The Evolution of Tulba.

The Evolution of Tulba.
Some of this blog was originally written in August 2010 and found by me in one of my notebooks while searching through many of them, for material, written randomly over many years, as maybe having bearing on the story, on which I am currently working. This story is part 4 of what I call: “The Azanian Quartet.” [The Buffalo Hunters , The Ashanti Raider and the Jonker Memorandum are respectively 1,2 & 3].You are warned that this [generally excessively long] blog will travel across a range of ideas on route to a conclusion.
A low key feature of the “Jonker Memorandum” was a background reference to a cult form called Tulba. As those who have followed the story of the “Jonker Memorandum” will remember, a part of the story happens after the world, as we know it now, has ended: and we are [in some minimal respect from the story’s perspective] in a post apocalyptic: hence post ‘Revelation’ phase… after “The End”.
Regarding ‘Revelations’, a subject on which I have commented in blogs over the years. The ‘Jonker’ is heavily flavoured in some of its mystery: most specifically the mystery of “The End”. I have a venerable copy of the old King James Bible, presented to me by a ‘godfather’ uncle and signed “Easter 1947”. After the final words in that closing chapter, “Revelations” the words “The End” appear. I have never found that in other editions [Well one does say “End of new testament”, which seems reasonable, since it is.]
But the baldness of “The End” is not in any other version. It has been something that puzzled me more and more as I got older. What do you mean it “The End”? What happens after the End was my unanswered question. There are now stories written about that time after “the end” that demonstrate that it was a ‘relative’ end. So for me though; eventually I understood that “the end”, was as always… Life goes on. Before this [so-called] Common Era, we had Mithraism as a dominant ideology which came to “The End”: and prior to that Dionysus, Horus, Krishna and various others ad infinitum through the mysteries of time itself.Each in turn came to “The End”. And yet here we still are.

In the ‘Azanian Quartet’ The world effectively goes through a period of revulsion at the extreme destruction waged on ordinary people, by those who seem increasingly obsessed with the end game of Ideological madness. The drama of “The End”: the Apocalypse [as it came to be known]; began to be seen as an unintended outcome of a ‘war’ between factional Irrationalists. Think of a conflict between supporters of the Tooth Fairy and those of the Easter Bunny regarding who gets what… two irrational but nonetheless widely subscribed ideas.
And so people sought the sanctuary of Order. Tulba is concerned with robotic machines [aka computers in their expanding range of forms] and their capacity to replace authority. To become, as it were ‘The Supreme Being’in place of the current crop of popular “Supreme Beings”. As this blog evolves i shall return to this idea of “Tulba”, after walking through a few themes, in the form of a poem to the rational world of the irrational: and if that makes sense prepare to meet thy doom.

“Tulba” was someone’s jocular response to the question: What happens when Computers run everything? And Tulba it is, was the answer I came up with eventually. So some of this blog which started with an idea prompted by Terence Kealey’s book: “Sex, Science and Profits”, moves into the evolution of the Tulba construct … As with the ‘Jonker’ it [Tulba] is essentially a background development and is not the focus of the story, which as always is concerned with other things, of a more grounded nature… like how machines are becoming more dominant features of our world and what happens when they are smarter than humans. And of course what happens when someone falls in love and discovers that someone [hopefully but not yet certainly] has to die in order for the love to be fully consummated. And then, as with the ‘Jonker’, where the story is ‘Set’: ie: happening? This is a key scenario to be konstukted, dekonstrukted and then rekonstrukted… and of course using all these “K’s” in place of “C’s” is part of the process.
Thus, as to ‘Scenario’. Those who are familiar with the titles i mentioned above will know that “The Buffalo Hunters” is entirely set in ‘Jozi’, in the place i call “Zone One”. “The Ashanti Raider” and “The Jonker Memorandum” are both partially in Jozi and mostly in the Outlands or Auslaande of Mzansi, in places that generally are otherwise nameless: as i refer to all the regions outside Zone One; which gradually disintegrate into disrepair and neglect and are abandoned as they cease to supply sustenance, and return to their natural state. Again these are simply backgrounds to the story and are not the story itself… like the scenes in a movie are set somewhere and there are ‘extras’ running about to make up the ‘wallpaper’ of the tale, but are otherwise not part of the tale.
Now in this Part 4, the entire story will return to Jozi… the difference to the Buffalo Hunters [BH] being that it [BH] consisted of a number of disconnected tales, that merge around a central “RASHOMON STYLE” event and through the amorphous synergy of that madman “Murphy”, construct the illusion of plot. In Part 4 the ‘Rashomon’ event is a single action that changes things… maybe, and while most of the action takes place on the same day in the Buffalo Hunters it will do so again in [Part 4… as yet untitled]. The difference being that the same event occurs, in different ways, in three time eras, or as i prefer, in parallel multiverses [or maybe even in the Virtual Reality Game.].
So, in other words, we have Jozi past tense, Jozi intermediate Future tense [the time that will be called NOW], but withing a decade or so of the ‘Apocalypse’ described in the Jonker Memoranum, which i will also publish sometime soon as a digital book. And then another part will be set in Jozi in a ‘timeyet to come’ …maybe a century or so from NOW.
So what this means of course is envisiging how “Jozi” will be a dozen or so years from now but also how it will seem around the time dealt with in the Jonker: about century or so down the line. Which brings us back to what i said at the beginning of the blog; and to Mr Terence Kealey’s book: “Sex, Science and Profits.” the subject of the forgotten blog i found written in 2010. And what do `Mr Kealey’s observations have to do with “Future Jozi” and why the setting must somehow correlate with reality in a few places.

Mr Kealey, in his book [“Sex, Science and Profits”], confirms something most recognise as true even though they had never thought about them in exactly the way presented. He tells us: “Most trades in an advanced economy are ‘risk’ trades’, because an advanced economy is based on long term investments.”
By “Trades” he is not referring to, for instance, carpentry or boiler making; but rather to the mass scale exchanges that take place between economic entities that have long term configurations and relationships. For instance: the decision to build the Lesotho Highlands water scheme decades ago, goes ahead, even should the country in which WATER is sourced, and thus originally located, falls apart. The fact that it [Lesotho] is in a presently threatened condition is, as you well know my happy followers, part of the history of post-Apocalyptic Mzansi: as presented in the “Jonker Memorandum”. Another example would be the issue with Mzansi’s power supply: and with who will take on the financial risk of remedying the problem.
For instance; currently we are tossing a $100 billion [US dollar] bone out in the form of a proposed nuclear deal with China [ChinNya or general ‘friends of BRIC’]. What could be the priority “Risk” element in such a ‘Trade’? Bearing in mind that [US]$100 billion is 50% of the ‘real’ income of the Mzansi for any contemporary year: after extracting that part of GDP that represents State expenditure.

Risk you will remember is as fundemental to Trade as oxygen is to breathing… taken for granted often: ignored at one’s peril. In considering a future Jozi, one would have to factor such a ‘risk’ consideration into one’s vision: in order that the picture could be realistic. On the other hand the essence of Zone One is that it is the single overwhelming part of Mzansi that is market driven: notwithstanding Kolektivist pretensions. And much as Kolektivists hate to admit: The Market always rules [as Komunist China, for instance, is busy rediscovering]. So as part of my own more empirical investigation i shall visit one of, arguably, two of the world’s most modern cities next year with intent to put a constuction ethos to go with my ‘Five Towers’ constructions [ref Jonker Momorandum.] So as an example of where this could end. Could part of the RISK play be the arrival of a few million workers from SE ASia into Mzansi: to carry out and manage the Nuclear activity being presently and how would that change things.

Building cities, like that I described in the Jozi Unicity series, [see: forthcoming new poetry kolektion “travelling by hand”] to handle the rapidly evolving information age, would be another such trade, as much as would be the development of new energy sources, like power stations and whatever evolves to replace them in their present form.

Because advanced [or advancing] economies need long term investments to grow and thrive they are dependent therefore on people keeping to their agreements [As Socrates observed some two and a half thousand years ago.]
In short for an economy to be successful, at its most intimate heart it is dependent on millions of ‘strangers’ adhering to, or rather, trusting each other to honour their respective words.
In summary: Mr. Kealey observes: “Trade depends on trust.” A point made centuries ago by Adam Smith: a prime architect of the modern capitalist world. The economist Mancur Olsen demonstrated in his works “The Rise and Decline of Nations” “Power and Prosperity” and “The Logic of Collective Action”, that Kleptocracy amongst the power elite retards the development of poor countries. Wierd isn’t it the way we always have to prove that which seems obvious. And of course the issue of a [possibly] Kleptocratic Mzansi is one that must figure in the background to that future perspective. And it is noted that some believe it to be presently already Kleptocratic while still others believe that it always was Kleptocratic and that ‘Kleptocracy rules’.

Part of the argument that I shall develop here is that, notwithstanding that an objective assessment would assume that trust is peculiar to a rational world [and is anything more rational than the existence of money itself?] [Especially given that much of it now is inherently “FAKE’] it [trust] is nonetheless an inherently irrational and emotional decision and hence behaviour.
In other words Risk assessment is a rational response to questions relevant to an irrational emotion called “TRUST”.

According to Spengler, the Western world is ending and we are witnessing the last season — “winter time” — of what he called “the Faustian civilization.” In Spengler’s depiction, Western Man [sorry: he predated gender sensitivity] is a proud but tragic figure because, while he strives and creates, he secretly knows the actual goal will never be reached. And trust is hard won and easily lost, as Mr Tsipris of Greece is busy discovering right now. These ideas are some of the elements that need to be dealt with in Part 4 of the Azanian Quartet… as part of the background to a story derived from one of Mzansi’s most colourful and problematic historical events.

To return to the joint issus of Risk and Trust; The heart of our Faustian western Capital structured model was initially constructed by the previously mentioned Mr. Adam Smith [He of ‘Wealth of Nations’]. Kealey quotes Adam Smith when he observes that: “In a rational world no company would survive because no rational employee would honour the contract to work while the boss is away… rather, the rational one would play”.

He [Smith] continues, that in a society constituted solely of rational people everybody would cheat on their contracts and thus no risk based contract would be sustainable, especially one spread over decades.
Kealey reinforces this argument quoting a Professor Douglas North saying that: “ … a strictly rational world would be a jungle and no society would be viable.”* [Welcome to Mzansi and the brand new urban jungle].

Mr. Kealey perhaps suggests, by inference more than intent, that a central dilemma of under-developing countries is that they are governed more and more, by supremely rational people. And that self-interest motivated Kleptocratic behaviour is a rational behaviour form.

Thomas Hobbes; he who famously described the circumstances of Stone Age persons as being “nasty, brutish and short”, argued that all persons were inherently unreliable, due to the ‘fact’ that all significant players were rational, and hence unreliable. Question. Are we today governed by people driven by rational self-interest.[Is this the sign of 21st century Person] This idea too will be explored in this tale, which shall as before be about love and daring deeds, mysterious bodies and nasty tricks: and the silliness of Being.

Thus it was his [Hobbes’]opinion that the citizen should be controlled through Tyranny: because rational people are by definition untrustworthy. Rationality it should again be noted is a counter intuitive response to emotionality. And therefore since emotion is contrary to reason it was by definition “irrational”. IE: Emotion is by definition “Irrational”.

As already stated; In his [Kealey’s] opinion Trust is an inherently emotional construct and is therefore ‘irrational’. It is also an appropriated term, given that often in ourstory/history tacitly cooperating/ tacitly competitive business organisations known to Economist as Oligopolies, are routinely referred to as Trusts. So the word has a double meaning contributing to ‘contradiction and conflict’, which, as many observe, are the “deepest truths of reality.”.

One such [unreliable hence rational] Trust was bust recently in Mzansi, with some smacking of hands, regarding the case of Konstruction Kontract Kollusion over Football World Cup Stadia in 2010. In a rational society run by rational people unrestrained ambition and self-interest unregulated by power produces a negative trust factor, in that all systems gradually become unreliable and then dysfunctional. Many people feel this has happened post the SONA episode in Mzansi’s Parliament earlier this year.[see my blog “Our own Mugabe Moment”]

So with respect to Mr. Kealey’s thesis: Naturally, and notwithstanding Oligopolies, [Ie: Economic dominance of selected markets by a handful… ie: two to four/six corporations, that dominate the market and tacitly collude on pricing] that he perceives as the cornerstone achilles heel of the Capitalist system, he nonetheless fixes his support on the Private sector for growth in all respects and argues most convincingly, using a veritable cascading barrage of evidence, that Government funding of anything distorts the market for whatever it finances: with a consequent fall [decline] in performance in those financed sectors. What was that we said about a State controlled electricity supplier?

In this regard; Evidence of the accuracy of his hypothesis may be found [in Mzansi/RSA for instance] by those living in a now permanent world of routine electricity outages sponsored by a monopoly State entity. Add to this the bankruptcy of the State Postal service, the National Airline, The Passenger Rail Agency of SA [PRASA] and routine revelations regarding the financial impecuniousness of many other State monopolies. Even the normally sacrosanct Revenue [Tax] authority has felt the brush of disruption. Readers in other jurisdictions may find head nodding examples, in those, in your own turf.

Mr. Kealey’s work is a testament to the power of the market to solve problems … It is however realistic about the conundrum faced by most societies that finds themselves plagued, with a vested establishment position that abhors the idea of private sector activity facilitating growth. Control means control. Rationality prevails. Oligopoly … Capitalism’s nemesis, becomes de rigueur.State control compounded by Oligopolistic control. Argentina has been regularly cited as an example of an Oligoply driven society that simply trundled down the economic performance ladder from lofty heights to a nugatory and unremembered performance.[The fact that their Rugby Team beat Mzansi’s rugby team recently for the first time ever, demonstrates the numbing effect of ‘oligopoly meets oligopoly’.]

The respected Late Economist JK Galbraith says of Oligopoly: ‘There is no longer any certainty of technical advance….prices no longer reflect the ebb and flow of consumer demand….and it leads to profitable and comfortable stagnation’ [ref: ‘American Capitalism’ JK Galbraith]
Thus naturally Mr. Kealey’s ideas and proofs are not popular especially amongst the geometrically expanding flotillas of parading minions who derive their funding by chipping off a slice of the public pie, facilitated by vast oceans of regulation. These will fight tooth and nail [naturally] to protect their sinecured fiefdoms.

On the other hand [as economists like to point out] the most routine alternative to comfortable and profitable stagnation is seldom pretty. Ask any Zimbabwean/Somali/Syrian traveler you come across.
So we can assume that many of the facts of his presentation have been carefully airbrushed out of consideration by his critics, to avoid inconveniently coinciding with truth. I have been party to this ‘spin management’ myself, it is almost routine. This real world barrage exists, notwithstanding and in spite of the collection of alternate proofs provided by Mr. Kealey. And all of this has to be catered for in preparing the the final installment of The ‘Azanian Quartet’. This means that somewhere in the space between rationality, irrationality, risk and trust; lies that confusing idea called TRUTH… what is TRUTH? And what does it have to do with Tulba, a new evolving ‘ideology’? Tulba derived from the prospect of a computer controlled world: aka. ‘Robots Rule’.
What is TRUTH anyway other than a set of confusing opinions masquerading as belief: isn’t it? Isn’t it?

In essence TRUTH is a dogmatic assertion of REALITY. Which raises an intriguing question? regarding matters relative to REASON and UNREASON.
Tulba: The Post-Modern alternative.
Is reason capable of
Knowing reality?
What is reality?
Death, Hunger, Pain?
Kant tells us that the “dog
Matic solution is there
Fore not only un
Certain- but-imp
Riposte Stephen Hicks “Thus
Kant – that great cham
Pion of reason
Asserted that the
About reason is that it is
About reality.”
Kant quibbled:
“I have found it ne
Cessary to de
Ny Knowledge
In order to make
Room for
Faith” – the absence
Of reason
Gives us
A reality that
Isn’t it?
Heidegger affirmed his ‘friend’
This Reason thing
Is simply skin
Deep beneath which is this
What is this Being
The skin?
What makes “Being” Be?
Why is there even a
Being at all?
Why is there NOT
NO THING since every
Being [it seems] is made
Out of No
Hysteria abounds “No
Thing!” cries Hicks:
“In the
End all things
Are No Th
Ings… No Thing is
Concluding: “Meta
Cal Ni
Welcome to Tulba
Order be with you.

For David Gordon: Mathematician/Musician and my late collaborator who,
in his mathematically pure manner, considered Post-Modern thought to be vituperous.
With thanks to Mr Orwell, who originally gave us the ‘Newspeak’ that so comfortably modifies our lives.

**J J Wallis and DC North: ”Measuring the transaction sector in the American Economy 1870-1970” Part of Long term factors in American Economic growth. University of Chicago 1987

Rehearsing Nietzsche

Rehearsing Nietzsche:

During the millennium gap year: that year when we didn’t really know if we were already in the twenty first century or mopping up the back end of the twentieth, I embarked on two separate but ultimately intertwined experiences.
The first resulted from a decision to write a piece of poetry daily for the entire year. That was the only requirement of my plan: length one word onwards, form: whatever I felt like; and no matter how many poems I wrote in any one day the next day I had to write another. From time to time I imposed rules, like: for the next few days I would only write haiku’s, for instance. I also never made a rule to write a sonnet, and so there are no sonnets in this collection.

The reasons for the poem-a-day thing are not germane. The result was 826 pieces of writing most of which was garbage [in retrospect], but then my rule did not extend to judgements… I simply wrote something about whatever took my fancy and it was a challenging exercise.

And then secondly, a month into the year I was invited by the organisers to read the part of the late poet philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche, for a centrepiece production based on his life to be performed at the Centennial International Nietzsche Convention, that took place at Pretoria University in 2000, the centenary of his death.

What started as a workshop play-reading involving a small group of enthusiasts became a complex production embracing Nietzsche’s key philosophic developments: from his devastating critique of western philosophy as being “founded on a conjecture”, to his devastating denouncement of the concept of ‘god’ in arguably his most powerful and ultimately influential work “Thus spake Zarathustra”. We embraced too his more romantic poetry and his catastrophic personal life. In the way of a Method-trained actor by the time we finished I had become Nietzsche and I the poet drank at a hitherto unimagined alter. The exhilaration was electric.

I feel him still sneaking around after me in retrospective moments and I am discovering that he is all around us. That world he described for us in which we live shorn of its falsity and illusion is all there is. Everything else is hope, blind faith, and crass stupidity overlaid with marketing hype. Each moment is the one that matters: pursue the mission, capture the vision, by all means: but it is the moment-by-moment achievements that are the only reason for doing anything. Ultimately this is his position so reminiscent of the old Zen masters.

Yet for all that his position is ultimately that we cannot uplift ourselves, other than over millennia and that ultimately we begin again, and again, and again… times without number as we have done over millennia past. Each generation repeats the promises of the one preceding, playing the same tunes endlessly to a constantly moving backdrop… and should we be fortunate and particularly attentive we may grasp an insight, in an unguarded moment, that reveals all the secrets of the universe.[whoops: multiverse. ed.]

Playing Nietzsche was for me a continuous dejavu as, piece-by-piece, we slowly and with painstaking intensity ‘unpacked’ the scenes we had chosen. We’d started with hundreds of scenes from everything he’d ever written, and we read everything the Internet could deliver written about everything he wrote: taking scenes and playing them, reading the most erudite interpretations and some less erudite too. Interpretations: what did he mean here when he said that. Eventually it became all consuming, eating up fifteen to twenty hours a day and ultimately finding and confirming that chink in his super rationalist amour… the fantastical and terrifying idea of eternal recurrence. And through all this each day I had set myself the task to write at least one piece of completed work.

Part of the joy of being a performing poet is the process of becoming that which one plays.

I eventually had a sense of why Nietzsche [N] went mad. [If indeed he did go mad] such honesty was not made for our world. A particularly profound statement [for me] by N was his assertion to his friend and collaborator [and my co performer, Gäst , played by Sam Sleiman, philosopher and storyteller.] “I want to say in a paragraph what others say in a chapter.” That is a certain formula for insanity in my view.

And then of course the years raced on. 9/11 and all that: Afghanistan and Iraq, a world suddenly at war again denying Fukayama’s “end of history” theory and loading us down with liberation language of an unaccustomed kind, as the resurgent forces of conservatism outweighed the degenerating forces of progression.

It has also been a time of financial scandals and public trials. And then mention too, the generally cool and absorbing razz-ma-tazz, in the form of gladiatorial sports events and major movie releases all part of the super globalising endless marketing exercise cycles that constitute modern living. Suddenly it was five years after Nietzsche and a gap appeared and this collection said it was time for an airing.

Some of the pieces in here are what my family like to call “weird” and I don’t profess to understand some of what’s in them. I’m not even certain that I wrote them other than in the technical sense of being scribe to some remote intelligence or perhaps, experience… they were pieces that came from somewhere in the depths of whatever it is that we do when we sleep: go on adventures, travel in other dimensions of that multiverse predicted by quantum science: have nightmares. Sometimes they arrive from nowhere in the midst of wakefulness and demand to be recorded. Yet they are there in counterpoint to the Nihilistic world predicted and so accurately described by Friedrich N on the very threshold of the post-modern era.

Other pieces were of a routine “okay its poem writing time of day” because I had set myself something to do as one of that year’s “things” to do. These seem more prosaic and in some senses historical. In a similar way other selected pieces from outside of that millennium gap year were more compulsive: such as the surreal effect of watching the Second Gulf War on television, or the more realistically prosaic, trivial and often-random violent events of a stereotypical day around town n country.

And then of course there were those pieces that were written by the Nietzsche I became during rehearsals for Nietzsche during that same epochal year that has become buried in post 9/11 rhetoric.

Poetry is a strange literary form that appeals to fewer and fewer people which means that as a reader of this poetry you are amongst a tiny elite at the cutting edge of thought.

It is not essential that you like or love my work it is enough that I wrote it…the rest is outside of my control.



About the Poet.

Nicholas Jakari-Williamson [subsequently known as Nicholas Jakari]. has been writing and publishing poetry for the past three decades. His first published collection, Maze appeared in 1978 and his second collection “Random notes of a marginalised man” was published on his [now terminated] weblog He does also write other things but his business card describes him as a poet, which as he says makes his business card an oxymoron.

This third collection includes some seventy-five pieces, with the oldest dating to 1979 [Winter], and the most recent in 2005 [Never kick a man until he’s down] and [ a dualist issue]. As you will find each piece carries the designation [b] .!NiK [year written][/b]


A considerable part of the collection is dated [00] indicating that it was written during 2000 when the poet set out on an objective to record the millennium year day by day in poetic form. This was a prolific period and resulted in more than 800 pieces of work. As is well known however “good poetry” is seldom made ”to order”. And so maybe 40 of the pieces are worth a second read, of which 33 were chosen for this collection, including the title piece for “Rehearsing Nietzsche” [Rehearsing lines from N….] Because the work of Frederick Nietzsche [N…] comes to centre stage in the poets theatrical life during 2000 some extracts from N…’s work are included where they seemed appropriate, with due apologies to any copyright holder from who’s property the poet may have made his selection… He doesn’t remember where any of it came from, since, he said, he didn’t select the vast cornucopia of words for academic purposes: he simply ingested them; and then presented them to an audience of aficionados who roared approval and called for more.

Some of this work may well also be called trauma poetry, for some pieces: Song of Victory, Reading some earnest undergraduate poetry, twelve September, were written following a horrific and tragic incident during the second half of 1994, which changed the poet and sent him off in a completely different direction.

Jakari-Williamson says his philosophy as a writer is founded on Derrida’s premise that ‘all the words have been written’ and the best we can do is to rearrange them in different forms and guises according to the rhetoric of the time, and then ”they have to be aimed somewhere”. He has no philosophy as a poet, he says, “the things keep happening and then plague me, smashing at the door ‘till I write them down and dispose of them.”


This collection is what he says anyway and who am I to gainsay this.
This excerpt that follows are the opening set of some 70 pieces: of many varied themes and lengths.


A dualist issue

When you seek outside yourself
For exuberance and joy
You miss the moment
When it visits you
And you are not at home.


A Statement solicited from the Poet
on surviving a stereotypical
suburban street shoot-out

For an instant
I escaped our
image-loaded simulations
of day to day uncertainty
for a dose of the real thing:
and was
for that brief moment

NiK (1995)


Slipping on the road to Shangri la: making movies

There was a man
who ran a business
selling time from out of clocks:

sold it by
the minute
and the hour.


If you had an
that you’d
for some time,


you could pawn it
by the minute
for an hour.



Never kick a man until he’s down

It’s amazing how a cliché can come to life
In front of your eyes and instantly
Have both validation
And confirmation
That a horror you
Had previously always
Or believed to be true, and forgotten,
Its meaning sandwiched between lunch and dinner:
Remains true and active: not

So the cliché…the forgotten noun
Always kick a man when he’s down.

The venue was an open air
Public drinking
Of note
With “more than 20,000 people”, who all could vote,
In a park in our city.


The party was held by
The local
Operating division
Of an offshore intellectual enhancement movement
Dedicated to advance the
Of local young humans: drilled without pity.
Once a year they party in a beer drenched ‘fest’
Joyous and hearty; a ritual mime
That few decline
To bask
And debauch and “do their best”
In monogrammed vests under
Glorious scorching vaults
Of azure May sky.
It’s a party “to die for”. Slavering hordes
part with a buck, run
amuck guzzling
eisbein and bursting on
Washed down with flagons of
A fond foaming brew.


The thrash runs all day
Then ends
Sharp by the way
At eighteen hundred hours: when the uniformed
Glowers, and orders
The taps all be closed
The moment
The licence expires.
By then the party is rowdy with noise ebullient
Some of the crowd
Spoiling with effluent, searching for
Action as drunk tempers fraction:
Guess why the “day” ends at nightfall;
When the temperature plunges like a fast falling wall
Degrees by
The minutes
And revellers dressed thoughtless for the heat
Of a high autumn day.
Feel the onset of winter as they suddenly
At that moment when the sun begins to slip behind
The distant edge and the hard chill
Of winter
Rushes to replace the joy and the fun,
The blistering heat,
The blazing sun
The festive joy starts to run.
Blooding the urge to stay
And perform
Desperate now to regain the warm
It is losing.
It is then: that’s the way…
The fight exploded
Abruptly: a spontaneous expulsion of
Loud shouting: voices loaded
With rage: a beating of fists: an instant onstage.
A prime aggressor raised his hands
A toreador, to the rhythm of the bands
Facing off across the ‘floor’ on a shorter, squared off fellow,
Stripped to the waist no longer mellow
With a flourishing score
Not waiting for gore:
A bull pawing the ground, head muscle-bound.
The tattooed
Fighter trembled,
Anticipating, glistening; flexing, his
Creatine steroid loaded,
Laced, muscle, definition, display.
His proclamation
In finale to the bold matinee.
The bull rushed in
And a blow was flung and the bull went to ground as the crowd
Surged around in an exhaled bound
Some in panic sensing doom leapt about seeking room across
The tables
Where the beer was served all unnerved. Picadors grabbed Matador
held him back from taking the floor: held him hard while
He roared
Defiance to the mob…lifting his head to the universe:
Fuck you all! … He was heard to curse.
In the gap where the crowd was thin…
Lay a figure and within
An instant as they all swept back toward
That struggle vortex
A hail of feet filled boots and running shoes
And high-heeled spikes held tight with screws
And hiking shoes hard laced with booze rained down on
That recumbent lump
Thump, thump,
Crash: fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck You!
They answered back and formed a ruck
For the rough hard taste of flesh:
The mesh of an upturned back;
Allowed the surge to rent and hack and hack….
When the crowd settled
The bull was gone; the toreador too
Lost his mettle:
Vanished before Security came
Trooping their colours threading through
To the place hunting for blame.
Waiters poured beer from portable barrels
Carted here
All day on their banner shrouded backs
Rushed in to replenish the thirsty hacks
Filled the upturned glasses
Lest the grand thirst passes… by.


Of rubicons and rubrics
I pledge to
Like the hooligan
On the bus
Waiting for the sixes
To stand.
I shall repeat the oath of
To the time of
For a chance to chant
Striving to live
Up to the values
Of a disrespectful crowd.




A break of light
Against the wall
Reveals the bar
‘tween me and you.
And here to keep me from you
A cross to bar the night
To share the quiet solemnity;
Our unimagined hope, held tight.

Beyond the squares
The bare fleshed veins
Etch out nature’s child
Stark with naked pain
And stroked with evening’s chill.

A howl across the darkness
Of a moment
Echoes off the
Barren seeds
Marked out by season’s change.

Now is the time
When warmth has gone
Our peace is held restricted
To the square yard of our mind.


The Ashanti Raider: opening

The Ashanti Raider aka The Girl in the Golden Kusheshe
By: Nicholas Jakari-Williamson aka Nicholas Jakari.


“You are sure? It is convenient that this would be assassin is dead ” Bone saw the expression of fury on the old man’s face and backed off.

“Do you want it to go to New York?” Koyo walked into an alcove of the small chapel where an officiating burial officer was fidgeting about with his tools of spiritual redemption, ostentatiously peeking at his watch: trying not to lust after the golden mask lying in one of his cut price coffins. The officiating officer had made calls to various prospective buyers within moments of eyeballing it..

“No…it is too complicated.” Bone chewed his lips for a moment, and he stared vacantly at the coffin. Saw the pseudo priest eyeing its contents, and reached a decision that seemed to hurt him “She must go to Zone One, in Southern Azania. There will be a buyer there…and sellers too. We can move guns quickly from Zone One …” then, masking his own lust for the priceless artefact, “My main concern is whether she can be trusted to trade something this valuable without being tempted.”

“Yes. Well technically the thing is her’s by right of inheritance.” Koyo shrugged again, turned and leaned against a looming oversized plastic icon, which interpreted Durer’s immortal praying hands, and which decorated the cheap-whitewashed wall. He took out a battered packet of cigarettes, remembered where he was and put them away again.
“I do not understand.” Bone eventually decided that he was not going to get an answer. “What do you mean, hers?” He frowned, and then turning his face so Koyo didn’t see him, scowled.


“It is complicated, but by the more arcane rules of our clan, given the number of those who were slaughtered in the genocide, and ruling out those of the clan who orchestrated the murder of their kinsmen, she becomes the rightful inheritor. She has agreed to do this in the interests of rebuilding our people.”

They both stood staring at the mask, which had a history so complex that Bone’s mind had reeled when Koyo had first told him at the briefing just before the old bitch had died. It gave the resting body of the late Queen a surreal appearance. She had often called it the Golden Raider, and she would laugh and tell the stories of its creation back in the ancient golden time of Afrika. It had travelled from west Afrika to central Afrika over many centuries always travelling in disguise, with its lawful owner, until for the past century or so it had lived at Goma on Lake Kivu.

“Will that not affect her judgement?” Bone was impatient with all the mumbo jumbo of past protocols. He also had no truck with the idea that a woman had any entitlement to wealth, especially young and beautiful woman. He belonged to a generation that venerated new instruments of authority in the strict context of the old: the rights of present power blended to the rights of the past. A woman’s place was to be fucked regularly, and to stay in the kitchen afterwards. This was what he believed, notwithstanding any bullshit he may utter to the contrary while on the trail of campaign funds.

“Who knows? You can’t have it both ways.” The older of the two men shrugged again,” The truth is there is no one else we can trust after what happened.” He stared at Bone with such a hard intense stare that Bone began to feel uneasy, felt himself overwhelmed with guilt and hoped it wasn’t showing.
“Sh…she comes…”

“Greetings Princess, “ Her knees buckled slightly as she bent to accommodate Koyo and she hugged him, a hug that spoke of all the pain of loss and the joy of finding a familiar face in a strange place. It was an awkward hug, for although the man with parade ground bearing was tall; the epitome of a military man from a long military line, the woman was taller.

“Greetings from Goma.” She replied, referring to her home on the shores of Lake Kivu, one of the gem like cluster of lakes that collectively make up the Great Lakes region of central Afrika.

“May I introduce Compatriarch Born, this is Princess Ransome-Frankfurt of Goma.”
They both bowed with a certain stiff formality. They were after all at a funeral on a bitter cold October afternoon in an alien country.
“Call me D’Ax please.” …
This is an extract from the story called ‘The Ashanti Raider’ Part Two of the Azanian Quartet … The full digital version of what has been described as a violent, sexually explicit Adult content story, should arrive during 2015 and for sure by the meantime follow the podcast of the Jonker Memorandum”.

Post Jonker

Blog #1 Post Jonker.

Writing this blog as I am now in 2014 September 23rd, on Heritage Day eve, I find myself looking back on to what I wrote and thinking how weird it is that in one way or another ideas and themes that formed part of the backwash scene setting display that runs like a thread through the story, are becoming mainstream ideas or are affairs that are pushing their way to the front row.

Starting with right now.

As I write this much of the city [Jozi] is without access to on-demand water. Part of the reason has to do with old and increasingly dilapidated infrastructure. To this is ascribed the widespread unhappiness with the state of affairs requiring citizens of all classes to queue up for a water supply from a passing [intermittent] tanker. Allegedly thieves have been stealing components necessary for the pumping of water from reservoirs to storage stations; or some other gobbledy gook explanations. I.o.w: The system broke down. We expect it and are not surprised and acceptance is bleak. Nonetheless: As always there is the inevitable Elephant in the room.

Gauteng: aka Zone One in the Jonker Memorandum has water issues… as does the country Mzansi. Some of Zone One’s water comes from a landlocked traditional albeit constitutional Monarchy tucked within a mountainous region inside Mzansi.

The place has been taken over in some as yet undefined coup and notwithstanding much huffing and puffing by worthy politicians is still unresolved as at today: and coincidentally we suddenly have water issues.

In the Jonker the keen listener would have noted that the entire region [Lesotho Kingdom and the Province called [currently] Free State] is called Bosigo [circa 2136 AD or Sometime AA]: and is a Sparta style military State, routinely at war over water rights with Zone One. Oh dear.

On another topic this past week the BBC announced that the Belgian court of appeals had granted a first ever precedent. A man serving a life sentence, for horrible crimes, has been granted the right to die in terms of the country’s Euthanasia laws. In the Jonker Memorandum this action is referred to as the “Socratic solution.” In effect we are witness to the modern world’s first State sanctioned suicide.

Then of course there has been the flurry of activity over the introduction, currently;y still on hold of a Transaction levy [as i call it] or Tax as Mrs Merkel likes to call it. When Mr Cameron of the UK condemned the idea as unworkable last year i chuckled merrily remembering that the reasons he gave for why it wouldn’t work were the same reasons i used to justify wiping out the present order in the story.I.o.w. why the “Apocalypse” became a necessary part of the plot.

And then the surprise of all, is that the Swiss are currently investigating the central idea of “Basic Pay” that threads through; and is a key part of Korinth Starr’s election campaign in the tale. The proposal to vote on the idea seems to be on hold presently but nonetheless the idea is out there.

As an author of a futuristic oriented work I have already been amazed at many of the things that have happened in the “real” world while I was podcasting my tale about the fictional world were part of my text already. On one level it was tsunamis that affected Japan [Keiretsu in the story], climate change resulting from “The Ringing” about which we may all still be in denial. And then there is the airliner that disappeared without trace one night and then came back again… which of course we hope remains fiction don’t we….?

I shall continue to note other events as I remember that they happened in the wake of the tale. And in the meantime I keep hoping that I do simply write fiction and am not some uncanny seer.


Poetry of the Jonker Memorandum

Jonker Memorandum PoetryDirect Poetry from the Jonker Memorandum.


The Jonker Memorandum is, as stated elsewhere, an Allegoric prose poem: meaning that the prose part is written using poetic forms and patterns. And much is prefixed by a piece of [so-called] ‘poetry’. The pieces that follow and are called by me ‘Direct’ are, essentially, the punctuation dotted throughout the tale: as a form of ‘Brechtian’ introduction.

Regarding the pieces contained herein; #6 & #39 are attributed to the poet/philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche with thanks, and are from the script for my performance of that Poet’s work at the Centenary Nietzsche Conference: Pretoria University in 2000. The script was in part derived from the Portable Nietzsche. Viking edition: 1954: Edited by Walter Kaufman.

Other pieces elsewhere may contain words in quotation marks because the words are not mine, but borrowed albeit not attributed because I’ve forgotten from where they were absorbed.

Each piece [other than the two referred to above] is attributed to !NiK [being aka Nicholas Jakari]. [Btw: the ! is a San sign: not a common or garden exclamation mark… Rather it represents the San ‘Click’ sound, and is a symbol for my return in 1994 [referred to elsewhere].

The numbers in Brackets after ! [00] for instance, identify the year in which the piece was composed. In some cases the designation inside the brackets is simply [JM] meaning the piece was specifically written for the place where it was used, when it was written somewhere between 1994 and 2010 when the text was complete or 2014 when the Podcast series was finished.

The name of the Story, the Jonker Memorandum, based on a tale told to the writer in a random barroom conversation by an equally random, aging drunk Afrikaner man in a downtown bar, is to honour the poet Ingrid Jonker who took her life in despair: never believing that a world such as this represented by the tale was actually possible and: nonetheless wrote words that moved souls.

1. The Enumerator’s summary.

The poor and the weak,
The strong and the meek
Were led like lambs to the
Reconstruction yards
A long steel slide
Suspended in deepest space.

The frail and all those of indecisive
Were driven to a new edge; the ledge
At the end of the universe
Fell off
And were encountered
No more…

2. The State of the Nation.

I listened to our leader’s State of the Nation
Speech and couldn’t understand it
I read the critic’s review that
Said the
Citizens of
“Manenbug, Harrismith, Diepsloot, Hanover Park,
Phomolong and Crossroads
Understand the speech either
And although I knew none of those
I felt empowered: knowing none of us knew:
And that our president’s secret
Was safe….

3. Cooking Turtles: Part One.

From “A Bundle of thoughts`’.
Off an old, Long Playing Record… now broken, and lost.

Cooking Turtles is a slow process of
Heating up the water
From cold and there
Will be a part
Where the creature becomes wonderfully
Later when the water is boiling
The turtle is unaware that it has died: for
It had stopped

4. Notes off a wall inside a police station.

Bear in mind
The destruKtive konsequences
Of unrestrained self-interest
On a simple of

No – a simple of sophisticates,
As they say:

“A bullet in the spine
Change your life”.

5 What happens when the Juggler
loses its footing

Kri-o-genia + Her n Me n Then

A break of light
Against the wall
Reveals the bar
‘tween me n you.

And here to keep me from you
A cross to bar the night;
To share the quiet solemnity: of
Our unimagined hope, held tight.

Beyond the squares
The bare fleshed veins
Etch out
Nature’s child
Stark with naked pain
And stroked with evening’s chill.

A howl across the darkness
Of a moment
Echoes off the barren seeds
Marked out by season’s change.

Now is the time
When warmth has gone
Our peace
Is held restricted
To the square yard of our minds.

6. Hyperconsciousness & Freidrich Nietzsche.

“Could you create a god? Then
Do not speak to me of any gods. But you
Could well create the Overman.
Perhaps not yourselves my brothers
But unto fathers
And forefathers
Of the overman.

You could re-create yourselves:
And let this
Be your best creation.”

Thus Spake Zarathustra

7. Probable Possibility.

Was the core of reality
Really a place
Without light:
A howling soup of uncertainty
Without konstrukt or meaning?

So much for probability.

8 We’ve changed time.

We’ve changed time,
He said.

I’ll fight the rules
I will not succumb.

We do more in a day
Than our forefathers
Kould konsider

I’ll fight the changing
Of the rules
I will not succumb.

Doing in a week
I will not succumb

What our ancestors did
In a lifetime.

So we have compressed time
And burned out our ability
To keep up,
She chirped.

I’ll fight. I wont succumb…
I will not succumb.

Yes we have changed time
We’ve also sold off
Most of it
He concluded caustically.

9. Systematizing parody

Do we systematize
Our everyday parodies
About the changing
Of time
To suit a vengeful purpose
That we allocated to
Alphaman… to our

10. A

Shall we take a
little walkie
said the spider
to the fly…

The walkies are behind
And I hope that
We don’t die.

11 Loadshedding: voices in the dark.

How do we make it rain?
We water the garden
Wash the car.

We wash the car
We wash the car
We wash the car
For Korinth Starr.

12 The rain arrived

The rain arrived first
Before the lights came on.

When power goes
We have to talk to each other
And deal with truth…
Deal with silence.

The multiverse punishes us
For intemperate acts
And also presents us
The opportunity

Driven only by the
That we rule
And to continue
Is to rule

13. Those who konstrukt rules.

I met a man who said he
Had been drinking with me
All night
But that the bottle was still full.

I met a gambler in denial
Who said he couldn’t
Drinking Bell’s
Or even why he gambled.

It’s the little things
He said
That gradually pisses you off
About a place:
The soap that you don’t
Find in the
Bathroom; the sun blinding your eyes as you
Drive east in
The morning
The fool who drives to the
Corner at
The edge
And waits there
To be fetched.
And the ambitious
Who block the road
With their egos.

Most of all it’s the issue
Of chairs
And how they should

14. From the Testimonies

Whatever you do
To the web of life
Shall be returned to you
And shall through all your lives.

The book of Shadrack: Navaho section.

So the Navaho say
Whatever you do
To the web
Of life
Will come back to

Is that the same as fate?
Is that why we cannot
To be

The web of life is, it
To be
Tangled levy.

15. Rape: The genocidal Crime.

< /br> Variations on some lines in the Jozi “Star” newspaper.
Wed 18/4/2012

“A crime that shames us all.”

It’s the crime of shame
And it is here to stay
Seven rapes per man
In a single day
Violently taken
In only one way.

“The tip of it all”
They lasciviously say,
To an ‘Ysberg of rape’
Oh yay…
Oh yay…

Deep down inside
A penetrating ray
Thrusting up, up, up:
Through the curds and the whey.
Rape… oh rape… a girl child a day
Rape, rape, rape your worries away.

Oh… rape, rape, rape to show you really care
Rape away the rage at all that isn’t fair.

Shame, shame, shame.
Do not stay
It’s just a little game so
Rape away?

Ysberg = iceberg. Afr:

16 Destiny.

Couples parade with
Earnest enthusiasm
To the fast moving Fox –
Frantically giving new
To otherwise
Futile purpose.
That’s what we do.
[Book of Shadrack]

17 From the 3rd Book of Shadrack

Exploit the minds
Of those who dress
In finery
And march to the tune

While we dance amongst
The fantasies
Of our abstract

Dissecting parts.
Dissecting portions.


*Exigencies: New Webster – intrinsic requirements or circumstantial necessities.
** Caprice: New Webster – mere fancy.

18 Inkambabeyibuza*

from: ‘The Notes of Joy’

You can be a part
Of the power
Or apart
From the power;
Parceling tradition
Or facing madness.
Believing that anyone
Could believe.

So ‘Inkambabeyibuza’:
“By this scar then,
Remember me
And this”.

Inkambabeyibuza… IsiZulu. Means what it says.

19. Remembering

When we did not
To remember
What we thought
We should
We found ourselves
Unable to grasp
At straws
Or see the broken
We found we had
Forgotten why
We chose to
The things we

20. Return to the Virtuality game.

Don’t talk to me of ghosts
For there are none
I don’t believe this to be a rock
This is a rock
And when I am not here the rock remains
I’m sure…
Aren’t i?

Our world is
A Vision
To which we aspire it is not the knowledge that we
Have represented to ourselves
In a form
Is there existence if no one records it?
Are we as ephemeral as the rock?
Do we matter?
!NiK[Circa ‘06]

*Dronkverdriet: Afrikaans. Maudlin drunk.

21. Indicators

The bang on the front of
The head
The warning tremble of
That preceded it
When I walked that way
With the load.

And then… to forget: in
That same instant
To forget:
And be so brutally

You were told!
We warned you when you
Went this way before!
Retention rulz….

22. With regard to Mr. Thomas

Tremor shakes off me
With every change of way
While you react with
And break you down
To pray?
Or do you prey?

So: you do not go fiercely
Into that good day
Tremor shakes off
You… tremor shakes
Off you
With every change
Of way…

You do react with panic
And do
Break you down…


23. The Apocalypse came and went:
Legends of Urdos.

What if the people in the stories
In which the committed rapists lived
Were able to Emote
At some
To a feeding place:
In search of nourishment.

That figment of the
Carry with it the
Residual information
That caused it to be formed?

Is it accessible?
And so:
When people follow leaders
As shadows follow
Owners then all are blind
Following the virtuous certainties
Of faith: a deep conviction
That certainty
Is ruled by uncertainty,
Which is itself

24. Ellis says…

“On running the Mile
there comes a point
at which the
in order that one may sprint
and reach it,
notwithstanding stumbles.

25. Oram Mangosti

Should you say you
Cannot go on
Moving forward
Then perhaps
It is because
Are unable
To forget…

Inkambabeyibuza… by
This scar
You shall

26. The thing about the wind

The thing about the wind
Was the timing:
There was none.

As soon as you knew
Or thought you knew
You no longer

And a cycle preceded a
Or in shortening
So we say

27. Zen zat was ze way.

I am ze way of zen
It’s what I do
I believe every thing

Every thing so that i
Should not

And No
So that I can

28. What’s in the dark.

A byte is eight bits
And a bit is a binary digit:
A zero or a one.
And this Unicode stuff?
Ah… that is a lot bigger… binary processed

29. Chips in the game.

The dazzling disc called
Hid itself in plain sight
Behind a swiftly flowing veil:
Rain soaked shards

30. Dekonstruktions

From: Random Notes….

I am beginning to grasp
At the secular nature
Of consciousness.

Is this what I mean?
Or did the message alter from
The hand
To the brain or… perhaps…
Vice versa.

Did the paper change it?
Or the pen?
Or did i?

31. Regarding Intellectuals – Guilty as Charged.

Oh vanities of intellectuals, and pride
Before a fall
Sovereignty and self-determination help
A girl
Walk tall.

Oh vanities of intellectuals, pride
Before a tumble.
Sovereign self-determinant so
A girl shouldn’t grumble.

32. “All tax is theft”…

A response to a strident call from a Stakhanovite style apparatchik for “poems about the economy” made in the context of confiscatory “take it all back” tax proposals. 29/05/00

Taxes, levies, history, herstory
Computers, smartphones,
Investors, strikes, footballers
And murder: plus the concept
Of delete

The world of today
Is the world of
Delete – consciousness?

Nay – I never heard of that!

Those who live today
Are not the same
As those

People who lived here yesterday
The people of today have deleted
The people of
From their consciousness in
Order to
Cope with today… [Podcast ends here… balance of original
should you choose i.e. it is ex-Jonker.

Yes in order to cope with today…

To demand of the world of today that it should pay for the
Deeds of yesterday
Is an idea that can only
Begin to work should people decide to love
A Demander today.
It is no longer enough to be loved
It has to be now.

On the Dow, the product must have
And unspeakably sharp and acute
Marketing methods to get good attention
That attracts velvet paws
And a favourable mention.

The idea of taxing anyone
As a form of reparation
Is a demand
That must be analysed
In the context of what happened to
Other similar taxes in the growing of the nation:
The general state of the tax inflation
The treatment of corrupt tax thieving officials
Caught, as it were, during recess:
Generally what the
Taxpayer gets after the promises have been
Deducted from the bill;
Instead of “fuck you, stand back,
I haven’t emptied the till”.

Securing invested money: that is
Securing other people’s money, honey
Extends through risk evaluation
To the limits of gradation, mixed
To bland computerized credulity
Impacts upon the premium
We have to pay
For nice clean offshore money:
Instead of dirty honey, hey
Where the Anti-Kollektive Kolektas
Karry Kalashnikovs and K….

All tax is theft. Especially those bereft and
Confiscatory deductions
Like capital gains disruptions
Those are scary to all those mary’s
Who seriously dispose with
“Other people’s” woes, by handling their cash
To demo overwhelming dash:
At the same time, with great care,
Beneath an open stare.

Investors are owners of money.
They are not politicians or something
Else funny
It may be in doubt they are human at all;
Concepts wired up
With a screen for a wall to show memory:
Spewing out models of risk
And uncertainty.
Measuring the loot of the world’s
Aging billions:
Cash that adds up to hundreds of trillions.
What you did last month doesn’t matter a jot
It’s what’s happening now that counts for the lot.

When a butterfly tumbles
And falls in Peru
The red card is flagged from computer to you. The
Risk model says the risk
Factors have altered:
That risk you took last week has now
Gone and faltered
So follow instructions: delete from the programme
That order we called
And that hold put on Put
The rate must go up
Or the cash go on out.

Perceived expectations: perceived quantum
Modified market uncertainties
Down our hopes
Batters our fears
Causes the money to stop
And change gears.

Perennial problems perplex perceived risk.
Confusion of outcomes presents the most risk
To one who man’s mountains of money: to plan and to
Do and to follow things through to
The end:
That should always be happy.

Should this Hollywood twitch
Suffer a glitch… should heaven transform into hell
When success equals misery,
Inconsolable outrage,
Mixed in with
Then confusion will reign
The markets feel pain
And the cash is away before

In other words: in the world of money
Something is done; that is not at all funny:
A result is achieved, expected or not.
There are no relative gains
For corporate aims
But returns, as predicted.
Should results be in doubt,
Then someone with clout
Changes course,
Before loss is addictive.

When bosses complain, cash workers feel pain
And the outcome is bad for the homeowner’s loan and the girl
Who was Jill becomes Jane.

Alt.F1 delete part one: next transaction please.

Episode 59
This entire piece originally was used in “Random Notes”.
The introduction only the was used
in the story of the Jonker Memorandum.

33. Tear down the house.

With kompliments to R.J. Mugabe [aka Bob the
Roz] – One who kept his word.

Fragment from Lemuria.

Between the desert fathers
And the measurement problem
There remains something
About a grave
That never saw father time
Upon a leaf

A vera causa
To the very stuff of Poetry.

34. Regarding a Planetary catastrophe.

Ring a ring of roses
All fall down
One-down two-down
All on to our noses.

35. Open Season

We thought the storms
Came yesterday
But they came again
And things are broken
And everything’s gone – again.

Where have they all
Gone mama?

Where have you all gone?

36 Alldays

Running on a road to Alldays
When what happens is
Not what happens:
Searching for the things we thought
We had;
Finding things we didn’t want
Then finding … do we
Anything at all?

37. Memories of an Apocalypse

I was taking a Thai massage
When news that the
World had
Came through on the

Go North said the
Disembodied voice
Through the static clamour
Of mass

Why North? Why?
North was gone
South was too.

There are graves in
The mist
Just waiting for

38. Baobab musings

I’m neither a joiner
Nor a hand’s upper
Of these
May differ
According to circum-

But nonetheless
We will take
The journey
To its

39. Loadshedding again.

“This life as you live it now and
have lived it you will have
to live again times
without number.”…

F. Nietzsche

40 Investigations into meat and aging

Ageing graveyards [or are they?]
Aging graveyards.
Does it matter?

We never fear those
Whose wrath
Cannot move us

41. Justwhenwethink….

Just when we think it’s
Time to come in from the
The light loses its
Exuberance and
We struggle to
What we want to

42. Collusive coverage.

The spider has had to run for cover.
Its web was
Wasted when those,
Who travelled with un-
Tested hypothesis
Of broad unearned
Merit crashed
Through the
Demanding arbit-
Rary affirm-

So write us some funds
Brother Yakove
Write us some
Konsideration for the time
We had to
Turn to bid upon
Our own

Squaring our participation with your

So write us some funds
Cousin Yakove
So we can forget:
Write now.

43. Nozik meets Starr.

According to the man
Robert Nozik
Individuals have rights
Things no other individual
Or group of individuals can do
To them
Without violating those rights:
Ding dong.

Does this mean? We thought,
That when we penalize
Those who exercise their
Right to rape
And to murder
That we therefore
Unnaturally oppress those persons.

Or do two rights therefore

44. Waar der Schterre loop.

Primeval memory: – Auslaande ballad.

We are the masters of the soil
You are but its slaves.

On reading “Tilling the Soil”: – David Day

When the first settlers came here,
To this region
Those who were here already
Or claimed a hunter’s
With the
Scorned their slavery to the soil
That could
Feed them
Without toil

And so: they found it was taken
From them.

Now that they have it back
It was again
Found that
What they wanted
Was gone and
Could no longer
For them.

They sought freedom and
The cost

45. When you are tired …

When you are
To be
To be lunch.

When you are tired
You are ready to be lunch.
!NiK [‘13]

46. On Market Piranhas

“Money is a way of thought” [Oswald Spengler]

A market fundamentalist would be likely
To say that the only real
Truth in the known
Multiverse is the moving average
On a Stock
Market index.

Others might argue that there are so many
On a moving average
That nothing matters
And that the idea of

In close-up the Index lurches
With majestic
In repose… pools of Piranha
Sweeping with uniform movement
Down: threshing their wake
Rippling their spine
Konstantly Klenzing… rejuvenating
A veritable ebb and flow
Warp and weft.

The purest of the pure would call
The Index itself
That the moving gobbling average
Merely predicts the
Whatever it may be.

47. Fibonacci’s Financial Flaws

All debt, she said
Is a right against
The future.

So I thought of Fibonacci
And his rentals
On the seconds of time
Borrowed from
To feed our present ratio

And knew by all that moved
That the future must
To pay Rent:

48. The legend of Korinth Starr

They – you know who ‘they’ are?

‘They’ think they live in a tent
Where no one pays rent
For the space that they take
From the place they call Sent
Now and again.

Now, again the future is stretched
So it reaches the past
A paradox sweep
That leaves us aghast
A quantum leap
And mortgaged deep our vast
Existence now and now again
And again now to a thirty third
Time over again.

So the future now
Must pay rent now
To save us then
To save us when
To save us again
When we save

49. Untitled

A loser would not wait to be mated
Knowing the end to be inevitable
The machine would resign.

50. Reasoning Revelations [201]

Praxeological thoughts following perusal of a rationalist critique

A secretly

Reason unlocks the door to transformation
Reason staggers; confounded by transformation.

They felt the great fear then
Those that waited
Of the
Conclusions: delivered
Without simplicity of…
Fractions of…

That actions
Be lib
From re-actions…
And a call
That it should not be

51. Escaping

Those little boxes were not
So little
Each one fitted
A person
And those that didn’t
Want one
Could wear sackcloth
Or even ashen finery

52. What wasn’t imagined?

It was known that time curls
Around things and shows
Us what we already know
As something that we didn’t.

When we foresee that which
We didn’t dare to
Perceive then
We know that what
We see
Was not imagined.

53. On finding crumpled up notes

I can only say
That memory

The pencil with
I write

And when i
This note
Into a pocket
In a few months
It will have be-
Like my recollection of writing it

Thus therefore to such
On the submersion [?] of money
And other curious,
Felicitations: like
Does Dawkins
Meet Dworkin’s
Prompting rape* [ukudlwengula… IsiZulu]]
Gryp.** [To ‘grab’ lasciviously: Afrikaans]

Memes being ancient
From then to
Jumbled and carelessly
Straightened not enforced
Regime where
Write meets

Where rite and
Wrong go
Badly shod
U Pong:

54. Resting on a cliff

Eastern folk saying/proverb Chi-Na

Of the many dozen ways to
Get out of
The best
for Chi-Na

55. A limitation of mind

Everything is ‘gonna’ be all right
All right?
As long as you keep
Holding tight
To your vision
Of you
When you
Thought you

Or even in sight

And you know then
That the impossible
A limitation

56. Endings

When you are no
Longer here
And no longer
Around: then peace

Thus endeth the Jonker poems

Poetry from the Jonker Memorandum

Jonker Memorandum Poetry

Episode 84 JM Finale

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In this final episode we discover what it was that caused this story to be a Mythical tale.


Episode 83 JM penultimate

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In which It is the day of Korinth Starr’s final election rally. The Kriogenia tream are getting ready to go: Grommets, Kharma and the golden G Force girls. Meantime Marak is reunited with Heksi and has to make decisions.

Episode 83

Episode 82 JM

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What about Marak?

Episode 82

Episode 81 JM

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What happened!