Concoction of Emotions
Mpumalanga News reporter Lungile Dube gets a taste of poet Goodenough Mashego's Taste of My Vomit poetry book and lives to relate her experiences. RATING; 7/10

The modern poetical and sensational writing of a local author with a coating of American slang to match - the 120-page book plays with a tongue and scenarios of the salad days which the author twisted creatively to match the millenium years.

Taste of my Vomit is his second poetical publication after Journey With Me, that hit the shelves in 2006.

A sight of the publication makes one think twice about stretching a hadn toward it, but as they say you can't judge a book by its cover.

Its credibility belies its small size. The title however tells a lot about the content. The book speaks about the author's feeling on his life, historical events and the recent social and political situation.

From the content of the book, I would say the author is angry at past events like apartheid and the lifestyle led by the youth today. He amazingly puts himself in the shoes of victims of circumstances. Like the poem Reincarnation, with emphasis on the nature of repetition. In rather unfriendly, explictly vulgar language, he describes life before reincarnation where he is surrounded by drugs, alcohol, violence and HIV/AIDS.

However he is disappointed with his second life where the world welcomes him as his same previous self. He then lives his life to the extreme, but as he asks life for a better deal to allow him to make his dreams a reality regardless of his environment.

Shakedown is a cruel portrayal of the episodes that took place in jail and the street corners of the location. It is pure concoction of emotions and opinions. In short, grab yourself a copy of the book for a taste of the vomit expressions.

REVIEW

TASTE OF MY VOMIT

Published by: Tenworkers Media
Price: $22,00 (R149,00) incl p&p
Review by: Your Uncle Kwaki

Goodenough Mashego's second offering 'Taste of my vomit' raises the bar tis illmatic* in text .... wait those are his words not mine, talk of an ego but unfortunately it's true. Despite its rather revolting title it is rather addictive (which I guess would explain the green bottle on the cover).

There are four chapters taking you through the hate he habours within, the different kinds of love he feels, his journeys and the temptations he faced ... (I still cant imagine how he remained celibate in P.E .... buy the book to see what I mean).

Then there are the women in his life (and I thought I used to be a player) for a guy who wishes an AIDS related death to all the women he ever dated there is an element of sentimental conflict within some of the pieces which have a hint of nostalgia.

The last chapter simply titled R.I.P made me wonder if it was a good idea to be on a friendly basis with this guy considering the number of friends he has buried, I'm sure he has poured more pints 'for the homies' than he has drank himself which would explain 'Shatale', the poem based on his hometown. The reason there are so many thugs is probably because of all that liquor seeping into the underground water resevoirs which feed the Dam they get their water from ... so in a sense everyone there is intoxicated, at least he is coz there is no way a man of sober habits could write shit this good. Remember Kwaki's your uncle.

This review first appeared on Kwaki's LIFE blog.

COMMENTS

AfroSLiQ Diva said...
Sounds like a good read.... your review has got me wanting to get my hands on that book! Since you've done read it already, pass it on!!!Later "Uncle"

10workers media said...
Saw the review, wow, you should hook up another job with Sundayworld, at least you can teach the folks at Sowetan how to read with a critical mind and still be able to come out with a 150 word good review. I was tempted to pay you but then I remembered that I gave you something for free. Hey, remind me once again of those dudes who like to go on ego trips by reading their feelings to the world. I hope to be there soon and give em a what????? Taste of my.......... you know the rest. Sure

YEAH

TASTE OF MY VOMIT - A PREVIEW

The very same people who bring you Kasiekulture and scores of videos on youtube and zoopy now introduce the latest addition to the family, Goodenough Mashego's second poetry anthology titled TASTE OF MY VOMIT (10workers). The 128 pages book (with 65 poems) is divided into four chapters, each covering a different theme, from prayer to death. This week we give you a taste of what to expect when this vomit finally hits your sweater (oops! the streets). Because we love you and want to entice you we will publish all first stanzas from all poems under the Prayer Meeting Chapter.

a new religion
(to my countrymen)

introducing a new doctrine for a new people
a whole new discipline with its own disciples
more attractive to moderates & fundamentalists
liberals suffer repercussions of they unassertive hearts
plan to bring a spiritual home haven for all mankind
a retreat where we chill pray to the unseen god

bloodshot thoughts

memories are bloodshot like a fiend's eyes
soaked in blood make me scared to see the light
withdrawal symptoms of poverty living still high
past has no glory & the future remains uncertain
hard to decipher all my dreams some are coming in spurts
so my future's still enigma 'ven in these days of psychics
still running after visions praying to god for miracles

born of a woman in a vice filled world

bless me father for i have sinned
for plotting to leave the ghetto with no role models
the money-moves i make to fill my pocket with cash
since i was taught that it’s the root of evil
today i’m sinking full-blast for the root

dear father

when i entered this world you packed your shit & left
to a world yonder where you were stranger again
where you knew you'd get a cutie as stupid as moms was to you
on your crusade to breed kids you never took a detour
so - the girl i screwed last year can easily be my sis
until i landed in this cell the only thing i missed was you

11 december 2002

you never listened when i spoke now i demand attention
the 1st black to bring the urban arts back to the ghetto
i used to cuss between verses get free stress rehab
got engulfed in the hate i gave out - never had love
blamed everyone for my mishap - screamed "f" to the world
take me for granted, know i’m edgy, beyond responsible behavior
but tonight i promise you, you’ll fucking listen to me

ghetto anthem

sometimes i’m content with every little i got
sometimes i got problems & it shows in my eyes
since i’ve been cut from the rotten side of the cloth
i’ve learnt to fight inferiority & restore my pride
past everything you throw @ me don’t fancy whites no more

IOU

poetry verses spitted like hellfire turning my rythmes into nonchalant lines
in my present situation poetry equals a gram of dope
all i need in this enclosure is a key or some spliff
what do i write about when i can't see birds & flowers
grey walls or orange slacks or fantasies in my fart

lord

please forgive me
i’m your son but not like christ
‘cuz it’s @ times like these
that i lose my mind
smoke weed get high & sin a lot

re-incarnation

follow my trail from pearly gates
plea-bargain last minute reprieve
a new leaf of trials & errors introduce my part II
was all of me before today guess i'm querying a lot
in two leases wonder why i still got spewed as sewerage
everybody clad in gas masks when i re-entered this world
re-incarnated as a hustler once again it's on

resolution 2001
[the sequel]

from my privileged position
above everybody that hates me
i witness the deterioration of a community
the calamities that befall my enemies
from this bird's eye view
i bear testimony to hate consuming the hater

the next lifetime

even after all
the barb-wired words
the lies, the backstabbing
the hurtful sentiments
the unadulterated ravings
the crocodile smiles
the verbal battles, the anger
the broken promises


the shakedown

if you make it past tonite you the king for real
as the slogan from our foes is meant to keep us real
"drugs, drugs, dope & liquor, it's a shakedown tonite!"
raise your hands to infrared scope - they shoot tonite
STF, sniffer dogs, perimetre secured
trained snipers, K9, nobody sees sleep tonite
tis shakedown the little gram, better flush down the loo


thug proliferation

dear mister president,
words spread like mustard from the greyness of my cell
inmate fakudze from piet retief was found hanging in the morn'
vomit white like crystal waters surrender written on his face
left no clue of the misfortune that led to his undoing
now every jailbird is shaking for it can happen to any
is that your programme his excellency to keep the jails free from hoods


together again

the sun rises with it hope
ushering a new struggle
fresh pleas for salvation
for like saul before paul we’re lost
we make useless sacrifices
in vanity we trust
money remains an elusive evil


senil citehtapmys

province to ecnivorp every city my playground
only hours spent on srevol my destination blurry
every step that i take turbulence's dniheb me
i'm leaving hurting girlfriends shedding sraet of sorrow
broke brothers on my roster all they smaerd are hollow
couldn't help but eciton your pain what can i do for you
be careful shy not from medics let me sserd your wound
don't allow your empty pride to bring your htaed from sepsis

The book is out early next month. You can start placing orders now and get your own autographed copies retailing at R149 ($25, £18, 15 Euros). It will not be available in stores, we are devout disciples of guerilla marketing. Plus we might surprise you!.

"Taste of my Vomit is the ghetto highlights as you've never seen them. Through the eyes of the beholder" - Skreensavour Gazette Book Review

Just send us your name and physical address (which we will not sell or share with anyone) and we will sort the packaging and mailing. They told us that poetry don't sell, we said 'no statement is absolute', watch us sell a ton of books.