Friday, October 20, 2006
Over the last four years I have been up Ponte three times. Sometimes even at night to take pictures for a photography course I was doing. I'm not scared of ghettoes and human degradation like most people, if I want to go someplace, I will.
I have all the books that ever mention this building, fiction or non-fiction. Well, I nearly had all the books. A [wonderful] friend of mine gave me a Kalahari.net voucher for my birthday. And this was one of my purchases. Ponte City is a fictional tale about a girl who gets wrapped up in the drug trafficking scene in the early 1990s. A time when the building was reeking in filth, crack-ho's and illegal-immigrant poverty. The story nicely blends real history and architectural truth with fiction, with many points of reference I can relate to when studying the Ponte building.
I am quite unbelievably content with my current read.
Went to the Jolly last night with C and E2, as well as girls from school I haven't seen in a while.
I smashed two pizzas in my face. The first didn’t even touch sides.
I hurt myself on the same wall I hurt myself on last time.
E2 told me to cut a raw potato in half, rub it on my wart, and then bury it. When it grows, the wart on my knee – which I am attached to, might I add – will magically fall off.
“How is that possible, where do you get such shit from?”
E2: It’s a reality china…a ree-a-li-tee.
Worth a toss I guess, not that I want to get rid of my wart or anything. He sits prettily on the edge of my knee. He’s part of me, so fuck off about the wart.
We didn’t steal soap dispensers or bladder-weakness posters. I’m a little disappointed.
Didn’t have any shooters. Even.
Actually just wanted to get home and read my book.