Belong (Verb)
1. Be rightfully put into a particular position or class. 2. Fit or be acceptable in a particular place or situation

It will be great if one could return to the tradition of making a fuss about nothing. I call it improvisation writing. A writing process wherein you let the words flow spontaneously by themselves while you guide flow minimally a sort of automatic writing if you will. Our anchor in this jot is the word ‘belong’, a verb.

Let’s move. One’s brain is not wired like a scientific calculator – A behemoth during my scholastic days way yonder in Phelendaba. I loved mathematics but alas my brain could not fathom the intricacies of the magical trigonometry nor geometry. As for the fractions I always imagined that they were like mean machines caressing the innards lines of the A4 hard cover college exercise book reeking confusion in my already delicate brain but alas I must confess that I loved algebra for for 1 me there was a mysterious aura that the letter x carried. You were the investigator trying to make sense what is it that made x so alluring. What it stood for. So a particular number, after a laborious outing on your part, you were to learn, was x. I know this is jargon especially for those who don’t give a whiffie whaff about math. That particular number or x belonged to the entire problem hitherto presented to the mathematical investigator – you. And should you be amongst the enlighten ones who cracked it it gave you a joyous release more glorious than the debut coital release.



Have you ever thought about what this word means against the backdrop of losing something dear to you or a loved one? The two, obviously, are not one and the same. If it is a material thing that you have lost chances are it can be replaced. Better still you can upgrade the ‘it’ to an even a newer version or a better ‘thing’. But for the mere fact that it is a thing it will always be obliterated by time even if you have fond memories of ‘it’. A day will come where someone will give you a hint that time is running out – you must get rid of that thing and get a newer version, both to fit in and to move with the times.


The Remake

The remake of Robocop can only restore the myth par excellence of the original Robocop that first emerged in the late 80s only if it does not have a sequel. What will be there to say? Considering the original motion picture had a trail of sequels that shifted away from the original matrix of what the original was what about and stifled the myth of the man tragically killed in the line of duty only to be resurrected by a technology whose capitalist backers ends going cancer on each other as far as the lucrative business of stopping crime is concerned.


The artist’s demise

And when an artist has met their demise the world would marvel wide eye awed by the genius of their work. The critic will evoke their deeds when he sets out to make sense of it all, while the art historian attempts to wedge that creative’s life into the fabric of our memory might just spawn and stir that artist into solidity such that generations to come cannot but pay their respect to his person before they claim their place in the assemblies of the art world whatever their preoccupations. How sad and sweet is the life of an artist is! A contradiction.

But the artist while blessed with a yoke of health must just respond to the outside stimuli. An artist must work. Must produce. They must search and must discover, they must draw our ignorant attention to the world we inhabit. They must ask for nothing in return except our attention which they can gain through innovation enshrined in hard work and self discipline. For surely the world will remain judgmental of the artist, as it is never impartial to anyone preoccupied with reworking the boundaries or toppling them altogether…


28 June

mmutle arthur kgokong 2014

The golden soil

The Bridge

Moje’kJoe Papapaah felt like deserting the bridge for a while: It would be a while before the Jotmaster and the apprentice return from their expedition of the current textual chain. Moments earlier when he checked the monitor all was well with them within the tex-Ah-verse. And outside of the cockpit he observed that the alpha numerical belts were stable as the hover craft cruised smoothly. It could be an hour or so before they crack the current code. At any rate the Jotmaster preferred to move cautiously in these matters, preferring to savour every detail of the pseudo reality erected by the alphanumerical belts. While the two were gone this could be the opportunity to indulge in his own fancies, a trip involving art. He looked at his smart chronograph strapped on his left wrist.  With a long press at the centre of the digital dial the rectangular screen was pervaded by a vibgyor spectrum after it disperse the arms. He mimicked the number 1-9-4-0-, and an  inflection ’ chasing – S.


Tag Two

*/a nickname or a description by which someone or something is likely known/
/when someone is acknowledged in a photo of someone within the internet/
*n.b. See Oxford Paperback Dictionary Thesaurus & Wordpower Guide p925.

Enter January. If you thought dizzy tyd krissano is lazy-laid back by way of timing I reckon you haven’t lived through January on a poor bank balance and a queue of wolves eyeing your scrawny wallet bidding their tick-tocks for month end to come because surely it will nosy in. But January is slow as a scrap of a taxi on a late Monday morning. This is the time where you look back through a smoothly clearing fog of ecstasy while reality sets in. If you are a resolution type of a dude nothing will make you more determined on you than this month, the jotmaster, for your sake hopes it does not catch you commuting on a scrap of a taxi. Talk about reality setting in.



/An act of choosing/the right or ability to choose/


Presently I have decided to go with two definitions given for the current word-expo. With that said here we go – Imagine that you are a child of not more than 6 years of age in a candy section of a super store with your paps or moms out on a little shopping spree to stoke up the supplies at home.

By this time at your age it has been hammered into your soft snug skull that you cannot demand sweeties until the starches, oils, spreads and meats and drinks have been acquired. Unless of course if you are full of tricky tantrums when you do not get your way with your folks and are able to demand the goodies immediately when you arrive at the super store because your parents yields to your manipulations, this qualifies you to a spoiled brat strand. Ideally speaking that is, the second scenario is not appealing to people who want their young to survive as adults. Good natured adults like your folks have made hay while time allowed, they broke you ‘’cause they want their little one to grow up in a responsible way and like the Setswana saying goes le gong le ojwa lo sa le metsi (you have to guide the growth of a tree so that it does not grow crocked and not bear fruits once it sets).