Second Hand Stealing is not a Crimeby Ponsonby Wolfheart the third, images by JR Onyangunga / 12.01.2010
– An examination of contemporary slang –
It was when my learned colleague, the mathematician, leant over to me and said, “Ching-ching motherfucker,” as he picked some abandoned alcoholic beverage off of the table, that I realized I had found myself in a rich anthropological gathering ground. There I was at some young persons party, below a “jock jol” where young men and woman were chanting “make out, make out” as a large quadroon attempted to “mouth rape”* a gentleman with a very fetching beard. I felt, let me just say, slightly disorientated, nothing in my training among the hipsters (or “dirty fucking art school fucks”) native to Cape Town had prepared me for this savage and utterly irrelevant bunch of “art fags”.
The occasion was mooted in the popular press as one to save the poor and helpless abandoned domestic animals that had fallen prey to the callous nature of man and was organized by the suffragettes at Artists Against Animal Abuse. So it was for good reason that I ventured forth to a portion of D’Urban that was ,shall we say (to coin a phrase), “on the wrong side of the tracks”. The first impression I received of the occasion was that there were many kind and generous donations of food and animal restraints; these young folk are surely a caring lot. I entered “The Pub”, it took me a while to adjust my eyes to the dimness, the smoke, it reminded me of being a young lad in Whitechapel, except for, or maybe because of, the tall gentleman of ginger persuasion who was sporting some kind of cartoonish cat mask and screaming “I am an Animal. Abuse me.”
A musical group was about to venture forth onto the stage, so I decided to steel myself with a refreshment, I had been warned that these young people had an entirely different idea of the constructs of music to mine own (Which I must say ventures more toward the ditties of The Ink Spots, lest anyone accuse me of musical intolerance)
It was at this point that I witnessed the mathematician indulge in “ground sweeping” and as I realized I should record this social milieu for posterity, I spotted a manic gentleman carrying a camera that looked far too complex for a simple native such as him but seeing as I am one who always believes that we must at least let them try (for how else are they to evolve?) I asked him if he would indeed record the spectacle for me. He replied with “Let’s get involved!” which I took to mean that he had agreed.
I stepped into a small area that seemed more like a cage than the discussed outside area. Suddenly a spotlight came on, it reminded me of the time I had attempted to escape from the Krauts during The Great War, I froze. A mop haired lad informed me graciously that it was merely, “the rave fags upstairs idea of security”. This gentle lad was conversing with a young lady who inquired of him if he would perhaps buy her a beverage, preferably ale. As he left, she told me, confidentially, that she had being “Trying to map him all night’ and that she was “tired of the games”. I sought the mathematician to help me decode this damsel’s plight. He enlightened me no further, all I could get from him was that the gentle lad was “trawling’ and the female in question was trying become his “lady”.
A ululating broke out, like the call of a savage from the hinterland. A young woman was on stage howling in as if in pain or fear, three young gentlemen were on stage with her, one, a bald and grinning native, was obviously suffering from some kind of inherent inbreeding as his eyes lolled and his tongue flapped around. It was too disturbing for my temperament to endure so I retreated to the outside.
There I encountered a group of people who were going to the “car bar” and offered to escort me to my transport, which was waiting for me in “the lot”. It was a most disturbing site to see that these future potential bastions of society were forced by economic circumstance to keep a large stock of refreshment in their automobiles storage area.
As I got into mine own automobile, the savage with the camera shrieked his war cry at me, “Hi Julle”, I raced out of there. His fearsome teeth still haunt my dreams.
* Later I learnt that “Mouth Rape” is always consensual, so this description is not entirely fair.
For more info on Artist Against Animal Abuse mail them here.