duskant sutherland


Bokkies, julle spring mooooooiiii….
Junie 29, 2007, 4:38 nm
Filed under: Geite

Ek lees die volgende tong-in-die-kies artikel vandag in die beeld en toe smaail ek lekker:

 “…Vyf bibberende modelle in jeans en bikini-bostukke het gister die ANC se beleidskonferensie in Midrand op hol gehad toe hulle hul steun vir die Springbok as embleem vir die nasionale rugbyspan gewys het. Dié vyf veelrassige skoonhede het net ná 13:00 buite die hoofsaal van Gallagher Estate, waar die konferensie plaasvind, opgedaag, van hul warm baadjies ontslae geraak en voor ’n reuse- ANC-banier gaan poseer terwyl hulle plakkate met die woorde “Save the Springbok” vasgehou het. “

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Ag en daar moet mos altyd ‘n ou dik suurknol wees wat dink “sin vir humor” is ‘n st.3 taalkundebeginsel of so iets…
Beeld vertel van so ‘n einste Mnr. Sarel Suurknol wat so verdiep in sy kleur-issues was dat hy nie die snaaks (en MOOI) in die toneeltjie kon raaksien nie:

“…“Dit is ’n f***** rassistiese simbool. Ons gaan dit wegvat!” het een ontstelde lid, wat nie sy naam wou noem nie, gesê…”

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sneeu in sutherland!
Junie 27, 2007, 8:21 nm
Filed under: Goeters

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‘n blog met hierdie titel sal darem nie sy sout werd wees sonder ‘n lekker koue sutherland storie in hierdie tyd nie! hierdie foto is vanoggend geneem by die SAAO (in kort, die sterrewag, soos ons hom maar ken). SALT (in kort, die M***SE nuwe teleskoop, soos ons hom maar ken) is in die agtergrond. ek sal binnekort ander fotos deur die familie daar geneem, pos.

o ja, net so feit of 2, Sutherland was laasnag -9 en daar word ‘n juweel van -15 vir vannag (27/06) verwag. brrrr….



aangrypende storie…
Junie 27, 2007, 7:56 nm
Filed under: Gedagtes

Hierdie is een van die mees aangrypende stories wat ek al gelees het….
…op die ou end is ‘n mens meer as brood en botter…al is jy hoe honger…

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An extract from the diary of Lieutenant Colonel Mervin Willett Gonin DSO who was among the first British soldiers to liberate Bergen-Belsen in 1945.

I can give no adequate description of the Horror Camp in which my men and myself were to spend the next month of our lives. It was just a barren wilderness, as bare as a chicken run. Corpses lay everywhere, some in huge piles, sometimes they lay singly or in pairs where they had fallen. It took a little time to get used to seeing men women and children collapse as you walked by them and to restrain oneself from going to their assistance. One had to get used early to the idea that the individual just did not count. One knew that five hundred a day were dying and that five hundred a day were going on dying for weeks before anything we could do would have the slightest effect. It was, however, not easy to watch a child choking to death from diptheria when you knew a tracheotomy and nursing would save it, one saw women drowning in their own vomit because they were too weak to turn over, and men eating worms as they clutched a half loaf of bread purely because they had to eat worms to live and now could scarcely tell the difference. Piles of corpses, naked and obscene, with a woman too weak to stand proping herself against them as she cooked the food we had given her over an open fire; men and women crouching down just anywhere in the open relieving themselves of the dysentary which was scouring their bowels, a woman standing stark naked washing herself with some issue soap in water from a tank in which the remains of a child floated. It was shortly after the British Red Cross arrived, though it may have no connection, that a very large quantity of lipstick arrived. This was not at all what we men wanted, we were screaming for hundreds and thousands of other things and I don’t know who asked for lipstick. I wish so much that I could discover who did it, it was the action of genius, sheer unadulterated brilliance. I believe nothing did more for these internees than the lipstick. Women lay in bed with no sheets and no nightie but with scarlet red lips, you saw them wandering about with nothing but a blanket over their shoulders, but with scarlet red lips. I saw a woman dead on the post mortem table and clutched in her hand was a piece of lipstick. At last someone had done something to make them individuals again, they were someone, no longer merely the number tatooed on the arm. At last they could take an interest in their appearance. That lipstick started to give them back their humanity.



– jy mag maar
Junie 27, 2007, 4:38 nm
Filed under: Gedigte

 Jy mag maar jou koffie slurp
of in die piering gooi
Jy mag maar met vuil voete
oor die wit mat loop
Jy mag jou naels byt
vals sing
swak groente huistoe bring
Die badkamer omkrap
die nat vloer opdroog
met die waslap
Skakel maar die radio aan
om ses in die more
en luister hoe hulle brabbel
oor veevrektes
aartappelroes
inseminasie
 Jy mag mar snags hard snork
oor koue voete brom
-as jy net terug wil kom. 

Hester Heese

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on his way – deur die sneeu!!!!
Junie 27, 2007, 2:33 nm
Filed under: Goeters

soos ek ‘n paar posts gelede vermeld het werk ek die afgelope weke in johannesburg aan ‘n projek. nouja, ek ry toe in die snerpende koue vanoggend en net so anderkant die jukskei sien ek die eerste wit kolle. ek dog eers dis seker maar ryp. toe ek my constitution hill kom waar ons werk, is die plek spierwit gesneeu en pragtig…o ja, en hel koud.

ek doen toe ook wat omtrent alle mense eerste doen as hulle – ongewoond daaraan –  op sneeu afkom…sneeuman!!!! (hierdie is selfoonfotos so die kwaliteit is nie great nie…)

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middel-jaar blues
Junie 20, 2007, 4:57 nm
Filed under: Gedagtes

dit gebeur soos klokslag elke jaar hierdie tyd…ek kry so ‘n diep verlange na die Karoo. Daardie amper-seer verlange wat maak dat jy in die verkeer skielik vir ‘n oomblik vergeet waar jy is…daardie verlange wat maak dat jy twee keer ‘n vraag moet vra in vergaderings omdat jou gedagtes myle deur die bossieveld aanstruik…’n verlang wat wonder…

wonder hoe die veld lyk, of dit droog is, of die vetplante blom.
wonder of die dam water het en of die watervoels hulle winterreis noord aangepak het
wonder of die lug blou of grys is, soos met so baie wintersdae
wonder of die dassies op die kranse die laaste somerhitte uit die klippe bak
wonder of die april-lammers al sterk genoeg is vir die Karoo winter
wonder of die groukat toe nog lammers kom vang het
wonder of daar vanjaar ‘n poeierlagie kapok oor die heuwels gaan wees
wonder hoe rooi die son die horison vanaand verf

en wonder waar die hartseer van die Karoo vanaand leplek gaan vind.



on his way
Junie 19, 2007, 7:03 nm
Filed under: Goeters

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 ek werk die afgelope week in die middestad van johannesburg aan ‘n projek by constitution hill en dit is werklik ‘n ervaring (ek woon in die jakarandastad…)

hierdie gebou is by constitution hill in hillbrow, en die skildery teen die muur is getiteld “on his way” deur die kunstenaar n.e nawa. ek’s mal daaroor en dit dra by tot ‘n baie spesifieke atmosfeer in die area…

ek kan verstaan dat daar al songs oor hillbrow geskryf is…dis ‘n amazing plek.