Capetonification

South African authors suck dong.
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let me quantify that shit.
95% of South African author's work suck cock like monica lewinski at a bill clinton convention.
Shock.
Gasp. Horror.
Why? I hear you clamour.

It's an easy answer. All that South Africans authors write about, is more South Africans.
Is it like some sort of draw card for publication houses?

It's a fucking nightmare

I'm all for writing about home. I love this fair land of ours. We've seen a lot of shit. Achieved much, so we have a right to be proud.
We kick ass at sport (mostly) and we are a hard-working bright, intuitive people.
That being said, how boring is it to delve into all the details of every prominent South African or significant event that has happened in the last sixty years, and continue to regurgitate the same material that has been bandied about like a sea point whore, while the minds, the imagination of our creative youth fails to be cultivated and all the while withers and dies, creating just more robotic, politic-regurgitating sad losers.

There's so much to write about.
Life. your own life. maybe a friends. you and your friend.
love. heartbreak.
a far-away land.
robots.
cops and killers.
swords.
sorcery.
I'm not saying that their material is worthless. It's important and necessary, a chronicling of the times, the perspectives.
But it's getting old.
Can't imagine why new material is a problem for our brothers in text.
Or maybe I can. Operative word being 'imagine'.
Do we lack imagination?
Do we fail to 'make' things up on a regular basis because our minds are so firmly rooted in reality?
We are not a nation who takes easily to entertainment.
It's pretty un-american.
In the states, there are thriving industries based on the exploitation of the imagination.
Movies, trading cards, comics, cartoons, action figures, toys...
Here, we can barely keep a comic book alive.
Fuck that.
It's poor. It's shitty. There are so many talented individuals overlooked in our midsts.
These people can write, draw, sculpt or paint the shit out of anything the states can throw at them.
There's just no motivation.
Sure, you'll do it for love.
But for only so long.
You need a career, so all these talented people, well, they become writers for lame newspapers, editors for ridulous magazines, DTP designers at some trendy artsy limp-wristed ad agency.
And they wither. and they die.
And their imagination goes with them. Hopes. Dreams. dashed. because South African's just cant stop being so fucking serious.
Life isn't that great.
We all want to escape from it a bit.
but we look overseas for our fix. Why?
We should be doing that shit right here.
Folks like Lauren Beukes, that dude who wrote Spud, Nerine Dorman, these are the folks who have a little imagination.
But it's a grim fight.
And I don't think we're ever going to win.
There's too few of us. Too little value injected by the players who have the big money, the real money.
The big publishing houses are a bunch of pussies. They just don't have the balls to throw their lot in, and back some mean motherfucking writer, who has got a hard-on for all the right shit that would make him sell like christ-on-a-cupcake.
That's right I'm talking about hot shit.
a veritable messiah.
save us all.
save
us...

But then again, maybe there just isn't such a being. At least in this country.