I miss you, Scope magazine

To hear many religious people talk, one would think God created the torso, head, legs and arms, but the devil slapped on the genitals.”  – Don Schrader

I love porn. There, I said it. But not for the reasons you may think.

I think explicit imagery is important as a contrast to the majority of mainstream representation of women’s sexuality.

The prevailing message women receive is that sexual aggression is unfeminine, that a woman’s primary sexual role is as regulator of male desire — to say yes or no, but not to pursue desires of their own.

Girls are still taught that sexy is the same as “pretty,” that it means dressing a certain way and then waiting to be approached. Fuck films show women being sexually aggressive and powerful in a way that sometimes isn’t pretty, but is definitely sexy.

Because we live in a country that actively censors ideas no matter how popular, we are unable to better cultivate our own individual belief systems.

This is because one of the ways we learn what we believe in, and become mature opinionated adults, is by encountering language and imagery that we disagree with or have strong reactions to – the best ideas come out of confronting the unfamiliar.

Human desires evolve out of our varied, complex experiences in the world. Sex is so basic to our humanity, and sexuality is an arena (like dreams) that connects us to the parts of ourselves we don’t always fully understand or have words for.

This is what makes sexuality fascinating and endlessly variable and certainly worth exploring (extensively). But with any exploration, be it of one’s self or environment, there has to be moderation, common sense and respect for others.

I wouldn’t bring a copy of Playboy to supper at my mother’s house, not because Playboy is obscene, but because it would be out of context. But sitting on my coffee table? The context fits, because the choice is mine.

Bottom line is, if you don’t like porn or Playboy, fine. Don’t try and impose your moral aversion to pornography on the entire world – just try not to watch it.

Leave that to me.


If you’ve ever been fired, dumped, evicted or displaced, you know how a sudden shift in your circumstances can rattle your sense of identity in unexpected ways.

Without that job title, will you have the same mojo? In a different house, on a different street, will you still feel at peace with yourself? Without your girlfriend or your wife, without regular calls from this friend or that, will you still feel sure of yourself?

Maybe becoming a mature adult means understanding what makes us happy, what keeps us alive, and what might be holding us back.

Most of us never quite adjust to the realities of adulthood. We greet the unrelenting responsibilities and inconveniences that accompany the dream – bill payments, dentist appointments, lobolo, meal preparation – with the eye-rolling exasperation of teenagers.

Having spent our youth imagining that being an adult meant reading great books and sipping sherry in leather armchairs in the “study,” we’re indignant to discover that we don’t like sherry, or that we don’t have a study, or even that, when placed in an actual study with a book and a glass of sherry, we find ourselves wanting to play Call of Duty instead.

Growing up kinda sucks.


So I met this writer named Iris Jumbe a little while ago, and she interviewed me for a new website she recently launched.

She’s an interesting character, and the interview is up on www.fontanians.com if you wanna check it out.

Head = swelling considerably. Balls = titanium.

Spain = awesome.

Thank you, Herald

Okay, whoever the sub-editors at The Herald are, they’re just taking the piss.

Shakira was, however, expected to leave the country yesterday.

The pop star has shook the whole continent by her World Cup song Waka Waka, which contains lyrics from a popular Cameroonian song.

The Latin-pop superstar, born Shakira Mebarak Ripoll in the coastal city of Barranquilla, Colombia, Shakira, who goes by her first name only in Arabic means “woman full of grace,” belies her ancestry.

ZIMSEC need to visit this newsroom, and test everybody on ZJC English.

Back in business, bitches

If the imagination is to transcend and transform experience it has to question, to challenge, to conceive of alternatives, perhaps to the very life you are living at that moment. You have to be free to play around with the notion that day might be night, love might be hate; nothing can be too sacred for the imagination to turn into its opposite or to call experimentally by another name.
— Adrienne Rich, “On Lies, Secrets and Silence”

It takes a long, long time to grow up. Just when you start to sort things out and make some progress toward maturity, inevitably someone wanders up and offers you a tequila shot or a sexy little coloured freak or a stuffed cooler-box, and before you know it you’re back at square one.

Eventually, though, these people die or go to Joburg, leaving you all alone to figure some things out, transfer some cash to the landlord, take a goddamn shower, etc. Finally, you feel calm and satisfied and secure – maybe for the first time in your whole life. You’ve done it! You’re a mature, responsible adult!

That’s when you notice that you’re really fucking old.

How did you get old? You were the one person on the face of the earth who was never going to age. How is it possible that you’re not “just a kid” like you used to be? No one calls you a kid anymore. Instead, they look at you with pity in their eyes. Why? Because you’re so fucking old, that’s why.

That’s when you have to make the hard decisions, right the old wrongs, bring the family closer, do the hard work.

And finally marry try again with the loyal, loving, long-suffering girlfriend.

I’ll show you how it’s done.