Mahala

My pony

Ayahuasca, drinking the spirit

White Madness

It’s about eight in the evening now, and this guy is standing in the middle of a parking lot, his convertible idling, playing the bagpipes in a wifebeater. And we don’t have anything to say to that…

So I’m waiting, watching the floor between my feet. I’m cold. My legs ache. I don’t want to be here. The office door opens and the nursing sister looks at me. “Be with you in a minute,” she says. I relax. I’ve been seen. I will be seen.

Black market. Blackmail. Blacklisted. The black sheep of the family. Black curse. Black name. Black prince. Black comedy. The bright angel Lucifer transgresses and is thrown out of heaven to become the dark lord of night. Mussolini’s Fascist militia were the Black Shirts.

You love Woolworths because Woolworths is almost as narcissistic as you are. You are made for each other. As the excellent blog, The Last Psychiatrist, puts it, “Narcissism is about the need to self-identify and to broadcast that identity to others…

Chilling out at Muizenberg Beach

Illustration of gangster in South Africa

Editorial illustration Mahala