Pieces of writing that I may develop, leave to germinate, or cast off to the wind.

A Dream: 9 July, 2015

I am prisoned on a craggy rock high in the desert. I go for a walk with my fellow inmate and he asks me why I am so angry about Mandela. I tell him how when Mandela was imprisoned on Robin Island he held secret meetings with mining companies and then when president he reversed the ANC’s position on nationalizing all mines and spent much of his time tying to comfort white people. We are back to the prison and I have visitors from Scandinavia. I suggest to them a ride through the gulch below or a tour of the prison complex. The woman lifts up her shirt and shows me scars across her back. “This is what the fragrance of the flowers does to us in our country,” she says. “They don’t tell you these things.”

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Strip Club

Dear Ola,


Last night we took a friend out for his 25th birthday and we went to a strip club. There were lots of naked women dancing on the tables. I understand now why you don’t want to go to the club in your home town in Croatia. It would not be nice to see someone you know dancing with their pussy in your face.


We learned lots of things during the evening. We learned that Indians and Chinese come on Wednesday because they are cheap and the entry is only $5. We learned that most of the waitresses are colored and they say life is shit but you grab onto a little bits of hope. We learned that that lots of the white girls don’t want to go upstairs with black guys, and even if they do, they don’t give extras.


We learned all of this from the black lady with long braids who was sitting talking to us for a long time. My friend finally picked her and he fucked her upstairs. During that time we went outside and took a walk in the parking lot. When he came down he was very sweaty and smiling big. He said it was the best birthday he had ever had and he can’t wait for 2015.



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