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About East London

Sometimes I wonder—am I too twisted for this? Nah, it’s art! Gets sloppy, messy—13 typos worth of chaos, heh. Oil everywhere, hands roamin’, and me laughin’ like a psycho. “It’s too late!”—once ya start, no turnin’ back. Sarcasm aside, it’s fuckin’ glorious—beats dissectin’ a dull dinner guest any day! What’s your take, pal? Ya brave enough?

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Now, lemme spill: I love wanderin’ the less popular parts, where graffiti tells a hundred untold stories. Yo, there’s this one wall on a backstreet off Tembisa Road. It's all colors and voices, a free-for-all gallery. Never seen somethin’ like it anywhere else. It kinda takes me back to that line from “The Gleaners and I” — "each person gleaning their own truth from the fields." Nah, might be misrememberin', but ya get the point.

No water in Mabopane for three days