What happens if you press share/what happens if you publish

A part of a larger amount which is divided among or contributed by a number of people

IT is not really rocket science that we live in a world that is so interconnected that more people know more about you than you can imagine. If we could allow some semblance we can always think about the internet as an inner-verse. An internal world to this one but a world that permeates our physical constructs and to a certain extend holds it in checks and balances as far as certain aspects of our modern society is concerned. i.e all the activities we do on the net both good and bad stuff

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Birth – for the old folks arcade gamers of Phelindaba

 *The beginning of this something

I have never had an interest in gambling. My ignorance extends from as far afield as the casual game of cards to a game of Dice. I knew a Knoxman while still at high school. Here was a man whose ways were outlawed from his garb to his disdain for protocol. Despite our school’s rules and regulations his feet were always kicked into a pair of All-Star Converse with some Grey Dickies spilling over them instead of the conventional Toughies and Grey Flannels. Occasionally he’d swap the Converse for a pair of Florsheims, always looked dapper the pantsula way that gent; I suspected that the game of chance, his mind always drifted towards during the course of the day, had something to do with money-Kachin that jingled in his back pocked whenever he chested into class or chested out either at change period or our breaks or when he decided that that was the day for him and He would rather go off to start his skool sa ma’dice some where in the school’s premises, especially those undiscoverable corners where only our School Principal braved to check in during his rounds. Mr. Knoxman forced issues with his kickers and overall attire until the teachers tolerated him

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Diary Entry: Paucity, Balcomb, Winter and my first love

Dear reader I would like to thank you for continuing to read my work. It is an honor to be read even if it just that random post. After taking a big risk recently by swinging towards the unknown territory which is The Development of Pay Television in our country I was relieved to see readers statistics holding their stability levels. Pay television, I am sure you’re aware by this time, is an area of interest to me and I thought why not critique it while I was fascinated by what was happening with the recent launch of online subscription based services in South Africa. I had had fun jotting a few pieces in this area. Last word in this regard is that pay television in this country can be seen as a reflection of the growing pseudo black middle class. I personally feel that economically we are not there yet in the true sense of what being middle class means. How can you be middle class if your direct brothers and sisters live is poverty due to lack of employment and economic opportunities? But capital prevail and we’re all under its entrapment

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The Dawn of OTT-SVOD War

Epilogue

{ON} Tuesday 16 November 2015 at exactly seventeen hundred hours (17:00) ShowMax went live. It moved from behind the scenes of Internet SVOD (Subscription Video On Demand) contested field that was occupied by Times Media Group’s VIDI and MTN’s FrontRow for quite some time to claim its stake in a burgeoning Over the top (OTT) content market. Following a bloody tripartite warfare for video On demand dominance, whether streamed or uploaded, witnessed in The Node Nadir Saga. By the conclusion of that chapter all stared in awe as Altech’s NODE caved in and grayed out into the recess of a distant memory

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Presence in absence

In the land of the Bunched Hunched up people

Ï watched my smartphone fall a short distance from the study table one evening during its charging ritual. A few seconds before, wanting to check messages, I’d sort of pulled it by the charging cord and, as the law of gravity would have it, its weight pulled it off the connecting point. It ceremoniously met with the ceramic tiled floor and the Lumia 800 hurdled towards permanent lights out. Heartbroken and instantly sore to the core from the thud sound I heard when the phone hit the floor I expected the worst damage as I picked it up. I could make out a few things on the screen for the screen was damaged but surprisingly not cracked… but the main buttons of Home, Confirm and Return were not responsive to my frantic fingerings. Something more in this harsh ordeal was that I could swear the screen was dying out for a dark purplish lava lamp like goo moved in slomo to blot out the screen. Bought for novelty’s sake than to fit in with the populace, this was a phone whose battery was non-removable; it possessed only two slots, one for charging and the other for the micro-sim. And now jammed into its spacious memory were important keys to my daily activities by way of a calendar, social media networking platforms, private documents, photos of where I have been or what interest me as well as an extensive address book of my contacts. A sad thought loomed in the background of this specter, I was being blurred out towards an erasure as the dark lava spread throughout the screen signaling the death of the device.

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Diary entry 10 January

What does it feel like when your phone is on the tv stand? Let’s increase the distance, what does it feel like when it is in another room or better still when you leave it at home only to discover during your trip to work or school that you are without it? Nerving isn’t? They have become sticky things them cell phones them, neh. Our hook up to them often reminds me of the advert of the guy trying to quit smoking and the cigarette box is stuck on his hand while he tries to throw it in the bin. He goes for a patch or a chewing gum to free himself of the smokes. Social media networks, a blessing of our time or a curse for those who cherish privacy? Watch out for our next piece: Presence in absence in the Land of the Bunched Hunched Up People to be blogged on 13 January 2015, it’s an article dedicated to the television and film screenwriter, travel writer and the weekly columnist for The Times – Darrel Bristow-Bovey

 

 

© Mmutle Arthur Kgokong 2015

mmutleak@gmail.com

follow @mmutleak

Generation X: The return?

ßY the time you read this, Generations will be back on your screen. That is if you care about what’s on television. I am happy to report that it now boasts a subtitle nog al – it’s now called Generations ‘The Legacy’, which makes it sound hip and akin to some video game sequel or action movie flick of some sort; you just have to add an x or y to the title to heighten the tension of great expectations the title alone carries. Mara akere Generations is a soap opera, so the action you are bound to see will be limited to the scheming of character so and so to take down character so and so or z kissing with k or d was born an orphan or is an illegitimate child of q and p and has evil brewing within him and it will soon spew out in a feast of vengeance. I doubt though that this new Generations will have the same charm that it had before it went POOFoff for a spell following a hiatus with the previous actors who demanded higher wages in addition to an array of assortment bounty basket of employment conditions. The actors who ai-ai, ha, ai-ai, ha! – toi toiyingly flexed their muscles were subsequently fired. But besides the solidarity that some viewers showed to those axed actors, latterly the soapy lacked something. Deniably this fact groped at the back of our skulls like a shadowy problem masquerading as a tiny rock in our shoe, bugging us with each step and draining us of all amusement, Hao. We knew this even as we migrated to other channels in order to prove to Mfundi et al that we needed those actors back on our screen! We knew that something was wrong.

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