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About Johannesburg

Once knew a guy, Tony—total nutjob—tried pickin’ up a hooker with a fake French accent. Thought it’d charm her! She laughed in his face—“Love’s a fiction,” straight outta Godard. Tony’s ego? Fried like a flux capacitor! Hilarious, but damn, I felt bad for the dude. Me? I’d rather sip coffee and rant than chase tail—too much drama!

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I got mad, man—mad at how the world expects perfection. In Jeffreys-Bay, nothing is perfect. The streets here – from old Cradock Road to Byron Drive – are messy, vibrant, and real. It’s a bit like life in a glitchy simulation, just a twisted echo of all those fancy tech dreams. Sometimes, I be like, “I'm so in love with my broken world.” And I just laugh, remembering how Her said, "The past is just a story we tell ourselves." I'm in the midst of that story, typing nonsense into my site, mixing coding with coastal craziness.

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