John Vlismas

“Let’s talk as painters,” he clasps my hand in a warm, knotted ham and we circle the room. He is hilarious, warm and furiously alive. Pausing at each picture; he animates — gestures uncommon of a man his age, swear words and spittle pass messages from fierce and funny blue eyes. An imperial under bite […]

Summer crashes over us. Reassuring odours of hobo remind me that decay is life just above room temperature. Now, we are all funky. Humidity holds air in bunched fists, in the shade, waiting to be drunk. The car guard has lost an eye and fingers in some great unfairness. I’m outside the Sexpo, marvelling at […]

I’m between home and show and booked in for the night, but adrenalin has bled out, and the minutes feel skinned alive. Moments hang together, nerves exposed. I’ve chickened out and beat the last joke to the car. Drunk executives and their punch bags heave under the weight of free buffet. Young do-goods shake jowls […]

I sense the coming day’s density around midnight, and try to pull out. A late text that my work is overwhelming — I must stay in cyberspace tomorrow, wrestling invisible work giants. I am drawn to and repelled by the meeting, menisci kissing before finally parting. Steve shoots back. He does not accept this reasoning. […]

Sticky, bilious, yellow-green shame gushes from a hole in the ocean a mile down. Oh, Lord, don’t put it on the television. Better that we cannot see it. Our eyes decide what our outrage is based on, not the truth. We’ve made our systems more efficient — less effort, better feelings — we’ve “new and […]

The receptionist looks me up and down. I see her nose tilt up slightly. She’s taking an inventory: tattoos, asymmetrical haircut, body jewellery … she sits back, confident that her sums round off. I see the smug recession of her chins into a generous neck. She will come down from the mountain. “Can I help […]

I read another self-published novel the other day … the author told me it’s really hard getting published. I read his book. There are reasons they don’t publish everyone’s book. Writing is hard. Writing well is almost impossible. After putting his book down, hard, I wept to know that there are now suicide writers as […]

We had been to visit the small township that clings to the crag above the monied guts of Hout Bay. Afrika is a tour guide who walks conscious tourists through this matrix of elemental and exposed souls. Reconfigured billboards are cold comfort compared to the promises they make on their faded skins. This notwithstanding, the […]