'I believe I can fly!' -- starring Jacob 'Laduma' Zuma

Here's my latest little bit of messing around in CrazyTalk 5.1. This is a pic I made of Jacob 'Laduma' Zuma back when controversy hit him really hard. (Please don't confuse him with Zu-Ma Se Poes. Different politician.)

I'm experimenting with some ideas that Conrad Koch and I have been discussing. This is one of those experiments.

Shootout at 8am, Friday 18 April 2008, in Houghton Estate, Johannesburg South Africa

Thank you very much for viewing this footage. I'm terribly sorry at how unclear it all is. I started shooting this sequence approximately 30 seconds after the shooting stopped.

Here are links to the bits that made it onto the web:

1. http://qik.com/video/59002
2. http://qik.com/video/59003
3. http://qik.com/video/59007
4. http://qik.com/video/59015

My biggest worry at the time was that my girlfriend had JUST left for work. Turns out that she drove past the three guys walking out of the gate at exactly the moment I looked out my window.

Here's the sequence of events as I witnessed it all:

1. Approximately two minutes to 8:00am, Friday morning, 18 April 2008, I heard a man shouting outside, 'Help, help, call the police, help!'

2. I went to the window, looked out, and saw a white man shambling away from an open garage. He was sort of shuffling his feet, not really running. In a way, he looked drunk.

3. He got about 10 metres away from the open garage, going west along Osborn Road, corner Lloys Ellis Road.

4. I saw three very well dressed black men exiting the open garage. They were in formation, walking with determination, but not fast. There were two average height, average build guys, with a very large, well built guy bringing up the rear. The well-built guy appeared to me to be in command. He wore a dark brown leather jacket with cloth cuffs, which were a tan colour. Good shoes. And a black 'Andy Capp' hat.

5. I heard a police siren make a very short 'squirting' sound.

6. The big guy looked back, and reached into his jacket.

7. From their exit, to the siren squirt, to the hand reaching into jacket was less than four seconds, and they were approximately 10 metres from the open garage.

8. I ducked below the level of my window, and started prepping Qik on my phone, to try and get some footage of whatever was happening.

9. Just as I ducked, I heard gunshots. I estimated at the time that there were 15 to 20 gunshots. And I read later in the paper that there were 20 on the nose.

10. The spurt of gunfire lasted no longer than 5 seconds. And then there was silence for about 5 seconds.

11. I looked up out of the window, and saw a policeman stumbling in the direction of the three men. The policeman was limping badly, and looked very very dazed. I could see him clutching his groin with his right hand, and gesturing back to someone with his left hand. He was saying, 'Call an ambulance. Call an ambulance. Call an ambulance.'

12. I'm not sure what was happening with Qik at the time. I THOUGHT I was live streaming, but if I was, it didn't record. Cos it's not online.

13. All of the streaming that I did is a bit disjointed and weird. It was very hectic knowing that someone had just been shot. I also tried phoning my girlfriend at this point, and her phone rang to voicemail. Which scared the shit out of me. The second time I called, she answered. And she was fine. She had driven away from it without being harmed.

14. When I went downstairs, I continued filming. I estimate that about seven minutes of footage has been lost somehow.

15. I read in the paper that one witness claims to have seen 4 men, and the man whose house got robbed also made the same claim. I'm VERY doubtful of this claim. Because I watched three men leave. And they did it with absolute military precision.

16. When I saw the pictures of the bullet holes in the police vehicle, it occurred to me that the clustering was very accurate. These shooters knew exactly what they were doing. And they did NOT look nervous at all.

17. Police claim that one of the wounded policemen's R5 rifles was stolen by the armed robbers. This is so totally unlikely that I smell all sorts of rats. If that rifle disappeared, someone took it AFTER the robbers made their getaway. The two police were in their vehicle when they got shot.

18. The crime scene itself was ultra chaotic. I freely went under the police tape, and shot footage live on Qik via my cellphone. It was only when I was right up close to one of the wounded policemen that I was escorted away.

Thanks for viewing this footage. And please be safe. Be alert. If you're viewing this and you're a South African, please understand that we're living in a warzone. This happened at 8am on a Friday. And these guys were slick professionals. To them, this was just another day at the office.

I don't know how the two policemen are doing. According to the news, both are in a critical condition in hospital. I wish them both complete recoveries.

Blue skies
love
Roy

The Al Qaeda Junior forces -- yet another masterstroke

This post is my response to John's piece on Commentary South Africa, 'Al Qaeda Junior'. In his piece, he expresses strong outrage at video footage showing children being trained for guerrilla warfare.

Nah. John's got the wrong end of the stick on this one.

The reason the 'war on terror' is unwinnable by the 'west' is thanks to reactive analyses like his.

What's happening is a paradigm shift of the most extreme kind. The September 11 Twin Towers demolition represents a change in the world order.

The message was quite simple: 'You are no longer safe. Anywhere.'

The recent use of mentally challenged women to detonate suicide bombs is nothing short of a stroke of genius. Because it adds another layer of pain to the message: 'You are no longer safe. From anyone.'

The 'discovery', 'release', and/or 'shooting' of a video showing a training camp in which children are being taught to be suicide bombers/guerrilla 'soldiers', whatever, is possibly one of the key masterstrokes of the propaganda war being fought by the Muslim extremists. (It appears the video was shot by western forces. Which makes it an even bigger mastercoup by the extremists. They couldn't have gotten better publicity if they'd simply leaked it.)

John's reaction plays completely into their hands. He's responding exactly the way their propaganda experts planned.

They wanted outrage. Whinings about human rights, the rights of children. Cries of anguish.

They wanted all westerners to think, 'How low will these bastards go? NOTHING is sacred to them!!!'

And yeah... they've definitely got us thinking that. (Soon they'll be training sweet little dogs to be suicide bombers. Mark my words. And THEN we'll see anguish!)

And all they've got to do to make this world unbearable for westerners is to publicize just ONE suicide bombing by a child.

Cos that'll lock it into our minds forever.

And the message will be: 'You are not safe from anyone, anywhere, ever again.'

Sadly, this war is inexplicable to us westerners.

I don't know about you, but I cannot fathom what 'they' want from 'us'.

In most wars, someone wants something from someone else. There's a goal. Once the goal is met, the war is over.

In this 'war', nobody has said what the goal is. Nobody has explicitly stated: 'This war will be over when x, y, and z have been achieved.'

Which is why it's a paradigm shift and a change in the world order. Cos as westerners, we don't have access to the correct way of thinking about this.

In addition, I'm not sure how many people are actually saying, 'What do you guys actually want?' Maybe if we ask, they'll tell us. And then we'll know how to end the war.

So... uh... I'll ask. Guys... what do you want? How do we make this all stop? Please respond in the comments section. Thanks.

The illustration started out as a sketch in ink in my Moleskine notebook. Then I pulled it into Photoshop via my HP scanner and coloured it to within an inch of its life. All on my Toshiba Tecra M4 tablet pc, of course. No pork was consumed during the making of this image.

Jake White -- a timing genius through and through -- 'Win or lose, it's how he played the game!'

RugbyWorldCup_018, originally uploaded by Dplanet::.

In response to Paul's response to Henre Rossouw's musings on Jake White's marketing genius in the timing of his book release panning the South African rugby administration.

I too think Jake White was a genius in his approach to the timing.

I'd go further, and suggest that his timing was planned WAY in advance.

It takes a good year to merely WRITE a book, let alone see it to print. This book has necessarily been in the works for -- probably -- the past three or four years. I think he's a clever enough man to have been able to foresee the endgame years ago.

I'd guess that Mr White may have fanned certain flames, knowing that there'd be consequences. He's no fool. If he says 'X', and he KNOWS that one of his opponents in the rugby world will say 'Y', and he KNOWS that the exchange will be controversial, then hell... why not say 'X' for strategic reasons?

The guy's a manipulator. That's his job. It's what he does best. He's also a strategic genius. That's how the Boks won the world cup. I don't think the bloke set a foot wrong in his entire campaign to get the Boks there. Including the so-called missteps he took in fielding 'poor' teams. The subtle art of misdirection at work, no?

And I think there's a further element to his strategy and timing. He's not JUST looking for personal gain. He's making sure that he sets the bar for the next coach. He's really done an almost mystical job of setting very high stakes, and demonstrating to the world (and South Africa, for what it's worth) the consequences of his successor fumbling the ball.

He's checkmated SA rugby good and solid. If they put an idiot in his place, or continue with their own idiocy, there's a smiling Jake White holding a trophy on a book cover for them to be humiliated by in the privacy of their own consciences. Sheer genius.

The photo is used under a Creative Commons 'Attribution' license. Thanks to Dplanet for the pic.

A conspiracy-theory night out with the South African leftwing poets and the American consulate staff

So now what exactly IS a conspiracy theory? When a whole bunch of seemingly random events all tie together with an underlying 'obvious' pattern, is that conspiracy?

I'm in the middle of one.

Here's how it looks...

1. Roy makes a few inflammatory 'anti George Bush-USA' lapel badge designs.

2. States in his Flickr gallery that he hopes some of his buttons put him on the CIA hit list.

3. He starts a satirical group on Flickr titled, 'BIN LADEN... IS THIS HIM?' He asks people to help the CIA find Bin Laden. They must do this by posting pics to the group of ANYONE who could POSSIBLY be Bin Laden. They must include the exact time and place of photo, so that the CIA can collate the information. 16 people join the group immediately. Another one joins some time after.

4. Roy posts a pic of some Arabian-styled fellow and his girlfriend. The pic is a lucky shot at the gym. The couple were joining up, and Roy happened to be going to the changeroom at the time. Yes!!!

And then the interesting coincidences start...

5. Roy gets an email out of nowhere from a dude called Ismail Mohamed, who is the 'Senior Cultural Specialist' attached to the 'American Culture and Information Center, U.S. Consulate General'. The email invites him to attend a do at the home of Steven Coffman, the American Consul General. The do is a poetry event, featuring Toni Blackman.

6. Roy thinks, 'What the...?' He thinks, 'Who the heck is Ismail Mohamed?' He thinks, 'Sheesh. The Americans are INFINITELY politically correct. If this IS legit, then they've DEFINITELY hired a guy with the right name.'

7. Roy phones 1023, and verifies that the number given on the email is indeed attached to said Info Center of said Consulate. The email is legitimate.

8. Before Roy phones Ismail Mohamed to find out more about the event, he checks his dating profile. Cos an email has just arrived stating, 'CoffeeShopSchmuck... you have a new fan!!!!!!!!' On said dating profile, Roy finds an attractive gal has faved him. Her country of origin? America. Living in South Africa. Studying.

So Roy thinks, 'Okay. Guantanamo Bay. Bring your own lube, dude.'

He also thinks, 'Oh, don't be paranoid, dude. It's ACTUALLY a set of coincidences. For instance, the dating site gal is just a gal. The poetry thing? It's JUST a poetry thing. Except that I haven't really been all that active in the performance poetry circle for a long time, apart from occasional forays. And the dating site thang? Well... my profile has been viewed maybe three or four times a week for the last month or two, and the last time I got faved by someone was two weeks before the American babe.

Nothing concrete. Nothing 'real'. Except for the coincidences.

So...

9. Roy phones Ismail. Says, 'Yeah. Would LOVE to come. Can I bring a partner?' Ismail says, 'Absolutely.' Roy contacts another babe from the site. One he's been flirting with via email for a while. Says to her, 'Would you like to accompany me to the US Consul General's house for some poetry as our first date?' She says, 'Yeah!'

At this point, I'm wondering what the hell to do at the poetry event. Ismail has said that there'd be an open mic.

And I'm torn.

For me, it would go against my ethics to simply accept the invitation and say NOTHING. For me, saying nothing against the current American government is tantamount to collusion with the Bush regime. At the same time, I don't want to use an open mic as some kind of soapbox to froth about politics. And anyway, I'm a minnow in the world of politics. At best, I'm some kind of semi-informed leftie-libertarian. At worst, I'm a victim of several streams of propaganda. So anything I say can't actually be anything more than my opinion. A dilemma.

10. Roy meets his date. She turns out to have platinum blonde hair, and THE most piercing blue eyes he's seen. And she's STACKED. Awesome breasts. Really. Sheesh. Nicely dressed. Alluring. A sharp, angular face. Kinda Nordic. Kinda fierce. But soft. Very pretty. They go to the consul's house in Roy's little red sports car. Which desperately needs a session at the valet. But hey.

11. They park. Roy has intentionally left his Swiss Army Knife at home, thinking he'd be cavity searched by special agents before being allowed into the hallowed presence of the esteemed consul. Instead, the guards wave him and his babe-date in. Roy's thinking about shagging her somewhere in the consul's house. And he's working out what he's gonna say.

12. They get inside. Ismail Mohamed is familiar to him. It's the same Ismail Mohamed who ran the Windybrow Theatre in Hillbrow many years ago! He's a leftie! He's all right! He bumped into Roy a few months ago in a restaurant, and took Roy's card. (The cards here are the two sides of Roy's new card, which is currently at the printer.)

13. The consul general is a cool dude. He's wearing a delightful Mandela shirt. He's shortish, greyish, and very jocular. Roy imagines he's quite a bright fellow. There's a picture of what must be his daughter in the living room they walked through to get to the garden. And she's scrumptious. Holy moley. Roy wants to shag his date AND the daughter!

14. Poets arrive. It's basically a pretty damned high-powered collection. The cream of South African performance poetry. (Although, Lesego Rampolokeng and Kgafela oa Magogodi aren't there.) So Roy's thinking, 'Uh... I'm NOT in this league, am I? I MUST be a token invite, so they can get their eyes on me.'

15. Roy and his date (who remains nameless, cos she doesn't want anyone except the CIA to know her name) are scoping the joint, trying to spot which of the consulate staff are secret service agents. Roy and his date have discussed things in the car before the entered the premises. They speculated that the sexy woman who tries to seduce Roy would be one of the agents. And whoever else is wearing shiny shoes and hippy clothes would be the other one.

16. Paulina, the 58-year-old busty honey-blonde with huge breasts and massive hair, immediately starts hitting on Roy, stepping into his personal space, so that every time she breathes, her breasts glance across Roy's wrist, which is defensively holding a glass of water in front of his chest.

17. The second agent isn't all that obvious. But there's only ONE person wearing shiny shoes, aside from the guy in the suit. The guy with the shiny shoes is fairly old. And he's in hippy clothing. It's our man.

18. The poetry starts. Two guest poets kick off with short works. Quite good fun. Then Toni Blackman kicks into gear. Does two or three terrific poems. She's employed by the US government as some sort of cultural commissar. Brilliant. She finishes her short gig, and opens the mic by calling for an improv session with three poets from the audience. Asks the audience what the improv poem should be about. Roy pipes up, 'It should be about two minutes.' She calls his bluff, and the poets improvise a poem entitled 'Two Minutes'.

19. Toni calls for another improv session. Roy gets up. Joins two other performance poets. Roy is wearing a t-shirt with Rosie the Rivetter on the front, and the slogan, 'Just Do It'. Someone says, 'Just do it!' So that's the title and topic of their poem. Roy slips in a wry dig at Nike in Vietnam, which gets a big laugh.

20. Applause. Other poets do some solo material. One or two poems max. Roy figures out what he's going to do.

21. Allan Kolski Horwitz takes the mic. Does an incredibly funny and harrowing poem about putting despots into power. The twist at the end is that the despot he's referring to is George Bush. And his father! Heheheeheheh!

22. Roy takes the mic. Starts off pretending that he wrote a Linton Kwesi Johnson poem. Outrage while he recites the opening phrase... 'It was in April 1981, down inna di ghetto of Brixton...' Tells the crowd to relax. Then says, 'I'm going to do two poems tonight. The first one is incredibly short, and it's one of my two political poems. It's called, 'AFTER'.

AFTER

The lovers lie like statues
shattered by the tanks.

23. Roy then says, 'Mr Coffman, I need to make a personal appeal to the American people. Please tell them that Roy Blumenthal is asking them to impeach George Bush. Because of him, I do NOT feel safe.'

24. As Roy says this, the man adjusting the microphones spins around and takes a photograph of Roy's date. Hmmmmm. Not wearing shiny shoes at all.

25. 'Right...' says Roy, 'politics over for me... here's my next poem.' And he performs, 'IT'S LUNCHTIME IN THE CITY' which features 'the heads of leaders turning tails, touched by crimes... the slime!'

26. Which effectively closes the open mic. Coffman steps up to the mic during the light smattering of applause, and says, 'Thanks for being here,' etcetera. And Jim Callahan steps up and makes a speech, cos he's retiring to Cape Cod. And the evening's almost over.

27. But Ismail Mohamed comes up to Roy and says, 'Are you available to be on the radio at 8:30 tomorrow?' Roy thinks about this for a few whirring moments. What's going through his mind is this: 'I would dearly love to shag this incredible specimen of babehood tonight. 8:30. Traffic. Ugh. That means waking early. Which means I can't have a VERY late night.' He says to Ismail, 'Sure.'

28. Roy and his date leave. On the way out, they notice a HUGE photo of George Bush senior, framed, on a side table. It's one of those candid-style shots. The kind buddies take of each other. Mr Coffman is probably someone who has pictures of the Bush clan in his house, not, as some might have it, out of patriotic duty, but rather cos he DIGS them.

29. So Roy and the date head off to the rapidly closing Rosebank Mall. Europa shuts around them. They go and walk around. Sit at the closed Sophia's which has chairs outside. They kiss a bit. 'Wanna go home with me and have sex?' Roy asks. The date smiles. 'Why not?'

Intermission. Private stuff takes place. One phrase only: 'GREAT breasts.' The rest is on a need-to-know basis. (I'm sure the CIA already know everything they need to know about the sexual proclivities of Roy and his date.)

30. The morning after, Roy gets to the Radio Today studio on the dot at 8:30am. There's the guy with the shiny shoes! He IS an agent! Cool! Roy's suspicions are confirmed. The other poets arrive... Toni Blackman, Mac Manaka. The clincher? It's the 'secret agent's' radio show that they're being interviewed on!

So. That pretty much brings the conspiracy up to date. Let's hope I sell some buttons as a result of it. What kind of agent WOULDN'T wear a badge that says, 'Sayonara, you incompetent fuck,' against the backdrop of an American flag?

'Roy Blumenthal -- The Movie' -- The Soundtrack of My Life

Hmmmm. Here's one of those viral tag things that actually caught my attention and seems worth doing.

I read Victoire's soundtrack, and thought I'd give it a shot.

Here's what you do...

• Take your mp3 player, and put it on shuffle.


• For each 'act' in the movie of your life, write down the song playing on your mp3 player.


• Add a short 'interpretation' of what that song means to you in the context of the act (this is my addition to the game).

So. Here's my soundtrack...

01. Opening Credits: 'Only You' by Portishead

'We suffer every day... what is it for...' Hehehehehe. Part of the opening lyrics. So. This song portends a life of misery and suffering, with 'only you' able to help me out of my misery. I wonder who this 'you' is?

02. Waking Up: 'Colours' by Ayub Ogada

This is gentle world music. A very emotive track. Killer dude's voice. It could actually be a lullaby. Suggests that things start smoothly in this life of mine. That I wake up easily and quietly. But knowing me, knowing my history, I'd say it's a false idyll. Cos in actual fact, my mother is already an alcoholic as I'm born, and my father is a wifebeater. So while all's seemingly well in my world, there's this underbelly lurking.

03. First Day at School: 'X&Y' by Coldplay

'I dive in at the deep end... you become my best friend'. Yeah. It WAS the deep end. I was petrified of school. My first day, I clung to my mom. And at the door of the classroom, I wedged myself into the doorframe, and it took two teachers to pry me loose. I was crying like crazy. I think it set the scene for Miss Light to hate me. One good thing about my mom is that she taught me how to read by the time I was three years old. Which in the South African schooling system, in a Germiston government school, was NOT such a great thing. Cos I was considered 'too big for my boots'. And when it took me three minutes to complete a writing exercise that took the rest of the class 30 minutes, I was forced by Miss Light to stand in the corner INSIDE A DUSTBIN. Coldplay is singing the phrase, 'Drifting into space', as I type. Yup.

04. Falling in Love: 'Bring It On' by Gomez

Two words... Hayley Moffat. I fell in love with her in Standard One. And have been in love with some version or other of her ever since. I often wonder what became of her. Gomez sings, 'I've been walking far too long... drag my feet like everyone.' This song is passion-filled, but it's an underground passion, contained mainly in the lead singer's voice. Cos it's also filled with weariness.

05. Fight Song: 'Greetings To the New Brunette' by Billy Bragg.

'Shirley... it's quite exciting to be sleeping here in this new room. You're my reason to get out of bed before noon.' This is one of my favourite songs of all time. I can sing this song in the shower on infinite repeat. I love love love it. 'Shirley... sexual politics has left me all of a muddle... We are joined in the ideological cuddle.'

So what's it got to do with fighting? Hmmm. Gotta think about the connections here. I guess it's about yearning. Yearning for a better life with a girl I love.

Back in primary school, I turned into a bit of a bully-basher. My dad was a ruffian, and he taught me and my brother how to fight pretty effectively. His advice was, 'If the guy's bigger than you, climb onto a wall with a brick in your hand. When he walks past the wall, jump on him and smash his head in with the brick.' I've never done that, but the principle is sound. I've used the principle.

So my own reality is that I was a kind of superhero in my own world, which was something I did to makeup for a pretty bad childhood.

06. Breaking Up: 'Treasure' by Perplexa

This band makes very edgy industrial-tinged sweet music. It's definitely edgy. The lyrics are kinda mumbled on this track. It sounds like someone making excuses for something. Sigh. Breakups. I've had a few of those. Some long-ish relationships. But quite a lot of ones that didn't make it.

07. Prom/Matric Farewell: 'Zahrafat Al Sa'id (Rejoicing in Upper Egypt)' by Musicians of the Nile

Ah. It was fun. The girl that I took to the dance was a blind date that a friend of mine organised. I don't even recall her name. I bought the most unbelievably horrid Pierre Cardin jacket for the occasion. It was hideous. Ultra thing vertical stripes. White alternating with salmon pink. What the hell was I thinking??? I look like an idiot. The girl is wearing a holy-moly-wow!!! red dress. I didn't even get to kiss her, cos I was too shy. In fact, I only got laid for the first time when I was repeating second year engineering at Wits. Now THAT was memorable. This music is percussion-based, Arabic. Some of my favourite ambient stuff. I actually use this track quite a lot when I do ka huna massage.

08. Life’s Okay: 'Stranger in the House' by Elvis Costello

This is one of Elvis's country-esque songs. Crappy slide guitar all the way through. But, as usual, killer lyrics. 'I get the feeling that I don't belong here. That there's no welcome in the window anyway. And I look down for a number on my keychain, cos it feels more like a hotel every day.' So yeah... to anyone looking at me... life's okay. But in reality? I've fought depression and anxiety my whole life. Still fighting.

But by this point in my life, leaving school, studying engineering, things are pretty hectic. I'm eighteen or nineteen. I get home from varsity one day to find the Sheriff of the Court driving away. There's a writ nailed onto the front door. I'm named as the person whose goods are being attached. I'm in debt for R300 000. A debt I signed for when I was thirteen. My dad handed me some piece of paper to sign way back then, and I did.

I go inside, and look for him. He's bankrupt yet again, so he's not working. I find him hiding from the sheriff in a cupboard in his bedroom.

He's a man I've seen break someone's jaw with one punch, and continue smashing the guy on the ground. I saw that when I was around 11 years old.

I confront him. We're nose to nose. He loses his temper and takes a swing at me. Without even moving my head aside, I swat his hand away, and tell him to TRY and take another swing. He's around 58 years old at this point, and still does twenty pushups at will. He glares at me, and then walks away. A week later, I move out of home into a commune in Yeoville. I drop out of university shortly after.

09. Mental Breakdown: 'Throughout the Dark Months of April and May' by The Cocteau Twins.

Hmmm. What a melancholy song! Phshew. Apt.

1989. I'm twenty years old. I've been called up for National Service in the South African Defence Force. I face the following options:

o Leave the country.
o Stay in the country and draft-dodge.
o Continue with tertiary education.
o Declare my refusal to serve in the SADF, and get a mandatory 6 year jail sentence.
o Serve in the army, but as a conscientious objecter.
o Serve in the army as a normal conscript.

I'm a student leftie at this point, albeit a cynical one. I'm a member of the End Conscription Campaign. I consult with some character at a clandestine meeting. And he gives me the lowdown on all of my options. And under his guidance, I opt for 'serving in the army', as a 'conscientious objector'. He gives me an army rule book, and tells me to learn it off by heart. And he gives me a typed sheet with the steps I have to take in order to be an objector within the army. It clearly states 'conscientious objector' in the section that says, 'Declare to the officer commanding of your unit that you are a conscientious objector, and that you refuse to bear arms in an apartheid army'.

I get to Kimberly. I get issued with my rifle. This will be one of only two times I ever touch the rifle again. The second time is when I hand it back after basic training.

I go to the officer commanding. He is the Commandant in charge of 1 Maintenance Unit. He has a walrus moustache. He has big game heads mounted on his walls. He has hunting rifles under the heads. I salute him. He salutes me back. He offers me a seat.

'Yes, Private Blumenthal,' he says.

I say, 'Commandant, I am a conscientious objector, and I will not bear arms in an apartheid army.'

His eyes narrow, and I realise that I've just been buttfucked by the End Conscription Campaign. I realise, in the narrowing of his eyes, that there's something terribly wrong.

He says to me, inexplicably, 'Private Blumenthal... Do you mean "conscientious" objector, or "religious" objector?'

And I swallow my panic, and say, 'I mean religious objector, Commandant.'

He says, 'I'm relieved, Private Blumenthal.' And he points out of his door. And there are two red-bereted troops standing at attention at a door. 'See those two soldiers? They're military police. If you'd MEANT "conscientious" objector, I would have had to call them in and send you to prison for six years.'

And so, Roy Blumenthal, scurrilous half-Jew, chorister in an Anglican high school, atheist (or agnostic, at best), becomes a 'religious objector'. And has to invent a religion.And be a pacifist. Which I'm not.

And is suddenly the most profoundly alone person in existence. Insanity. Insanity squared. With at least two psychotic episodes under duress. One near-death experience. All of it tightly tightly tightly controlled by the strongest force of will in the world (my own). What I've come through lets me know that NOONE will fuck with me and live. I'm one of the most hardcore motherfuckers I know. And I know this very well indeed.

10. Driving: 'Got the Time' by Joe Jackson

Ah! Out of the army. 'Sit down, got another letter to write...' Yup. I'm a writer. I've been studying at Unisa while I was in the army. And I'm now free. And I'm driving a Fiat Uno, which I'll own for around 10 years before progressing to a little red convertible sports car.

Time is ticking. But I'm allowing myself the time and space to learn as much as I can. I'm an avowed autodidact. And I'm soaking up knowledge. I become an advertising copywriter. And I get headhunted to Hunt Lascaris FMC. A HUGE ego boost. The best agency in the world at that point wanted ME. Yeah! And I flew.

Time. Ticking. I become a hot performance poet. I start writing stuff other than poetry. I write a novel. I write a screenplay. I become a filmmaker.

And now, years later, I'm a fulltime artist, living my art in prosperity and abundance, even though I could do with getting my credit card debt down, and my overdraft shrunk. But I've got time. And I'm using it nicely.

11. Flashback: 'Window on the World' by Bright Blue

Takes me straight back to the army. Oh man. And before the army. I interviewed David Bruce for WITS STUDENT newspaper just before he went to jail for six years as the first objector to the SADF. Interviewing him is what decided me NOT to follow that route. I realised that this gentle dude was going to get completely mindfucked by the jail system when he went in. And I met him years later, after his release. And he's NOT the same dude he was going in. He's damaged.

Bright Blue. Wow. I believe they're one of the bands that changed South Africa and got rid of apartheid. And this song is one of my all time favourite songs. 'For the young men marching everywhere, trying their best to escape. I'm watching it all from my window on the world.'

I saw Bright Blue live at Jamesons in Joburg city centre just a week before I started my army 'sentence'. I cried all the way through the gig. And I took them to the army with me. And stayed sane cos of them. Thanks guys. You saved my life. You and Jennifer Ferguson (cos of 'Dickie Baby'). Thank you. And thanks for changing the country. (I'm crying now as I type. Hard hard hard days.)

12. Getting Back Together: 'You're Pretty Good Looking' by The White Stripes

'Oh yeah you're pretty good looking for a girl... But your back is so broken...' I had a long relationship with a beautiful artist, decades older than me. She taught me pretty much everything I needed to know about THINKING. And sex. And liberation. It was a difficult relationship. She'd been married for years. The marriage was largely dissolved by the time I came onto the scene. I had been seeing her for a year when her son died in a car prang. It fucked her over completely. Our relationship lasted a full three years, with a little six month gap in the third year, when we broke up. OF COURSE it was unsustainable. But I was young, and king of the world, and thought it didn't matter that I was 21 and she was 49. It mattered. She knew. She was wise. I have her art on my wall. She was my first true love.

13. Wedding: 'Volcano' by Damien Rice

'Don't throw yourself like that, in front of me. I kissed your eyes and mouth. Is that all you need?'

Wedding? Ain't gonna happen. I don't believe in the institution. It's a crock of shit. And I'm totally opposed to it. I'm polyamorous. And at best, I subscribe to the pagan seven-year. That's where partners commit to a 'marriage' for seven years, at the end of which they either continue for another seven years, or they part.

14. Birth of a Child: 'We Suck Young Blood' by Radiohead

Probably not gonna happen. I'm not keen to bring kids into a world at war. I believe we're in the last world war on this planet. It's happening as we speak. And the key player in it is the American right wing and the rise of Islam.

I'm an adult child of an abusive family. And I don't want to perpetuate any cycle of abuse. I don't WANT to bring a kid into the world to be abused. I don't THINK I'll be an abusive father. But I can't guarantee it. I simply don't KNOW enough.

I do know that I'm aware and alert and awake. I do know that I'm incredibly gifted in communicating with children. I do know that I'm NOT my mom or dad. But I also know that the co-dependent hooks were driven deep into my core. And they tear at my flesh every day and night of my life.

15. Death Scene: 'Weeping' by Qkumba Zoo

Wild stuff. My second-most favourite song of all time is the Bright Blue original. And it's so apt for the death scene. 'I knew a man who lived in fear. It was huge, it was angry, it was drawing near. Behind his house, a secret place, was the shadow of the demon he could never face.'

I don't think I need to say anything at all about this song. Except to say thanks again to Bright Blue for smuggling Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika into this song, and giving hope to the ordinary people of this country when the censors didn't spot it, and it made the radio charts, and spread and spread and spread. Only now this country faces the spectre of Jacob Laduma Zuma being our next president. And people like Tony Yengeni walking free. We're in trouble. A country that I sacrificed stuff to make better. It feels so awful.

Actually, I will say something. When I die, I want to know that I did NOT build walls to hide behind. I want to know that I spent my life breaking walls down, and shining light for other people too. That's why I'm an artist. I want people to be able to avoid the horrors.

And thanks to Kevin and Jeanne (as they were once known, when they were in a folk band called Ocean Road, a band I shared a stage with at the Black Sun theatre in Rockey Street in Yeoville so many years ago) for such a beautiful rendition of this amazing song.

16. Funeral Song: 'The Devil's in the Details' by Lowen & Navarro

Ag. Wrong song. I wish it could have been Shriekback's 'The Cradle Song'. The chorus is so beautiful for endings... 'May the fire be your friend, and the sea rock you gently. May the moon light your way, till the wind sets you free.' But yeah, I suppose 'The Devil's in the Details' is apt. It's about the sting lurking.

But here's the thing. For me... no funeral. I've been to only one funeral in my life, and that was my older-lover's son's funeral. It's the last funeral I will ever go to. And that includes my own. Cos there won't BE a funeral for me. I'm not interested in that institution. I think it's a hurtful institution. I think there are better rituals to work through someone's death. I think there are better ways to acknowledge someone's life.

I am donating my body to science. And I want my friends to know that I'm not dishonouring them by asking not to have a funeral. They can have a party somewhere without me. And they can laugh and cry and have fun and seduce strangers and just be cool about it all.

17. End Credits: 'To Love Someone' by Slobberbone

Jeez. I've just googled this song to try and find out who did the original. Can't crack it. Someone like Percy Sledge or something like that. This version is pretty cool. It's from an UNCUT magazine sampler, and it's the only Slobberbone song I've ever heard. I think it's a pretty neat closing to my film. 'What good will it do if I can't have you? You just don't know what it's like to love somebody the way I love you.' May it all have a happy ending. May my life in art give me some light moments. May my journey out of my abusive childhood bring me love and light and joy.

So. There were have it. A musical journey through Roy Blumenthal. A bit more stirring and painful than I would have imagined such an exercise would have been. But a good eye-opener. It's a pretty cool thing to do. Give it a try.

Outrageous, lewd, rude, liberated badges designed by Roy Blumenthal -- on sale now!

Ah! I'm an excited fellow! That's because my shopfront on the Prickie.com website is now alive and kicking.

When I saw the site, I knew that I was basically a goner. Ideas immediately started flooding into my brain. And thanks to the fact that I have a tablet pc and ArtRage, I'm able to paint up my thoughts. And in fact, every single one of these badges is painted up by hand. I'm a lettering fiend, so all of the typography is painted too.

Just in case you're American and confused, the DESIGNS are hand-painted. The BADGES themselves, the things you purchase, are printed. So just put your lawyer's speeddial number AWAY and go and sodomise an Iraqi prisoner. Thank you. Right. Back to my sales schpiel.

And as a buddy of mine said when I showed him the designs, 'Roy, you have a VERY busy mind. And it's VERY dark in there.' I don't know WHAT he could have meant. Do you know?

If it's not clear to you by now, or if this is the first post of mine you've ever seen, you'll know that I'm a pretty perverted leftwinger. I'm also a commited feminist. One who plays BDSM-BDSM every now and again with willing participants. One who is exploring polyamory as a lifestyle of choice.

Which means it should come as no surprise to you that many of my badges will be overtly political, outrageous, even sick. (And possibly even totally inexplicable.)

You'll also notice the feminist badges. 'My other breast is also a Porsche' is basically meant to be worn on the breast by women who are sick of men not being able to meet their eyes cos they're glued to the cleavage.

My 'Condoms Make Me Horny' badge is a political response to the South African HIV/AIDS pandemic. We're in DEEP trouble.

Jacob 'Laduma' Zuma, who is campaigning to become our next president, and is LIKELY to get elected into that position, declared in court during his controversial rape trial that after he had sex with the woman he knew had HIV/AIDS, he took a shower, because that would prevent transmission of the disease.

See what I mean? We're fucked, aren't we?

It's not JUST a political response. Condoms actually DO make me horny. Hehehehe.

Five people so far, out of around 20 that I've shown the designs to, have chuckled at the 'I see your point duo'. The other 15 have looked bewildered, and moved onto the next designs.

The one that seems to be getting the biggest laugh is the 'Breast Porsche' one.

And for some reason, 'Button Pushers of the World Unite' one is getting belly laughs.

I'd love to know which of these (if any!) appeal to you. And which of them are outrageous to you. I do assure you that if none of these are offensive to you, that WILL change.

One of the pairs I've come up with, which I'm busy designing now, has ALREADY caused outrage in a few of the people I've shared the concept with.

They say, 'Roy, do you WANT the Americans to hate you? Do you WANT the CIA to kill you?'

For instance, there's a follow up to 'Hide Erect Nipples'. It's this: 'And Osama'.

See? It's not just Charles Bronson who had a death wish!

Some technical information for you.

• The badges are all printed and manufactured by Prickie.com.
• They're one-inch in diameter.
  
• And they're US$2.99.
  
• I get a whopping 25% of the purchase price.
  
• Which translates to the overwhelming sum of 75c.
  
• So make me wealthy!
  
• Purchase a badge!
  
• Maybe even purchase two of them!

I'm going to issue two warnings to you.

WARNING 1: When you go to the Prickie.com site, be prepared to stay there for at least two or three hours. There are hundreds of badges on there from artists around the world. There is some stuff that WILL blow your skirt back. And that's just MY designs!

WARNING 2: If you're an artist, all you need is a PayPal account and some designs to open a shop on Prickie.com. And I tell you this now so that you can't say, 'Roy, why didn't you WARN me?' -- IF, I say IF you start designing badges, you will be caught in the vice-like grip of insanity. The ideas DO NOT STOP! Have a notebook with you EVERYWHERE. Last night I woke up twice to scribble thoughts down. And they made me laugh. So I didn't get much sleep. Dammit.

Oh... one last thing... the folks at Prickie.com have made it really easy to buy badges in bulk. You'll notice funny icons on the checkout cart. They say things like, 'Free shipping' if you order a specified number of badges. And 'Double your order' when you hit another point.

So if you've got gift shopping to do, and you need to buy stuff for people who have everything (no, Mr Zuma... not YOU; we KNOW you don't have EVERYTHING, least of all HIV/AIDS, a brain, a social conscience, or a reigned-in, 'no-means-no' prick) -- this is pretty much the site to do that shopping.

Oh, a post-last thing... if you click any of these buttons, you'll go straight to the Prickie.com cart on my shopfront page. And you can spend spend spend! Thanks for reading. Now go and buy buttons. MY buttons!