Are we complacently murdering ourselves?

Deepak Chopra said: “The most creative act you will ever undertake is the act of creating yourself.”

But with so much media flirting with our innocence like paedophiles, we develop a tendency to become seduced and corrupted. This is what it feels like to me every time I switch on my laptop and open YouTube.

One of my many hobbies is writing in my contemplation book, so I went down the YouTube rabbit hole looking up contemplation books. I wanted to see how others do it , to observe how we differ.

Very quickly, “contemplation books” turned into something resembling a church luncheon for the elderly. Like well-meaning old aunties forcing you to try their dishes because they all have secret ingredients, the YouTube algorithm began flooding me with every conceivable type of journaling.

Reading journals, where avid readers annotate what they’ve read.
Junk journals, where scraps of rubbish and paper are glued into books.
And heaven forbid, there are hundreds more.

All of them copying one another.

They invent new words, which are then copied again, as if they’re creating their own cult language. Some even track stats: mood scales (how was my mood today, one to five), themes (“Rainbow Month,” where stickers are added for LGBTQ+ books read, followed by artistically aestheticised anguish about how difficult it is to exist in a straight world). Many of them have entire journaling ecosystems, juggling fifteen books at once.

They copy from each other until every video begins to blur into the next. It feels like watching a hive mind hivesplain the same content over and over again. You’re trapped in a YouTube time loop, watching originality dissolve in real time.

So I ask: are we, as humans, complacently murdering ourselves?
Are we killing our uniqueness in order to become clones of a collective hive mind? Have we invented a way of killing ourselves without committing actual suicide?

We must rage against copying.

Steal a little from those who inspire you — but don’t become them.
Be your real, authentic self.
Don’t kill the You in you.

You matter.
Even if just to me… you matter.

Januarie 15, 2026 4

The Time I Didn’t Speak

“You are immortal: you have existed for billions years in different manifestations, because you are life and life cannot die. You are in the trees, the butterflies, the fish, the air, the moon, the sun. Wherever you go, you are there, waiting for yourself”
Don Miguel Ruiz

I wasn’t always this mellow, I used to be a ‘rowe bliksem’ (or rough rebel, for the lack of a better translation). I was on a weed run, meaning, I was going to buy some). Back then, everything cannabis was illegal. Anyhow, In South Africa, there are these ‘entrepreneurs’ that have fruit stands on street corners. There you can buy loose cigarettes, peanuts, chips –Crisps for some...), lollypops and sweets (or candy) and many of them sold dagga (cannabis).

As I handed the man his money and listening to his speech that this batch of Mary Jane (cannabis) was ‘good shit’, I saw a woman approaching my dagga vendor. She was in her middle forties, but time and hardship wasn’t kind to her. Her face was wrinkled and sun-flecked, crow’s feet rivered from the corners of her eyes to her worn cheeks. She looked about seven to eight months pregnant. I am not sure, I am not a doctor, I am a writer. She bought dagga too.

It shocked me, as I have never seen a pregnant woman buying herself dagga as most pregnant women do not drink, use drugs or smoke dagga to avoid harming the foetus. I did not give her a dagga-while-pregnant is a sin speech. It was in public and would have humiliated us both and the vendor, it might have called attention to the cops and then, sometimes, your gut tells you that it is not right to dictate opinions to someone you have never met before.

We started talking, actually resonated, became friends, buddies even. She invited me to come have a smoke with her and her husband, and I did. I was friends with her for years until I moved away from that neighbourhood, the child was born, perfect. I never gave that lovely woman a speech about being pregnant and smoking weed. Which is strange as I tend to warn people of things that might be potentially dangerous.

There is a lesson in this somewhere. Maybe that we, humanity, are beings of randomness and chaos. We sometimes don’t talk to people about what we see as wrong. Weird lesson, but that is what I am sticking to it.

Or, sometimes we choose not to judge or hand our justice out to people. Yes, maybe that.

Here is one of the songs by my band, Chrystovarr D’annan. Just because. Listen to it, download it either for free or if you feel giving, pay for the download anyway.

Januarie 10, 2026 2

Memories of a country mouse

“Think about the beauty still left around you and be happy.”
Anne Frank

Like the classic children’s tale of the country mouse visiting the city for the first time, I too was once a “country mouse.” The year was 1985, and I was in Standard 5 (Grade 7 for younger or international readers). I was on a school trip my parents had saved up and paid for a journey from Tzaneen, where I lived, all the way to Cape Town. One of the stops along the way was the city of Pretoria.

I had been to Johannesburg once or twice before, but only briefly. This was different. There were no parents -just other kids and two teachers. And teachers, if you were clever enough, were easy to avoid. I remember sneaking out of the hostel with a few friends. The hostel was in Arcadia. We walked down Church Street – a long road leading to Church Square, about ten blocks away.

I remember staring up at the tall buildings and the architecture, ranging from the 1800s to more modern styles. When we reached Lion’s Bridge, I stopped. On either side lay copper (or brass) lion statues. Seeing them felt surreal – almost magical. It was as if Aslan, the lion from The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis, was guarding the bridge.

At Church Square, right in the centre, stood a statue of Paul Kruger, former President of South Africa, dressed sharply in a top hat. I fell in love with top hats that night – which probably explains why I own two today.

That night was magical. The city revealed its beauty and quiet wonder to a country mouse seeing it for the first time. Now, nearly forty years later, I find myself living in Pretoria, in the suburb of Magalieskruin. The spell this city cast over that country mouse never faded. I am just as in love with this beautiful city today as I was on the night I first fell for it.

As always, I share one of the songs I wrote. You are welcome to download it, if you like. It is free, you are also welcome to pay for the download if you want. The choice is yours.

Januarie 6, 2026 2

Let’s reflect: If I could become invisible…

“The true nature of your character is what you do when nobody is watching”
Charles Caleb Colton

If I could become invisible, would I? It is a question many people ask themselves. Let’s look at it from a moral standpoint. Do you believe in personal dignity? The reason why you should ask yourself that question is because some people would become invisible solely for perverted reasons. Sneak into someone’s house to watch them undress, bathe or use the bathroom… Morally, that is wrong. We all want to be respected, right? Is it honourable to spy on someone at their most vulnerable? Would you watch an innocent person get naked without their consent?

Look, we all enjoy seeing someone naked, but the purest form of that is if they give their permission. Then it is an act of mutual trust, yes? I appreciate the beauty of a naked woman as much as any person, but I also want to preserve my own integrity, and hers. There is shame in crossing that thin line of breaking someone’s trust, even if they will never know.

Jesus said that if you look at a woman with lust, you have already sinned in your heart (Matthew 5:28), so from a Christian perspective, the idea of watching someone while invisible is already answered.

I am not religious, I am spiritual. But I believe in that old Spider-Man proverb: “With great power comes great responsibility.” If I could become invisible, I would. But I would prefer to use that ability to help someone. I would use that ability to make a difference. Not to exploit. Not to violate boundaries. I want to live with self-respect, and I want to be able to look at myself honestly.

Here is a song by little old me, have a listen and enjoy, it is free to download, or you can buy the song if you want. The choice is yours.

Januarie 5, 2026 2

Rooms of dreams and other skeletons

We have danced in our dreams
in the beauty of shadows
circled the fires
and burned wishes
on its flames

we have danced in our dreams
in rooms of our psyche
among the dusty skeletons
because our closets
could not hold anymore

And every room was a dream
and every dream was a skeleton
and in these catacombs of the soul
we ruled the night by our own rules

and now we still dream
but the dance is gone
there is no place
for the dance
the skeletons cover
the rooms wall to wall

Rooms of dreams and other skeletons
and we dance no more

November 20, 2025 0

Hell is in Wonderland

‘Hell is in Wonderland’ is an album exploring the creepiness that lies within the classic tale of Alice in Wonderland. It also talks about depression, drug abuse and death relating to drug abuse and depression. Also, I had a cold while reading parts from Alice in Wonderland, so my sick voice acting will give you chills or make you cringe… Boom, perfect. This is our 2025 project for Halloween. Happy Halloween, and we hope you do get to sink those lovely fangs of yours into yummy candies and sweets.

Oktober 24, 2025 0

it is the truth that taunts me

they come in threes
like the fates
death, death death
omens that taunts
it is the truth that haunts
me

there are patterns
we cannot divine
strings, strings strings
they spun their webs
a sick sense of fate haunts
me

are there truth in numbers
or is random an order
we do not suspect
the gods flaunt
the truths taunt
me

it is the truth that taunts me
it is the truth that taunts me
it is the truth that taunts me
we have no power over death
so we should not fear
its cold embrace
there is true beauty
that is the truth that haunts me

September 13, 2025 0

By the Fireside: The Word “aaptring”

When I was a child, growing up in the old mining towns of the Western Transvaal during the 1970s, words carried their own kind of dust and grit. One that has always stuck with me is aaptring (or at least that’s how it was spoken).

Among the miners and their families, it was a sharp word, a jab thrown in jest or in irritation, much like calling someone a moegoe (a fool, a simpleton). “That guy is such an aaptring,” someone would mutter when seeing someone they deemed as stupid or dirty or both. It wasn’t polite, but it had a kind of rough humour woven into it, part of the banter that echoed through mine hostels and narrow streets.

I never saw aaptring written down, and perhaps it never was. Like so many mining-town expressions, it lived only in the mouths of those who used it, rising with the shift sirens and fading as the dust settled on our clothes. It belonged to that time, to that place, to the rhythm of lives lived hard under the sun.

An aaptring was a rope that had an iron ghoen weaved into it and it was a homemade weapon. The word comes from the Afrikaans ‘aap’ which means monkey and ‘ding’ which means ‘thing’. The word Aap is often used in Afrikaans to refer to a stupid person.

Today, the word is almost forgotten, but in my memory it still glows like an ember. A small relic of language, born of the mines, carried in laughter, irritation, and community. I share the word here, so that maybe a little piece of South Africa’s past may be known. Did any of you grow up using the word? Please share if you did.

Thanks to ChatGPT for helping me to write this. There were no reference on the internet to this word, so maybe I am the first! Also thanks to my brothers Johan and Henry for their help.

September 2, 2025 2

Monologues Part 19 What constitutes a well-lived life in my worldview?

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is a though everything is a miracle”. Albert Einstein

For every person, the definition of what a well-lived life should be is different. I have stood in the middle of a stone circle, it was on my bucket list, but I thought it might be hard to do because I thought you only get stone circle in the UK. Yet, I stood in a stone circle here in Kaapsehoop, Limpopo province, South Africa It was an ancient structure. I have stood in ancient ruins at Waterval Boven, also i Limpopo province. I have been licked by tigers and lions (yes they are very real), been nibbled on by a vulture, I have been and still in five bands, I have been interviewed on TV (Take5 on SABC One), I have had adventures many would never have seen in a lifetime.

Yet, I am not financially rich, I am not very famous, I have no degrees after my name and these three things are to some the cornerstone of living well. Have I lived well? I did go on adventures. I did visit ancient archaeological sites. Not only that, but I had that interview on TV. I have published three books, I have released twelve albums? I may not seem well lived to some, but I think I lived well. In my worldview, one must pursue where your heart lead you. Not your mom, dad, friend, teacher, not one of them know how to listen to your heart. You are the only one. Listen to that rhythm in you, let that compass guide you to live a well-lived life. I did, and everyday I do, every day brings miracles, just like Einstein said.

Augustus 27, 2025 0

I am so happy. OH MY GOTH!

As my frequent readers know, I am a poet and music artist. I have been writing poetry for over 40 years, (I started writing poetry since age 12) and involved in musical projects since age 8. I have been in or am still in band like Disciples of Sorrow, Hexotericka, Die Wolf Projek, And Chrystovarr D’annan. And today, one review of my music really made my day. Goth SA reviewed my music on their FaceBook page! Part of the review states the following:

“The true beauty about Chrystovarr D’annan that besides just being darkness incarnate in waveform, it is a novel that speaks of experiences you wouldn’t even dream of.”

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