1. A life-long suicide note
My first book A life-long suicide note took 13 years to complete. It is a story about transcendance of the soul. I am going to publish this beautiful and extremely personal piece of work.
My second book KORO has been published and is available by clicking on the book cover icon to the left. The paperback is available online at Amazon.com/Amazon.co.uk/loot.co.za or electronically it is available on kindle. My approach to the work is simple, I have taken care to handle the subject matter skillfully. There is no sensationalism, just open explanation of complex subjects. I have cultivated an objectivity to ensure that the matters of consequence are introduced as impartially as possible, with a view to encouraging the readers to make up their own minds when it comes to events discussed, demonstrated. My research ensures the reader will be educated, my predilection for prose means the reader will be entertained and the reader will become informed about some of the atrocities happening in the world around them. It is time for these atrocities to be faced, and eradicated.
I am currently working on chapter nineteen of my third book, which is the sequel to KORO. It is called FARMER. I intend to finish this work in the next two years, along with a collaboration I am working on with my friend Ernest Raphaolo Vhonani Jr.
4. The Mindscape of Magenta Alighieri
Another of my open works is The Mindscape of Magenta Alighieri, a gothic visitation to a Citadel inside an antique snow-globe, in which we encounter Pan, Cupid, The Bloodrunners and The Warriors, The Mystic Guru, The Circus Tent and The Baroque Republikum. This story explores love in all its manifestations and celebrates its many facets and faces, whilst deconstructing the myths surrounding its deployment.
An excerpt from Chapter Two:
Pan raises Cupid with his Seven Sirens
Pan stands in the doorway. He is pleased to see me. He runs a black and white feather across the palm of his hand and stares. It has been a long time since he found an angel flying on solid ground. Finders’ keepers. Those were always the rules.
He cannot wait to eat her. He aches in anticipation of the kill. First, he needs to acquaint himself with her Keepers. That always takes time. She had three the last time they met. Perhaps she is now down to two. Or maybe she has amassed an army. Best he does not underestimate her protection. He will watch her for a while, count her shadows, her blessings. He likes to undress her blessings. She occasionally lets him. She is deliciously fragile. Those wings. He will make a trophy of them. But first, he must let her rest. Theirs’ will be a long night of passion. The love, is there. That love of surrender. He will make her surrender to him her virtues. The torment he feels is worth every second. The merest hint of her fractures his resolve.
She wants to succumb to him. He has her halo. Or at least that was what she thought he said he was holding to ransom. No matter. She will give him whatever he needs. That is always something different. She is used to his proclivities. His price, for playing fetch. In her, he finds solace. In that, she finds freedom. Theirs’ is a relationship time-tested by trial. The trials, of silence. She has his truth and he needs her to keep it sacrosanct. He will pay kindly for her service. He always does. Theirs’ is an understanding. A mutual respect, even reverence. He knows what he wants and she knows how to get it. He knows how to get what he wants, from her. He just needs to ask her the right way. Their timing does not always coincide, but when it does, it is transcendant. She makes space for him, and he makes use of that space from time to time. In her, he finds his angels, his demons. A man can only take so much before his need to be realised through self-expression gets the better of him. She allows him that privilege. He gets the better of himself in her presence.
He has a knack for exorcising her demons. He has met a few of his own and from each, he learned a valuable lesson. He is not selfish with his learning. Teaching. Where there is something to be shared, there is something to be gained. They learned to trust that in one another a calamity of lives ago.
Theirs’ is a mating dance. The first time, every time. He knows his sex. She admires that in a man. He knows she cannot refuse him. That is his power. He is under her skin. She snatches moments of that power back from him, moments where he is lost to himself. Those are beautiful moments. It is not often you meet yourself in another’s eyes. When you do, it can go one of two ways. That choice is never yours to make. It is a given. She gives him a smile, submission. Tonight she is his altar. He is good at sacrificial acts. It feeds his bloodlust. He approves. Today he fancies slaying a virgin. It is a special occasion, and must be marked as such. He must summon the slaves. They must fill the mineral bath. She needs petals, oils. He must prepare the candles. Her skin will look good in flames. This night he will blacken her with the ashes from his phoenix-fire. He has been saving them for just such an occasion.
He wants to kiss life from her, into her. That involves getting bitten. He is used to her hissing, spitting. She bites when he is on heat. That is exactly what he needs. She knows that. He has told her often enough.
He smiles that smile that makes me look away. It is a predatory smile, almost rabid. He knows he holds my tongue and he will take advantage of my silence. He points the feather at me, and I flinch. It is like he brandishes a whip. He moves from the doorway, a fluid movement that takes my breath away. He is on me, instantly, as if already in me. He licks my neck, I erupt inside. I black out. I wonder what he will have done with me when I come awake.
He is leaning over me, concentrating. I am surrounded by lit candles. The room is warm. I wonder vaguely where my clothes are. I feel the feather creeping up my inner thigh, to my crotch. My skin prickles. My throat constricts. His eyes are black trapdoors whose pupils consume me. I hear his sigh. I want to taste his pain.
It gives me purpose. It gives him clarity. His pain is not mine, therefore his threshold in me is high. I black back out.
I feel his rhythm. For this moment, it is enough, and I secede my sleeping throne to his need. We will reset the balance of the scales, later. I sigh into submission. The stray of his soft fingers soothes me into believing once again in purity. He is a master at concealing his sin. I will watch his guilt this night. I can usually gauge from his behaviour how badly he is hurting. His pain translates into my humiliation. It matters not. He gets his own back, later. And I heal. Now and then I wonder at the wisdom of my indulgence. Only now and again. If he cannot be himself with me, then when can he?