Megan's Head

A place where Megan gets off her head.

Month: September 2015

Black love is not White hate

It started out as something

Someone wrote on Facebook

A status update

Intended to be profound

For a moment.

A cleverness.

An idea

For a meme.


And tide-like they swept

The comments below,

The wave of unease

Over sharp pebbles of rage

Where black and white

Can only ever be people

Whose common red blood

Cannot be used to unify.


This is only the small world

The cruel world

The world of acute and random difference.


Sometimes I dream

In shades of black and white

Beyond history or pain.

My laptop bag, grimy with use,

Is black.

My coffee is black.

My dog is black. And the other is brown,

But the one we are talking about is black.

He has irritable bowel syndrome and despises

Mr Hartley across the road.

The blood blister under my fingernail

Where I caught it in your car door

After we screamed is black.

And purple.

And yellowish.

The screen on my battery flat phone

Is impenetrably black.


My socks are white.

In some countries this means something

By people who probably also know

The difference in colours of people.

A straw always comes in white paper

As thin as the skin on my late father’s arms.

Someone would have written that he was white

But, as he died, his arms were all the colours.

Perfectly Slowly

Today I was driving out of a parking lot, with my dogs in the car, and a woman almost reversed into us. She was on her cellphone. I managed to speed up and dodge out of her way, but I stopped, put on my hazard lights and got out of my car to talk to her. She had frozen, clearly ready for the confrontation. I asked her in the friendliest way to please not try and drive and speak on her phone at the same time and she almost burst into tears and spewed an apology, mumbling something about an emergency. I begged her to consider never doing this again, and showed her my dogs, waiting for me in the car, as if she should understand what was at stake.

But, as I carried on driving home I was overcome with how wrong we have gotten this whole speed thing. Why do we want to get everywhere faster? Why do we want to do everything quicker? Why is faster better? Surely it should be the other way around? Surely we should drive as agonisingly slowly as we are permitted to, to see all the fabulous things. Surely we should eat slower, walk slower, savour more. We should take longer to decide things, longer to fall in love, longer to miss things when they are gone. We should walk slowly with the dogs and enjoy them more. We should breathe slower and more deeply. We should enjoy slow, and indulge in it. Cook for longer. We should sleep longer, and take longer to fall asleep and take longer to get out of bed. Slow is delicious. I am going on a go slow tomorrow. Just for the deliciousness.

Holding Auditions in Hell

The second I had pressed ‘post’ I knew I shouldn’t have. I had been wrestling with whether to go open with my audition call for my latest industrial theatre project or not, but after a particularly lacklustre response from two agents I thought, what the hell. It felt only fair to make the call as wide as possible, and I put the audition notice on two very apt and specific pages; Cape Town Castings and Stage Jobs Classifieds. Bad idea.

In the brief I say “Please email me a CV and pic to secure a booking.” In the brief I give the rehearsal and performance dates, and audition venue. I am specific about what I am looking for, including colour, gender and age. I give my telephone number in case anyone has any queries. Bad idea. I have been WhatsApped up the yingyang with “I wnna b in ur movie” “intersed your promo” “y u ignoring me?” “acting age 25-35, can I still audition” to quote about 1%. I have been flooded with CVs and pics from wannabe performers who are filing clerks from as far away as Carletonville. I have had rude messages demanding that I accept video auditions and show reels. The entire wannabe acting community of Jozi has made contact.

And then, from the professionals, I have had ‘the changing of the time’. What that is, is the to and fro of emails shifting an audition time and date, up to four times. It is fair to say that I am in a constant state of losing my shit. And the auditions are only on Thursday and Friday. I don’t think I am going to last until then.

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