Mokokoma Mokhonoana's Blog: Essays by Mokokoma Mokhonoana

So, somebody in a white coat told you that you are dying?

Life sure is a bitch, isn’t it?

Well, that depends on what you mean by “life.” And what you mean by “bitch.”

Do I feel sorry for you?

No, I don’t.

Instead of being “humane,” I would rather run the risk of adding one more person to the list of people who are of an opinion that my opinions are a cancer to the minds of those who consume whatever seemingly random statement that was produced by my pen, mouth,keyboard, or, graphic tablet … by being philosophical. Instead of feeling sorry for you, I would rather remind you of a rather obvious fact of life. Hopefully, that will add value to whatever years, months, days, or, hours, that is left of your soon-to-only-exist-in-the-minds-of-those-who-know-you life.

Here goes:

Finally, life is forcing you to be fully present, or, to at least be more present than your average civilized man; to stop worrying about the tomorrow that you might not even see; to try to squeeze life out of every single breath; to emancipate all the opinions that were imprisoned by some mental tyrant called procrastination, or, the fear of being unpopular; to finally see that there is more to life than making a living.

While we, the not terminally ill, keep promising ourselves that we will, tomorrow, do, what we promised ourselves to do tomorrow, yesterday.

While we, the not terminally ill, toil to double our chances of getting a salary increase; merely to triple the odds of us realizing a decrease in the number of people who are not envious of the number of seconds that it takes our car to reach a hundred kilometers per hour.

While we, the not terminally ill, keep telling people what they would like to hear, at the expense of what we truly feel or think, all in the name of belonging, remaining employed, remaining sexually active, increasing the number of our Twitter followers, or, decreasing the number of Facebook friends who do not “like” our status updates. (As I have once aphorized, “For the most difficult way to be retweeted,or, liked: be thought-provoking. For the easiest way: quote Oprah, Rev.Run, or, the Bible.”)

While we, the not terminally ill, sit back while some beast called civilization squeeze as much energy as it can squeeze out of us … using rough, not to mention unnecessarily long, hands called office hours … to feed its insatiable profit-obsessed appetite; before it discards those whom it cannot exploit further. A stage otherwise known as retirement.

Having said that, even we, the not terminally ill, are dying.

That is to say, life is a terminal disease. To be living is to be dying. An aphorism that I have already published is ad rem. Here goes: “With every single day that you ‘survive,’ you get a day closer to your death.”

In addition to that, an innumerable number of we, the not terminally ill, will die before you, the terminally ill, do; regardless of how near your death is. As a matter of fact, some of we, the not terminally ill, who were alive whilst you were reading the last paragraph, are no more. (That might sound insignificant, but I doubt that the thought of your death being near would have been as terrifying as it is likely to be, if every single member of the human race were to die the second you do.)

Moreover, there are countless healthy human beings who, like you, the terminally ill, are on the verge of death. People suffering from some crippling disease called old age. A disease that ultimately converts a once active person into a spectator of life. For, while getting older might come with abilities, being old comes with disabilities. As I have once aphorized, “A man who lives long enough will be a boy twice.”

The moral of this “heartless” letter? Simple.

In a word, the, at first glance, seemingly exclusive title of this letter refers to every single human being—including the so-called illiterates.

To sum up, we are all terminally ill. For, if the living aren’t killed by some terminal disease, other human beings, accidents, etc., some patient disease called the passage of time will. And that also applies to infants, nuns, firefighters, presidents, CEOs, priests, and, virgins.

Until then, L.I.P. (Live in peace).


© Mokokoma Mokhonoana (mokokoma.com + @mokokoma)

Unlike most civilized “loving” and “caring” sons and daughters whose mothers are not deaf, and, not yet devoured by death, I do not remember the last time that I called my mother; just to check how she is doing.

I am not proud of that. But I am not ashamed of that either.

My mother is by no means the only victim of my not being a “loving” and a “caring” being. Chances are that some of the people whose phone number they know that I have, wonder, every now and then, if I have really saved their phone number. Or, if I have not lost their number.

Apart from having a few friends who, every now and then, call to complain about my not calling them every now and then, outgoing calls constitute way less than 10% of my phone’s “call log history.”

At any rate, next to my fondness of thinking, reading, writing, drawing, and—like many a man with a functioning sexual organ—having sex, follows: silence. And by that I mean, “not speaking,” not “not being spoken to.” (Many a reader is likely to wonder, “Why isn’t sex number one on the list?” So, allow me to cite—as a reply to such readers—a quip that is said to have been said by Aldous Huxley, “An intellectual is a person who has discovered something more interesting than sex.”)


The Price We Pay for Not Having Anything to Say

As subjective as this is: we seldom have something worth saying to say.

In order of prevalence, I would put—next to man’s fear of death—his fear of silence (when he is around non-deaf same-language-speaking human beings). Man fears silence so much that he has even invented an activity called “small talk.” Which is nothing but a verbal tool with which he, without delay, overpopulate the terrifying void called silence.

New Oxford American Dictionary defines “small talk” as, “A polite conversation about unimportant or uncontroversial matters.”

The two most important words of that definition being, I believe, “polite” and “unimportant.” The latter is straightforward, and, of secondary importance. So, let us briefly explore the former.

I find the word “polite” central; simply because he who chooses the seemingly petrifying task of keeping their mouth shut over partaking in small talk is usually regarded as “rude.” As a result, many a man speaks, not because he has something to say, but merely as a desperate attempt to avoid coming across as rude, uninformed, low self-esteemed, or, worse, as boring.

And as we all know, coming across as boring usually leads to an uninteresting sex life.

I have lost count of the number of instances where my fondness of silence has led to an other half who got mad at me simply because she, like most “sane” people, regard their other half’s keeping their mouth shut for more than thirty seconds as a sign of them sulking, or, being mad. (Interestingly, though we do not assume the most talkative person to be the happiest, we somehow regard the most taciturn person as the saddest, or, in the aforementioned instances’ instance, the maddest.)

To wit, a husband that keeps his mouth closed for an hour or two is usually punished with a wife that keeps her legs closed for a day or three.

(Speaking of small talk, in addition to speaking merely to avoid coming across as rude or as boring, we speak—even when we have absolutely nothing to say—because we are forever concerned about what the person next to us thinks of our looks, our clothes, our imperfections, etc. In such cases, small talk is, I believe, a gimmick that is used to, for a change, divert  attention [of those whom we are around—from our looks, our clothes, our imperfections, etc. to whatever random subject that the small talk we initiate is made of].)


There’s No Such a Thing as a “Romantic” Broke Man

One does not need to be a scholar of history to confidently conclude that the so-called civilization has inevitably led to the scattering of not only members of extended families, but those of nuclear families as well. And that there was once an era where a man’s family inhabited a territory that was small enough for him to travel across by foot.

One can further reasonably conclude that “love” existed before the invention of, say, the telegraph, or, that of the alphabet. In other words, “love” is not a fruit that grows from some artificial tree called civilization.

In a word, the so-called primitive man, too, loved and cared.

Many a reader is unlikely to disagree with the surmise that there existed an era—before the invention of the telegraph—where writing, say, a letter a month, to one’s loved ones—by he who is hundreds of kilometers away from his family—was considered as a hint of a loving and caring being. (One cannot help but wonder about the aforementioned man’s colleagues who were illiterate. Was their “alphabetic silence” assumed to hint the same thing, i.e., they do not love and care about their loved ones back home, as those of their literate colleagues?)

Let us fast-forward to the present (and the innumerable technologies with which one can keep in touch with one’s loved ones; regardless of the length of the piece of land that separates them).

To check on how one’s loved ones are doing, he who is “loving” and “caring” and kilometers away from his loved ones can write a letter, send a fax, make a phone call, send a chat or an SMS, etc.

Sending an SMS is so cheap, for many a man, that it is practically free.

That has, in a way, taken those who write a letter a month—to check on their loved ones—out of the “loving and caring beings” category.

Because of nothing but the instantaneousness, not to mention the cheapness, of, say, an SMS, sending an SMS a month—to check on one’s loved ones whom one does not live with—isn’t assumed to hint the same intensity of “love” and “concern” as sending a letter a month, to do the same, was, before the invention of the telegraph.

There seems to be a correlation between a society’s technological advancement, and, the supposed presence and intensity of its members’ love for their loved ones; something that seems to be hinted by the frequency of their checking on their loved ones.

As a result, a son who calls his mother once a month is seen as half-caring and as half-loving as the one who calls his mother twice a month. I guess that explains why rich men seem to be more romantic; and why unemployed men seem to give their children more attention.


© Mokokoma Mokhonoana

Spending Millions to Tell Hobos That Life is a Bitch

While some readers (probably, “most”) will strongly disagree with the premise that I used as this essay’s title (even though an intellectually humble person would have suspended judgment; until they found out what I mean by “real men”), it is reasonable for me to presume that most readers will agree with my second premise, which is:

In most (if not all) rape incidents, the (sane) rapist knew, before raping, that rape is illegal.

That inevitably begs the question, Aren’t we blindly relying on “awareness” in our attempt to resolve something that isn’t really caused by the lack of awareness?

To put it more bluntly, Aren’t we fooling ourselves by relying on “Stop Rape,” “Real Men Don’t Rape,” and, “No Means No” campaigns (which, without fail, tell your average human being what he already knows, i.e., forcing one’s self on someone is illegal), in our attempt to reduce, if not eradicate, rape incidents?

Well, (even though I too, like most concerned people, might not know which is the right tree) I think that we are barking up the wrong tree.

If my second premise is anything to go by, then one can reasonably reckon that at the core of a “Stop Rape” or “Real Men Don’t Rape” or “No Means No” campaign hides an assumption that the rapist’s ignorance is the root cause of rape. But, isn’t that akin to attributing a starving man’s stealing of a loaf of bread to his ignorance; instead of his being hungry, his country’s unequal distribution of its wealth, or, his fear of starvation — which is imposed by man’s innate survival instinct?

As I have premised, almost all of the countless criminals who are in prison because of, say, having committed a robbery, knew very well, before robbing, that robbery is illegal. Furthermore, I doubt that there are would-have-been criminals, who were “saved,” a few seconds before committing a crime, by the mere act of recalling what your average anti-crime campaign feeds us, i.e., “Crime does not pay.”


Repetition is a Double-Edged Sword

Granted, repetition sure has its benefits. For some people need to be told the very same thing more than once; before they do something, or, stop doing something.

Repetition is so powerful that it can leave a man whistling a song which he hates.

However, repetition can also leave a man, as could be the case with the campaigns in question, no longer worrying about an issue which he should be worrying about.

For the more we read about, or, hear of yet another woman’s being raped, the higher our chances of taking action, or, as is usually the case, the more we are likely to utter, “enough is enough,” a statement which’s uttering we regrettably equate with taking action. However, after some point, the more we are fed yet another rape incident: the more powerless we feel, and, the less sympathetic we become.

The downside of repetition is its tendency to make the-repeated-to less sensitive to the-repeated. Just like how, to introduce a less serious case, a man’s moving his telling his wife that he loves her — from once a week to once a day — might increase the odds of her believing him. While his moving his telling her that he loves her — from once a day to once an hour — might reduce the weight, the sincerity, and, the plausibility that his “I love you” once had, or, carried.


Using False Teeth to Prevent Loss of Teeth

Apart from our commonplace ignorant attributing a starving man’s stealing of food to his ignorance, we work hard to get rid of men who stole, instead of working hard to get rid of whatever it is that induced the men to steal.

An example, which illustrates our juvenile habit of dedicating our resources to eradicating symptoms, instead of their cause, is in order. And for that, I will use our usage of the so-called “correctional facilities” in our attempt to eradicate crime. (“Correctional facilities” are merely an attempt to mold man’s behaviour as per the wants of civilization; instead of molding civilization as per the needs of man.)

In the governors’ attempt to fool the governed, or, to appear like they are at least doing something about it, governors cage the so-called criminals in institutions called prison; instead of trying to eradicate the conditions, or, the discomforts that succeeded in persuading or influencing them to steal, kill, or, rape.

Most “illegal” activities have been with us since the day we invented law.

That should have been enough to hint that caging people (i.e., imprisoning the so-called criminals) isn’t an effective attempt to eradicate crime. Alas, such an observation goes either unnoticed, or, simply ignored. Like I concluded The Illusion of Prison, prison is not really a solution to some problem called crime; prison is merely a “consolation prize” for the stolen from, the assaulted, the raped, or, the killed’s loved ones.

Anyway, haven’t we given our precious invention called prison enough centuries to prove or disprove its effectiveness? Or, is our continuing to imprison people merely a hint of our naive belief that doing an ineffective deed is more effective than not doing a thing at all?

(My sharing of my seemingly idealistic take on “correctional facilities” is by no means a plea for us to stop punishing wrongdoers. I’m merely arguing that prison does not really stop people from raping, or, killing. Well, that’s if the undeniable fact that there are countless rapists who served a jail sentence between their raping woman one and their raping woman two, and, countless murders who served a jail sentence between their killing victim two and their killing victim three, is anything to go by.)

Imprisoning criminals does not increase the odds of us eradicating crime. It merely decreases the odds of an imprisoned killer killing twice, or, an imprisoned rapist raping thrice.

In a word, laws do not prevent unlawfulness; they merely encourage lawfulness.


Sanity is Temporary: When Turned On, We’re All Insane

Like almost all human beings, 94% of the dumb things that I have said, done, or, promised, are attributable to: either my being in love, or, my being horny.

Let me start with emotions. Although we are well-aware that being rational over being emotional is almost always worthwhile, when torn between being emotional and being rational, nine times out of ten, our emotions carry the day. To substantiate that, I will simply remind the reader of innumerable already-drowning-in-debt wo/men who easily buy — on credit — a $2,000 handbag that just stole their heart; to add to their twenty-two-handbags collection.

Emotions, too, like looks, can be deceiving.

For example, anger can easily make an undersized man — whose wife he has just found in bed with some oversized man — believe that his wife’s oversized other man will be the one whose face is rearranged; after he is done expressing his anger, on his woman’s other man, with his fists. Just like how a wife’s love for her husband can be a psychological chain that prevents her from leaving her abusive husband.

(With that, I wanted to illustrate how emotions can have a detrimental impact on an emotional man’s appearance.)

I’m now left with hormones. Like emotions, hormones usually overpower reason.

To add to my argument that ignorance isn’t the major cause of social ills:

Not all HIV infected people, who got infected because of their not having used a condom, found out that unprotected sex could leave them infected with HIV … after they were infected with HIV.

Sometimes people have sex without a condom; not because they have never heard of one; but merely because when horny, the rational part of our brain seems to go on leave.

I am by no means, with the previous sentence, trying to defend rapists. That sentence, like all those which make this essay, is, as unbacked-by-MIT-or-Harvard as it might be, my humble attempt to contribute to humanity’s attempt to combat this cancer called rape.

(In concluding this part of this essay, I will attempt to illustrate the detrimental impact that hormones can have on a horny man’s health.)

Occasionally, hormones get the best of man. I do not really need to enumerate all irrational things that we do; all in the name of love, or, more relevant to this part of the essay, irrational things that we usually do; all in the name of an orgasm, or, two. Instead of that, I will share, as I have done in a few essays, an anecdote that substantiates my seemingly ignorant and arrogant opinions. Here goes.

Some medical doctor, someone who, on an average day, sees the horrible effects of sexually transmitted diseases, slept with a former neighbour of mine; someone whom he met an hour or three before their one-night stand, without a condom. The end.


Masturbation: To Unstigmatize, or, not to Unstigmatize

(Er … at the risk of making those who are of an opinion that I am “anti-religion” more convinced that their wrong opinion of me is right, I will, with a paragraph or two, bring religion into my bringing masturbation into our desperate attempt to combat rape.)

Like with most religious laws (which are nothing but an attempt to subjugate religious men’s thoughts and behaviour), there are religious people who are of the belief that their holy book forbids masturbation. While others — believers and nonbelievers — are of an opposing interpretation. Be that as it may, I find it reasonable to reason that, regardless of who is right, more often than not, an anti-masturbation man’s attitude towards masturbation is contaminated by nothing but religious teachings of the religion that he adheres to.

Masturbation is usually labelled, by those who are against it, as “unnatural.” Even though children as young as five are reported, by their parents, to have been caught, by their parents, masturbating. And that’s not all. Some animals, too, masturbate.

That could simply be because, to such children and animals, there exists no ideological divide — between the pro- and the anti-masturbation — to consider; before they guiltlessly submit to the urge to please themselves.

Not to mention the fact that there are countless women who, despite of their having orgasmed countless times, are still “virgins.” The irony being that, in some cases, such women’s adhering to their religion’s forbidding of “Sex Before Marriage” would not have been possible; should they have not ignored their religion’s forbidding of masturbation.

Anyway, though it would be foolish for one to attribute all rape incidents to the stigmatization of masturbation: maybe, just maybe, there is a correlation between the number of rape incidents within a society, and, that society’s general attitude towards masturbation. Like I said, maybe.

It isn’t illogical to assume that some rape incidents would have not occurred, should we have not stigmatized masturbation (something that gazillions of people who publicly declare as “dirty” do when they are behind closed doors). Granted, unstigmatizing masturbation alone is not sufficient, as I have just admitted, to eradicate rape. Be that as it may, I strongly believe that doing so has the potential to avoid a rape incident, or, two.

(I am about to, in my attempt to justify such an “unthinkable” opinion, bring our sex hormones’ habit of overpowering our being rational back into the discussion.)

The one thing that your average honest man will testify to (I’ve only had a penis thus far, thus, it would be ignorant of me to include women) is that after ejaculating, his hormones quickly give in to whatever part of his brain that is responsible for his being rational.

(By the way, that is usually the stage where a man thinks, to himself, that spending the amount of money that he just spent, just to be afforded the privilege of undressing the woman that he just slept with was not worth it, or, that sleeping with his sister-in-law was a dumb move, or, that he should have at least used a condom.)


Women Who Do Not Play Hard to Get Are Hard to Get

Lastly, I would like to briefly propound a possible contributor which is likely to be misread.

We have, as a society, conditioned “righteous” women to initially behave as if they are not interested in a guy that they are interested in; merely because they just met the already-running-after-them guy; lest they be seen as “easy,” or, as “immoral.”

Because of my being more rational than emotional, I find the initial phase of courtship irritating, very. As a result, whenever I’m expected to run after a hard-to-be-gotten woman, I simply leave the woman un-gotten.

Anyway, the purpose of this part of the essay isn’t to bore the reader with my impatience — when coming to the superfluous rituals of courtship. I will attempt, with this part of the essay, to propound — by sharing one more anecdote — the possibility that the notion of “playing hard to get” might have contributed to some rape incidents.

I have had a few instances where my initiating an initial sexual encounter with a woman was met with the usual hard-to-getness. (Like I once quipped, 88% of women love making their first love making incident with a man seem like an accident.) Anyway, instead of doing what we are taught a man should do — beg, promise the woman forever, etc. — I simply stopped.

However, I was later told, by the women in question, that they too wanted us to have sex. And that they merely played hard to get because they did not want to appear “easy.”

Here’s another point that I hope to have propounded:

Not all raped women were raped by a stranger. Some were raped by their date.

The above anecdote relates to such rape incidents. Incidents which we habitually try to lessen with campaigns revolving around the slogan: “No Means No.”

At the risk of appearing to defend “date rapes,” it is plain to see why some men interpret their date’s saying “No” as nothing but the woman’s playing hard to get; especially if the man has had an experience where a woman — whose playing hard to get prevented their having their initial sexual encounter — later told him that her playing hard to get was merely a ritual employed to avoid her appearing “easy,” thus, of easy virtue.

(By the way, feminists who have reached this far, without having labelled me as a sexist, are hypocrites.)

Side Note: Like I have disclosed, the opinions in this essay aren’t end-products of some reputable “social scientist’s” hard labour. I gave birth to them while I was either taking a walk, or, roaming around the one-bedroom flat that I rent — not in some reputable university’s lab. So, feel free to ignore them, should you find the streets, or, a one-bedroom flat, not credible enough to produce theories, opinions, and, suggestions, worth your consideration.

© Mokokoma Mokhonoana [ mokokoma.com + @mokokoma ]

Apart from the claims which he is fed by religious books, man’s mental capability is arguably the sole feature that is responsible for man being (or, at the least, claiming to be) superior to all living beings. Owing to what he managed to alter because of the latter, man has unashamedly awarded himself a Nobel Prize for some advancement called civilization — a trophy he won through the collaboration of a handful of men’s minds, and, multitudes of men’s hands.

Be that as it may, as powerful as his mind might (have the potential to) be, man’s mind is also a wonderful tool for self-delusion.

Amongst other comforting theories, man fed himself the notion of selflessness. A notion which I find to be nothing but self-deception. A premise is in order.

A human being is a selfish creature.

(A clarification, too, is in order. By selfish I mean, “concerned chiefly with one’s own personal profit or pleasure” — not the other sense which is commonly referred to when the word selfish is used, i.e., “lacking consideration for others.”)

At the core of man’s every single deed, or, lack thereof, hides his pleasure, or, his pain. At the core of every single freedom fighter’s fight, hides the freedom fighter’s wanting his people to be free, not his people’s freedom. At the core of a woman’s every single attempt to have her man dressed “properly,” hides her looking good (in the eyes of their neighbors), not him. At the core of every single rape incident, hides the rapist’s desire for an orgasm or three, or, an erection that got the best of him.

The very same selfishness lies hidden at the core of the real reason (i.e., minus the our sugarcoating the premise that I’m attempting to give a justification for) that we are friends with, say, a humorous person. For we did not — in such a case — become friends with a humorous person merely because they are humorous; we did so solely because they make us laugh.

Friend 1’s relentless praying that friend 2 finally affords (and then, buy) a car is seldom about friend 2’s reaping the fruits reaped by those who their banks saw as worthy of financing a car for. Friend 1 prays relentlessly merely because he wants to have one less person to give a recurring lift to.

When an employer employs an employee, it isn’t because the employer wants to play his part in lowering their country’s unemployment rate. He does so merely because he believes that what the employee demands every four weeks (i.e., a salary) pales when compared to what the employee will make for him every single workday.

When a woman relentlessly “supports” her man, it isn’t because she wants her man to have an interesting bank balance; she does so merely because she does not want a man with a dull bank balance.

When a reader buys a book, he does not really do so to “support” the writer. He does so to appear to have “taste” — like those who bought the book (should the book be on most people’s shelves), or, merely to become smarter or more knowledgeable (should he be of the impression that his reading the book will leave him so).

When an affluent self-conscious twin relentlessly encourages his lookalike to get a job, it isn’t because he likes his twin brother so much that he wants him to be have a few grands; it is merely because he does not like having a broke person, with worn clothes, who looks like him.

Like I asserted, in an essay titled Why We Weep , a widow does not cry simply because her husband left; she cries merely because he left her.

Parents too are not really relentlessly “supportive” because they want their kids to succeed; their relentlessly “supporting” their kids is merely their desperate subconscious attempt to avoid appearing to have bred a failure, or, failures, in the eyes of their peers and/or those of their neighbours.

(Likewise, a “selfless” person is not devoted to others merely because he cares more about other people than himself; he is merely devoted to others because he cares more about other people than himself.)

Side Note: Almost every single reader of this essay read it either because (1) they failed to resist the curiosity that was bred by this essay’s title; (2) they hoped that this essay would inspire a giggle; (3) they thought that my thoughts would make them think, and, as a result, inspire independent thought; or, (4) they merely wanted to “kill time.” Either way, at the core of all the above possible reasons for the reader’s reading this writing, lies the reader, not the writing’s author, or, his at odds with the masses’ opinions.

© Mokokoma Mokhonoana [ mokokoma.com + @mokokoma ]

We are told, by society, and, the Bible, that a woman completes a man.

Well, depending on how that’s looked at, I have a problem with that. What needs to be asked is, What can’t a man be or do without a woman?

For almost everything that a man gets from his woman, he can get from any of his friends: Somebody to talk to. Somebody to listen to. Somebody to laugh with. Somebody to cry with. Somebody to eat with. Somebody to starve with … etc.

Any of the man’s friends or family, good-looking or not, tall or short, male or female, can be that to him. A woman can only logically be said to be a man’s missing other half, if having sex and/or making kids is the man’s primary objective.

However, I would like to go as far as taking “having sex” out of the last sentence. For whether we like it or not, condone it or not, there are countless men who get to subdue their sexual urges from other men. In such cases, the anus plays vagina.

The same can be said about women getting sexual pleasure from other women.

Granted, those women would have used an artificial penis. But, an orgasm or twelve, they would have gotten. For the body cannot really differentiate between a penis made of flesh — and that made of plastic — where pleasure is concerned.

(I don’t want to get into this whole issue as to whether or not homosexuality is immoral. For I find people who hate other human beings merely because of the gender of the people that they prefer to have sex with to be childish and irritating.)

So, what’s left is that, a woman can only be said to be a man’s missing other half, if making a kid is the objective. Otherwise, both the man and the woman are easily replaceable by any random person of any random gender. Seeing that …

A man can cook for another. A man can take a walk with another. A man can clean for another. A man can eat with another. A man can watch a movie with another. A man can choose an outfit for another. And, a man can please another … sexually.

(The assertion that a man and a woman complete each other is asserted with reproduction in mind. That is, the two’s union’s purpose is to produce offspring.)

© Mokokoma Mokhonoana [ mokokoma.com + @mokokoma ]

Being, and having, brings with it, some form of slavery.

He who has something to lose ends up being a slave to whatever that he has to lose. In the very same way that a sensible speaker is a slave to making sense.

So, as soon as an unemployed person gets employed, he too becomes a slave to “remaining” employed. And, he who plans a journey becomes a slave to its path.

The lover in he who marries becomes restricted to loving the lover in their lover.

Likewise, a reputable man is a slave to "maintaining" his reputation.

(To be obsessed with "freedom" is to be a slave.)

© Mokokoma Mokhonoana [mokokoma.com + @mokokoma ]

Would a child feel love for his mother when he meets her tomorrow; suppose he’d be meeting her for the first time?

Or, will he merely love her because it is expected of an offspring to love its parents?

Doesn’t a person that genuinely loves another, do so because there are memories, recollections that one wouldn’t have with a stranger, that the love is a by-product of?

That is to say: isn’t love, like all emotions, nothing but a state of mind?

Generally speaking, he who claims to be in love with a she he just met, is merely lonely, horny, or, at times, both.

(I am yet to hear of someone who shed tears as a result of a stranger’s passing.)

© Mokokoma Mokhonoana [ mokokoma.com + @mokokoma ]

Though there are innumerable genres, there are only two types of artists:

Those who paint solely to express themselves, and, those who paint primarily to suppress a ranting landlord.

In the context of music: the former makes people think, while evoking an emotion or three. And, at best, the latter makes people dance.

(As a result, creators find themselves in this dilemma: “What would I rather be? A homeless sense making artist, or, a senseless artist with a roof over his head?”)

© Mokokoma Mokhonoana [ mokokoma.com + @mokokoma ]

Once traffic lights give way to pedestrians; cars coming from the other direction are supposed to stop. But one might not. And some undertaker might undertake a burial.

That person next to you (be they a friend, a stranger, or, a foe) is not “supposed” to kill you; but he might make the last time that you saw your loved ones, the last time.

In such instances, assumption is deadly.

(Laws don’t prevent unlawfulness; they merely encourage obedience.)

© Mokokoma Mokhonoana, The Confessions of a Misfit.

We were taught, and, we are expected, to say “Thank you!” whenever someone says something good about us, or, our creations.

However, when someone tells you that they love your work, they aren’t really telling you about your work, they are telling you about themselves.

(People who get offended by your not saying “Thank you!” after they have paid you a compliment were merely desperate to be thanked.)

© Mokokoma Mokhonoana [ mokokoma.com + @mokokoma ]