music has never been the same. Ironically, the gloved one’s ambition was not only to penetrate the music through his moon walking moves only the nigga wanted to be white or so we think. As genius as he is, predominantly terrorizing the world music charts like Elvis in his prime, the nigga continued with his facial dis-arrangement from fixing the nose, the chin to doing the curly hair. We watched as we continued to love and support him, as he transformed himself from a handsome young man into living ghost. Michael soared as a musician, he was selling millions, packing stadiums with die hard fans world wide, he was a phenomenal, but his lifestyle lacked direction. I never judge people for doing things that seem to be ‘unnatural’ cuz we all have our reasons for doing what we do and Michael had his although it cost him his identity, handsome face and his dignity. In his prime, while everybody was crazy about him, iniquity enveloped him like the world did to his Thriller album to never to let go. Well, some said it was imminent, they say the evidence where there, like the theme park ‘nevaland’ which served as his house and his ‘love’ for children. Our icon turned into a pedophile. He was accused of child molestation not only once but twice and our Michael survived those Himalayas but we are still left with question marks ??????? A full grown man who likes to play with children? A black man, with a face like Casper the ghost? Marriage, that only lasted two weeks? Like I said, we do what we do because we have our reasons for doing them, and I don’t judge Michael, what I wanted was to write an unforgettable tribute to the icon one we loved to hate, we loved his music, his dance and his artistry but despised what he represented as a person. We can say what we want to, but the man I’m talking about made history like Christ did, like Elvis did, like Leonardo da Vinci did….may his soul rest in peace.

Lets take care of ourselves and each other
Lehlogonolo

Peter Pan is Dead – All Hail the King!

I don’t want to pour cold water (given that it’s Winter and it’s cold already) over the recent euphoria surrounding the death of pop musician Michael Jackson by making jokes about the deceased. Yeah, for real, Michael is dead and his bigger-than-life gimmicks are gone with him. Never again shall he need to put on funny masks and hats at a time when Swine Flu is not yet an epidemic; never again shall he need to throw a peace sign everytime a camera clicks as if he was a Golani Bridage corporal as his tank passes a UN monitored check-point in Southern Lebanon.

Michael, it is understood that as a kid aspiring to be Peter Pan who never really went to school like all of us always thought genetics worked along his narrow interpretation of biotic understanding– as if suppose I marry the daughter of Larry King me and her stand a big chance of producing a hotshot media personality. Nobody told Michael that genes don’t function according to our whim – you have more odds stacked against you to inherit cancer and diabetes from your mother than her guitar playing skills.

And poor Michael went ahead and married Lisa-Marie Presley only to bore her with his untold bedroom antics; somebody please leak Michael’s Sex Tape to Vivid!

Sometimes I wonder where was Motown’s Barry Gordy through this entire morass? Okay, it’s Gordy we talking about who was there even when Marvin Gaye bled through his nostrils.

Yeah, the ‘King of Pop’ who aspired to dance on the moon since his Thriller days finally has an opportunity to be a King for real. Where he’s at there’s no work so his credentials alone guarantee that Michael finally became king, at death – on our side. Funny.

So, we’ll never know if Michael did it but since dead people can not sue or be sued we can start to speculate why he would always love walking around with burly Marine-type men holding umbrellas for him and sitting on wheelchairs? For the life of me I am scared of wheelchairs even when it means they are just the means to being admitted to hospital. Something says to me if I acquaint myself with the machine I might be inviting some handicap. I know this sound cheap but not cheaper than Michael’s gimmicks which are snapped for free.

Whatever emerges and what can be observed out of the life and times of Michael is that he was a very sad and broken man. He never really had friends apart from his legion of publicists, biographers, fans, Nelson Mandela, personal photographers, PAs, brothers, sisters, mother and father. He never trusted people enough to get close to them since he always thought they wanted something from him. He was never a 50-Deep type. Who the fuck did he think he was – some drug that everyone wanted to get high on?

There’s not much science involved in analysing heart attacks; if your heart is overloaded with all the carbon dioxide it beats very fast, which means more blood or rather oxygen released into the system, which means you sweat, which means you become dehydrated and the blood becomes thicker and has more difficulty traveling through your arteries, which means if at that time you are incapacitated by another drug your heart gets clogged and you suffer cardiac failure and die.

I saw people on television crying as if they have just lost their balls. They cried the same way when Jimi Hendrix died. I saw them crying when Janis Joplin passed on. I swear I heard them crying fifteen years ago when Kurt Cobain spilled his own brains.

I ask people who trusted Michael with all their heart to tell me, ‘if you could unscrew your dick and leave it with someone for five days while you went somewhere, would you trust yours in the hands of Michael, do you think your pussy or dick will still be in a state you left it in with Michael if you did so? The question is largely that do you think the dude could be trusted?

I don’t know. But truly on June 25 – indeed the music died.

for the full story go to http://www.kasiekulture.blogspot.com/

To all the Drugs I Used Before

For the first time in so many years I listened to Thobela FM, the station that used to be called Radio Lebowa or Radio Bantu. Like always the topic under discussion was about nation building and moral regeneration. They were actually talking about drugs.

I felt so angelic that I have never really did the hardest of drugs in my short life. They helped me realise that what I called hard drugs was actually mere hallucinogens and depressants while what qualifies as serious narcotics are stimulants.

Incase you have been wondering this are three categories of the stuff. Alcohol is a depressant because it numbs you and slows your responses. That’s why I have always argued when some folks told me that they make better lovers when sloshed. I am often like ‘wait right there broer, for all I know you can’t even use a rubber when sloshed because your glans feels like hard rubber and you can’t fell the oomph’. But well some dudes swear by Charles Glass that they bonk better under the influence – good for them.

Now there are hallucinogens or drugs that give you pictures in your brain which might actually not be there. Those are drugs like benzine, glue, marijuana and nyaope (heroine mixed with dagga). These are classified hallucinogens since music feels better, sex feels better but the problem is that you don’t come because you often give up along the way to follow some thought about a bicycle cycling down Chapman’s Peak. And when you come back to mother earth the dick is limp.

And finally there are stimulants like cocaine, heroine, tick, ecstasy and friends. These narcotics make you feel hyper, you make better sex but it’s just that you sweat a lot as well and you need to keep on hydrating yourself to keep up with the momentum. For all I know you can have a punchy ménage trios when on cocaine and your concentration span is longer. What I don’t know is the side-effects of heavy bonking induced by drugs.

And I thought I have done the worst until I realised that I have been a saint. I deserve a better cocktail or rum weedsmoke and coke. Holler!

What's In A Name?

You have your darkies who swear to god that even in a million years they don’t aspire to be white. Then you have your Michael Jackson type who from the moment they were born always wanted to be white. I have often asked what’s the point of darkies wanting to be whites but when it’s time to actually do it the first thing they want to change is the colour of their skin. It’s melanin at work people – stop it.

Now the next step in that ambition to be white came with some darkies adopting what they call white names. Okay they call them christen names. However recently when I did my research into white people’s names I discovered that 80% of what darkies call English names do not exist in the white birth register.

What I’m talking about here is names like Given, Gift, Beauty, Linkie, Cyanide, Sinias, Rockerfeller, Goodenough, Believe etc. what makes a parent decide to call their beautiful daughter Beauty still beats me, same with all the other names.

First of all Given means something else in English, Gift is a present, Cyanide is poison, Rockerfeller is a surname of the a wealthy American family – not a name. I don’t even want to go into Goodenough.

White people have names like Elvis, Brad, Calvin, Eric, Patrick, Hank, Brett, Roger which if you asked them what they mean they can tell you more even what language it was – Irish, Scottish, Welsh or English.

So, my daughter does not have an English name but a vernacular one that means something else. And none of my future kids will have names that don’t mean anything. That’s until we have white people with names like Sibusiso, Mzwandile, Lethabo, Thabang, Neo etc.

That’s my humble contribution to June 16. Let’s change the attitude comrades!

Xenophobia

In this country we have short-cuts to everything, including the scapegoats we adopt when we can't navigate out of a sticky situation. Recently with Julius Malema making it a habit of pointing fingers at Helen Zille it has become fashionable again us to realise that there are darkies and larnies. So, this week I tried to look at how much prejudice do we cultivate in the name of political correctness. I would challenge many darkies who live in townships to protest when I call them bloody racist scoundrels who make the larnies their scapegoats.

A certain academic once observed that in 1994 when apartheid finally crumbled 'the settlers were forced out of the ossewa but the problem was that the wagon was never dismantled' instead the newly truimphant darkies marched into it and occupied the warm laureals left by the fleeing Boers. Suddenly you had darkies who were moving to the previously exclusively white suburbs, those who were taking their kids to previosly Model C schools, playing golf and taking up gym memberships they didn't intend to use. In other words they became the new ruling class with an elitist twist. It showed that they hated apartheid not because it was evil but because of the advantages that it was providing to white people. They hated the Boer because they envied everything about him. They wanted his schools, suburbs, cars and power.

And now the same darkies have got the audacity to stand ontop of highrise buildings and accuse whites of not understanding darkies because they (whites) have never been to darkie areas as if it's the rite of passage to be considered a South Afrikan. At the mere mention of a larney who has never walked my ghetto being less-patriotic I usually ask if we major conformity by visitation.

Then I adk the so-called hardcore ghetto dwellers to tell me how many of them have been to a Coloured suburb? How many of you darkies have ever been to Eldos, Phillipi, Westbury and even Valencia? Darkies talk all shit about how Coloureds are mentally unstable and how they'll never hesitate to strangle you with a guitar string or stab you after another session of tik. That's perception; based on lies and miseducation by apartheid authorities. The problem is that the only time television shows Coloureds is when the story is about drugs, gang violence, teenage pregnancy and spinning cars.

Thus the Coloured becomes a distorted race. A race associated with everything bad. A race which's suburbs darkies are scared to walk. But the same darkies accuse whites of the same crime. Hypocrite muthafuckas! That's xenophobia and it should stop.