Africa: Day 2.Who Knows?

“Calling out around the world are you ready for a brand new…” drink? I hope so because it’s time for the 4th installment of around the world in 80 pints: South Africa edition. Anytime an animal is seen or mentioned take a swing. Oh sorry I meant swig I swear… Any woot, back in March I spent three weeks in and around Zululand located in eastern South Africa. The time was passed in and out of touch with the confines of reality. It would take copious H’s & A’s outlaid in repetitious positioning to truly put this experience into words. Instead I crafted a memory real mashup for y’all. Call it a savory salute to living life like a music festival montage. (Side-note I deserve zero credit for any of these lovely photos… You see I’m more of a camera giver rather than a picture taker. All the Ooo’s, ahhh’s and praise belongs to Chief White Chocolate.)

So here it goes in 3, 2, 1…

Waking up to another bright mornin’

The hell golden glow excites my soul,

But like the eye of a vortex circling from Circe’s psyche

Dark clouds be stormin’ my ego.

Something begins to sell my serenity short again

The restless wind descends whispering, “it’s time my friend”

One day it came to me the long term remedy to stagnicity

Is trying every blade of grass on for size and a reprise.

So instead of buying the Monopoly pieces needed to achieve

A prominent square on the ne’er-do-well fearin’ plane

Past the point of go I’ve gone 200 paces past disbelief

Collecting separate seasons of traveler’s greetings by dry and rain.

Daring to find a place that lays beyond conformity

Before my metatarsals are sworn to dormancy

Which fits like the well worn rags who’ve had my back

When all other forms of comfortability I lacked.

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Youth in revolt now an international cult

Nothing shy of a miracle three children of America

Met four of European kind on an African tour of mind

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In the shambles of African travels

Hid among start and end are bushels of time up for lend

Listen for the laughter between the leaves

And you’ll find sweet relief out by the water berries.

Four nights feels like a fortnight out here in nomads land

Where the only battles raged are between the Contras and the Reyes

Pick a pack of ticketed trekkers and the spice of life

Will feed your soul ravenous morsels of super lekker delight.

Come each day’s night,

Before the pack pillages the pre-pilfered pantry

It’s possible to listen to glistening streams of conversations converge

Into a bulging word cloud, an inaudible dirge

Of whispered dilutions stratifing the atmosphere defying the common sphere

Enveloping elation’s, developing relations, all based on good vibrations…

And some wonder why I don’t have a magnetic pull

To the concept of being in a stagnant lull.

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Youth in revolt now an international cult

Nothing shy of a miracle three children of America

Met four of European kind on an African tour of mind

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With Patients at the ready hop in and let the rambling begin

Doors of perception have become windows of attention.

Sipping Ciroc out the mist of a tall tonic bottle with a jazzy gin twist

A harmonious haggle of horns blare from the teal music machine

Conducting nefarious navigation with an air of twirlsome flare

Sparking feelings of being reborn on this dusty road of dreams.

Outer facade, roving the land in a suped-up Tonka Truck

But if you peer through the mud-splattered window gunk

You’ll find a good time gang of gypsies cackling like hyenas on a hunt

Temporarily shedding the sheets we use to block society’s heat.

Suffering through temporary bouts of staggering normality

Auspiciously masquerading as day time wage farers

In order to support bohemian wayfarings

Off in places made for losing your bearings.

Coexisting in comfortable voids of silence like a cohort of sleeping lions

Watching thunder-less flashes shatter on black back-splashes.

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Youth in revolt now an international cult

Nothing shy of a miracle three children of America

Met four of European kind on an African tour of mind

Interpreting the laws of man with a higher hand

Rolling with life’s left passes like Petty and his band

Under the rule of nature tents became indoor pools

But despite being moist and damp we chose not to give a damn.

The only coppa who gave us some lip was Officer Impala

Apparently not a fan of Black Label wind chimes

Which jangle with aromatic drips.

Detested and civil untested he pitched a stench

We discovered your average three seater bench holds 12 by 68 fluid litters.

Clandestine to make it to the restroom, a Kruger lesson learned:

Life’s a drive in the park until the bladder screams May Day

And the closest toilet is still 40km away

But quick stop and pee could bring a hefty penalty or a slinking cat attack.

Think I’m kitten about these lines?

Despite the hair I ain’t lion about the carnal conspiring

Which hides behind the grasses like spies

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Youth in revolt now an international cult

Nothing shy of a miracle three children of America

Met four of European kind on an African tour of mind

Apt for some royal fun facts?

Hyenas like the herb, where as elephants travel in herds

The wildebeests have the gossip about the forest beat

They’re so nosey they smell with their feet

Tis a pity the elephant and rhino had a shitty falling out

Now the rhino must spread his about

Atje voor de sfeer, for the sake of Shakespeare

Cher is in the chair with acid in the beer

Not one to hold her biltong the question beckons,

“How many hops does it take to celebrate 24 years?”

Plenty more trips around the sun to come

But it will be hard to top the dawning of the eve of a quarter century

German bought chocolate cake and ate it too

Gether with a far flung family anointed by the power of the joint

Answering smoke signals from The Netherlands, Germany and across the USA

Seven minds better than one? How about 7 minds becoming one?

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Youth in revolt now an international cult

Nothing shy of a miracle three children of America

Met four of European kind on an African tour of mind

You know back in ‘02 I was snapping fictional pictures on computer games

Of zebras and lions on some African planes

Now I’m toking out in Swaziland with the Winter Dodging gang

Learning of the zeb-ras, stars, and Bushlands ways

New rules by the old school, making plans to bop some jams

I said a hack, hop, a hippy to the hack, hop and you don’t stop

The days hackenings are to be hackhazardous hacking

Members brought together by hackenstance now a tribal dance

May the Chief be pleased with our funky footed beat

Hacktic attacks are the antics at hand in a bowl of rolling green land

A brief touch down for our worldly whirling dervish

Impervious to idleness going where the Swazi good, good guides us

Waking up in the clouds turning tents into rocket ships

Launching our cranial domains into higher planes

Pipe dreams truly plumed into a reality beyond my adolescent comprehension

Now I’m ready at attention to live the rest of my days

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Youth in revolt now an international cult

Nothing shy of a miracle three children of America

Met four of European kind on an African tour of mind

Ticketed tail lights and two tire pops

Signal the sound of return with the Hops Doc on watch

No worry about falling off the on-beat wagon

B-Money, cotton-tail, 2-braids keeps the back corner popping

Arms wavering, layering the voluminous waves of smoke the High Roller is blowing

Keeping us tilted like the roulettes whittled wheel

Some say sure bets are apothecareous

But we always agree when he always reaches for the red square

Papa Duck keeping care watching the THC levels with a birds eye view

Not hasty to call out any member of the crew

Even Chief White Chocolate takes another toke when the weatherman booms, “smoke”

Fearless leader Peter at the helm guiding us through alternative realms

Personal space now exists in a mythic place

Rubbing toes, losing elbows not keen to whose knee belong to me

No limb it to the number of arms and legs we can fan-dangle

In a Jenga like entangle while jam packed in a 4 by 5 keg

Happen to know the hop count or should we compound some more back?

Run Dat the last member of our rowdy rat pack

Always keeping it real sputtering accents with zeal

Got a hankering for pie he’s your guy asking price 17 porpoi

Better believe credit and debit can get lost in two blinks of four eyes

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Youth in revolt now an international cult

Nothing shy of a miracle three children of America

Met four of European kind on an African tour of mind

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Star gazing, Dorito chip grazing

Dream blazing, boogie board racing

Life’s just peachy getting down and beachy in the sand

Lost boys in wonderland with Frank grinning 9 mile in the sky

Feat of surviving feat not thriving

Between toe dogs, turtle poo, and landy knee we

We got ailments up the wazoo

But nothing ale ‘n menthols won’t get us though

Fishing wishes, story dishing

Hops flow, saga unfolds

Bookmark the day ten cadets blasted away

Day trip master with a hand from the grand maestr-O

Conducting a concerto in the key of mellow

Lucid smiles derived from paper thin wiles

Enjoying some mind mergers like a plate of tasty burgers

Belly laughs, going daft

Dissolving ego with all mates in tow

Idea lobbing, why not bank robbing

Take to the mattress if the bucket of nope dries

Punjabi Remix so nice got to pump it twice

Seriously does anyone have a rope?

Youth in revolt now an international cult

Nothing shy of a miracle three children of America

Met four of European kind on an African tour of mind

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Go with the flow ease with the breeze

Wondering souls we’ll always be

Like asphalt scorched by suns mighty heat

Traveling days seared into collective memory

Off in a land that makes me believe nature will conquer man

Determined to take on life with Ali’s ability to fight

Don’t care about being knockouts

Because splattered ‘n tattered clothes are better than a ragged soul

Time under our control longer lasting living one day at a time

Morning light to star rise spent making hay

Setting fire to night like moths to flames

Open minds and slack jaws lines, trademarks of our kind

Laughing like pirates after a plunder no topics taboo

From sexual blunders to religious preaching and government creepings

All covered before reaching the hobo sip of beer

We swear, “shit it feels like we’ve known each other for years”

Youth in revolt now an international cult

Nothing shy of a miracle three children of America

Met four of European kind on an African tour of mind

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Although the place where I lay my head will change

The people in my circle will always remain

Tight till the end we ride till the death wondering where will life drop us next?

Question asked through lite-beer laced lips

Like flunky balls flying from tanned finger tips

We float on hope our dreams won’t land a missed

Time will give the answers true but it is with confidence I say to you

“As far and as wide as we may roam

Travel with ease knowing in my heart you always have a home”

Got to hold tight to the people who make you feel like sunlight

Let the Vagabond hold true long after the crazy hazy travel days are through

It’s the jilted the jealous and the damned who claim memory fades

But 25/8 the sun will never set on these winter days

Southern cross my heart and hope to die

Seasons change but thicker than thieves this bond will remain

Long after autumn leaves let gravity take way

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Youth in revolt now an international cult

Nothing shy of a miracle three children of America

Met four of European kind on an African tour of mind

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Youth in revolt now an international cult

Nothing shy of a miracle three children of America

Met four of European kind on an African tour of mind

Youth in revolt now an international cult

Nothing shy of a miracle three children of America, merica, merica

Met four of European kind on an African tour of mind

Paths now diverged but souls forever merged

We may not see each other soon

But no doubt one day we’ll be together

Howling at the moon

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2 thoughts on “Africa: Day 2.Who Knows?

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