Stagnant waters born of uphill greed

Most humans now living and who have died act and acted just like water running easily downhill. We all simply take the path of least resistance, until we hit an uphill challenge that stops us dead in our tracks. Uphills or challenge blockages cause us to stagnate in a quagmire of our own putridity. We hope the collective dam up will try with brute force in unison to overcome the challenge of a blockage. The reality is a new easy path around is now sought and found. Often we go in a completely different direction. Water downhill is always probing the easy way around new challenges. We all know very well some challenges have no easy way around. Only a hard cold consequence of our limited in the moment actions. Looking for direction with knowledge after working around challenges leads to wisdom.  Wisdom is mostly hindsight, knowledge. It is the thousands of facts leading to an end result. We cant see through to the wisdom of an issue until all the knowledge facts have been put in place and show us the results of our easy route water downhill actions.

This build up of collective knowledge, accumulated by the lazy easy flow route water types through generations. Doesnt always lead to the desired destination. Easy flow water greedy drowners who have not stopped to ever analyse the very big infront of them uphill blockage picture. A blockage challenge mostly created by the build up of other easy flow decision makers.

Sadly and its in fact true most humans are across the board lazy, greedy and reactive to the water downhill path finding technique. There are a few humans that are not wired this way. However those very few are the rare diamonds, the outliers, the ones setting the real benchmark for others in the future. They are very few and very far between in the collective liquid morass of humanities easy flood water route downhill collective. 

For the most part we all fit this model of the human collective easiest route downhill water trait. A type of easy communistic group think approach, lazy minded water downhill operatives rely on other mostly less competent path finders to lead in finding the easiest route downhill. All fanatically wanting maximum benefit with absolutely minimum input. 

its not more obvious than in the hippo story. The story told to the incredible writer TV Bulpin by a very wise old man many years ago. its a fact that the highways and byways of Africa are filled to the brim with age old collective knowledge and deep wisdom. One has to have one ear to the ground one to the heavens, your feet firmly planted in the rich soil and hands that continually reach for the stars to benefit from this collective over time wisdom. 

The human diamonds are generally those who have lived through real life experience. Who can now articulate the lesson clearly for like minded humans. Who are not wired like the fat fingered greedy lazy collective water downhill group thinkers.

The hippo story narrated by this wise old man to this famous writer is perhaps now well known. i am certainly not wise. I am like most humans, an easy route downhill water operative. However as age and reality converge with hindsight i am in a small way understanding lifes putridity muddles. Perhaps me retelling it wont do it justice. Perhaps the lesson will still be lost. However our current outcomes of reality is in itself justice enough for our short sightedness and lazy approach. 

Drought, lack of rain, burst dams and complete mayhem is the legacy of the easy route downhill human. Our collective blocked challenge putridity dam. In reality leads to total destruction of all eco systems. The greedy fat fingered are always allowed to wantingly act with blood slaughtering impunity. As the rest of us easy downhill water minds watch with incredulous non committal disgust. 

The condensed version of the hippo story told by the wise man to the writer is as such. (Google it for full version. If you are like me, water downhill, read on for the synaptic version) 

The hippo story goes, in central Africa somewhere southish, many years ago in an area now completely drought striken, with no water, there once was a huge lake In an area with very limited rainfall. This vast lake provided beautiful water to a parched land with very rich soil. Further north of this dam was a morass of reads and swamps inhabited by many hippo. Explorers who took the time to document there findings, wrote of this now non existant lake, so it did exist. However now its completely evaporated with little hint it was ever present.  

The story goes that to tame a land is to render it useless to all. So the Locals who lived north of the lake where getting harrased by many hippo. These huge herbivores that kill the most humans in Africa. These wise custonians of the wetlands, whos eyes peak above the water line. Watching this soft but squishy naked ape who has mastered the art of destructive tool making. The tools we design well and most effectively are the ruinous type. Those tools that seek to destroy life rather than enhance it. So it was with this story. The inhabitants got sick of beating drums all night keeping the hippos away. They got sick of living next to the challenge of the ever watchful hippos. So they traded all there material things and all the animal wealth pelts and furs in there area for powerful guns to slaughter the hippos. These weapons of mass destruction where to get rid of the threat of the water downhill hippos. The greedy humans that sold the guns came and took all the furs and pelts by the wagon load from the area. The easy slaughter with guns of many hippos began. Every easy water downhill pathfinder was now licking lips happy. Over time the greed and bloodlust mixed into accummulative hindsight knowledge but sadly has never distilled into much needed wisdom. Why can one say this? Because we are a cut, paste history repeat animal. Only we grow progressively worse in our total annihilation of eco systems with each succeeding generation.  

The rains far up north came as they do every year. But with no herbivore hippo to create easy water pathways through the reeds. The water built up behind the reeds like a putrid stagnant morass blockage. The intricate pathways through the morass was now completely blocked. With no hippos to create the flow. Water did what water does. It finds a new easier pathway downhill. The dam that relied on the rains far up north dried up, the life giving rain water found a quicker route to the sea and life in that once abundantly rich area ceased to exist. It was now a dry hot dust bowl. Those living around the abundantly rich life lake saw clumps of reeds wash down at first, then nothing, the rain water tap had been turned completely off.

The greedy fat fingered fur wagoneers moved off to a knew slaughtering ground. The short sighted locals who sold there birthright for red hippo stew left with more issues than answers. Heads hung low finding a new area with life giving water. Often the solution offered by greedy men is the destruction of a beautiful way of life. Quick easy fix mongers full of confidence but no wisdom. 

For those willing to listen we are left a now long forgotten story for a lesson for those sick of being an easy downhill water direction decision maker. A long forgotten story playing out every day in all parts of the world. We have still not learned from these vital ancient lessons.

Only when our collective destructive nature is quelled and those amongst us who are greedy and short sighted become wise, die or change their selfish perspective. Will we start to put back into our precious eco systems more than we currently taking out. The fine balance of nature is sadly destroyed by the intervention of the fat finger greedy merchants of selfish desire. 

Beware, beware of  snake oil salesman and the slaughter everything gun running peddlers so abundant today. These greedy short sighted easy water path downhill operatives are a massive danger to those who are truelly wise.

We need wild spaces, mankinds cities need to be defined within the wild spaces. We tame lands and we destroy continents. 

Future techno perfect

New creative built environment creative design ideas are one of the hardest seeds to sow and grow.

To try and leapfrog the present and try present a possible future built environment landscape to the future, is the design domain of the few. Having fortunately met many of these dynamic type futuristic creative thinkers. I find they hide amongst the masses sometimes fearful of putting pen to paper due to the visceral backlash of being accused of a creative design type heresy. 

To get through the pure and absolute hostility of the design artist critic is the huge challenge. You know the type of openly hostile angry critics, they are everyone with a hostile negative first thinking mindset. Its a creative virus much more prevalent than you might think. I really dont much care about the dangerous critic frothing virus types. 

If you dont have a thick tough skin, you really have no place being a creative artist. Because sadly you will whilt, die and slowly turn a boring shade of complete dull the moment you play into the spite fueled critics blood in the water feeding frenzy. So Dont ever let those who dont share your artistic minds eye steer you away from expressing what you alone can see. Rather use your artistic fervor to ignite a possible inferno of future thinking design ideas. This can be done by simply turning on your creative design switch. Its there in the back of your mind, past all the negative thinking, next to the, you can do it button. There you go, now go make something beautiful. 

Wildetecture visual story

Wildetecture visual story as made clearer by wildetect 2 of 3. Design dialogue is improved as our graphic tools we use get more advanced.  Collective human imagination is filtered through an algorythm. 

 

Tiger trigger tale

My strange currently developing tale is very disturbing to me. Now hopefully in the telling I will release my insecure thoughts to the 4 winds. Perhaps in the hope of some kind of solace & reprieve before this nights dawn will break. This is just a very small interlude into my life and perhaps at the impending end of it now, you will be left deeply offended by my past behavior. Please don’t venture any further if you are at all squeamish or sensitive. 

It is important to know that i am a great majestic tiger hunter, a mighty man, in my trade being anything but brave in the face of slaughter is not acceptable. And i am the bravest of my ilk.

Triggers of full and complete understanding of past conduct are never logical. One simply has an initial train of understanding - then within an instant of time, our clarity of a past deed is triggered along a completely opposite track of thought.

My immediate understanding trigger hit me when paging through a December 2011 national geographic magazine. Page 82 to be exact. The proceeding article to the what i now understand as a profound trigger was of deep moral virtue. So when page 82 arrived i was completely ambushed in my mind.

Perhaps let me briefly explain to those reading this who i am. I come from a very long line of proud wild tiger hunters. My family has been hunting this majestic creature for many centuries now. Over the years there has been many methods of hunting – however it is common knowledge the tiger is drawn out by the frightening howls, cries of a pure animal paralyzed with intense fear. As mighty hunters we know this anomaly very well – so we look for these sad pathetic creatures amongst the everyday animals around our village. A puppy, a lamb, something that will make sufficient noise to draw out this incredible animal to the sound and smell of raw fear.

A tiger you see is a being like no other – it has no equal amongst living creatures, it has no fear really of anything. Some say it is not a living entity, they put spiritual connotations onto this lethal night shadow. Because the stealth at which such a huge powerful creature moves – it is said that it is scientifically impossible to move with such a complete silence.

Sometimes we as hunters must bait the trap several times during the night because 1 minute you hear the hysterical screams of absolute fear, the next absolutely nothing.

It’s really the sudden immediate complete silence that grips you more than the frightening build-up of absolutely petrified screams in the dark night.

When rebaiting the trap, we often notice not a blade of grass has been disturbed. – it’s like a mist of diabolic energy has stealthily grasped the trap bait and completely vanished into thin air. The lingering smell of a relieved frightened animal is all that remains. The reality of a tiger is you can be a few feet from this huge, majestic creature, and you would not know it was even there. There is a certain hint of a unique smell one would perhaps perceive – however only the well trained to detect these things would register this. It’s a stench like rancid perfume really. A unique musk type scent inducing fear, the smell of herbs and rotting flesh. Not unpleasant but obvious to a trained great tiger hunter like me, I can perfectly detect its presence with dead accuracy.

I first started noticing this exact smell a few months ago – some nights the smell was overpowering, others a hint but nothing ever visible. I searched, tiger slaying instruments and weapons in hand. I searched for the source of this unique tiger smell – however nothing I could ever see. No evidence was present other than the waft of a full-grown tiger within a few feet from where I sat, stood or was lying down. With no tangible evidence I was convinced a trick was being played on me. The slow uneasiness of considering I had picked up a tiger night shadow stalker.  was a completely ludicrous notion.  

A Night shadow stalker is an old myth from times gone past – whereby for many months the hunter becomes the primal hunted. It must be a myth because I live on the 3^rd floor complex, in a very built-up city, far from the nearest wild tiger range. For any tiger to get to me it would be completely impossible to reach me undetected through the city streets. So, this smell I perceive out of thin air must be a cunning trick, a conjurer’s sleight of unsettling hand.

I have made many enemies over the years, so any number of these vengeful types could be using my hunting prowess and skills to try unsettle me.

They say you only see the night shadow stalker the split second before it rips your throat out. The attack is so seamless and powerful you might as well have been hit by a 100 mile an hour freight train while going about your nightly routines.

So, you can fully understand my absolute surprise when last night I awoke to the musky herb, off flesh rancid smell and cold yellow eyes of a full grown 800-pound tiger. Silently staring at me through the pale moon dark night. My first reaction was to immediately soil myself and a feeling of absolute raw panic so overwhelming overtook my entire body. Fear is really a terrible element to have to deal with, adrenaline and the sudden onset of complete paralysis and extreme shivers are immediate. Nothing in life can prepare you for that exact visceral moment of pure complete vulnerability. This gut wrenching experience has convinced me, that I was a split second away from being completely slaughtered. Only to then look around in my own soiled stench, tears, snot and sweat to realise, I was completely alone once again in my small 3^rd floor room. Whatever I had seen had completely slinked away into the pale moon lit night.

I Immediately locked myself in my tiny bathroom and stayed hidden the entire remaining early morning. In this state of renewed understanding and deep shock, I start now to remember each creature used as cruel bait in my relentless pursuit of this majestic tiger. I’m not a sentimental man in any way, as death stalks us all, but I started to feel a deep sense of dread for the very limited cruel man I used to be. This current complete fear in me awoke a sense of extreme anxiety and guilt that is now relentless in its pursuit of my awoken conscience. Those yellow cold eyes of silent condemnation burnt into the very back of my skull. It is now all too much at once really.

This afternoon has been better than the morning– but I’m completely petrified to face the onset of sleep in my apartment once again – the hint of a lingering musk herb, rotten flesh rancid smell wafts through my private space as I  currently write this, turning my stomach content to rancid water. I am now far to afraid for the encroaching night – the screams of each innocent animal I trap baited reverberates right this second in my brain, the sound has instilled a palpable fear so intense I am really struggling to cope, anxiety so deep.  i am currently sweating from every pore and not far from the toilet in which to violently vomit into.

The night has now arrived,  I thought of locking myself in my bathroom again, a determined tiger will easily get in. I must run , keep moving. writing this letter will be the only tangible last living thought of mine left to give. I am deeply sorry for my insensitive actions on earth whilst hunting tigers. To all the beautiful creatures i cruelly used as bait, im am deeply sorry. 

It is the shadow night tiger that has come for me now, to condemn me. To my relatives my warning is now very clear. I’m sure i won’t make it through this very dark night here in my flat, I leave this letter, so you don’t need to worry about me. I will be fleeing the city immediately – catching a northbound freight train as far as the rail goes. A destination I don’t want any enemies to be aware of.

As dusk now approaches the deeply haunting condemnatory yellow eyes are piercing me through the impending pale moon lit evening. My time has now arrived to run – i will now try to outrun this night, this tiger shadow stalker – i say farewell sig ............

On the road to crazy man.

 The story of a wildetect farm. 

wildetecture has been exploring creating built offsite wild habitable architectural pods for a few years now. The type of site, preferably deep in a Kalahari, Namib type desert terrain setting, very far off the beaten track.

This is not at all a new concept. It is simply a romantic notion that has inspired travel across many a hostile land, in search of solitude to find. 

This notion doesnt stop at earth continents it appears, with Mars now beckoning the brave. We will see a spark of architectural machine driven functional human habitats. When the scientific engineering mind pushes forth, the poets, artists and romantics will follow. Sparking a revolution of incredibly strong architectural aesthetic visuals. That would make living on a barren red comet type sandy rock rather appealing. 

in our wildetect exploration we have found a remote farm  1 which is exactly that, as remote as an African farm could be. not a farm really - but a piece of raw African veldt , completely inaccessible,  a plateau on top of a huge mountain. the only squatters are leopards, black eagles and wild , wild life. water for days , just did i mention , its completely inaccessible.

So we have been offered this farm today, 300 hectares  of wild veldt - its exciting because the prospect of ironing out our wildetect vision,  is as remote , as if this piece of African veldt  was on Mars. there is nothing easy about anything at this embryonic phase - its a conversation from a farmer deep within the desert - who made his way to the nearest town today for signal and phoned me 2 hours ago. i can buy the smaller farm out right - but its so remote , good luck getting to it, have fun building on it, the road to the top is a chasm on one side.  - man it sounds like complete madness, a road to crazyman. A hint of a king Solomon's mines hair brain venture - crashing ones life around an impossible dream - flip doesn't that sound hugely epic. i must say the thought of it being inaccessible to anyone else - makes the idea of it incredibly plausible. not sure if i should share the journey or hide all traces of it. Live like the really rich, pretending to be poor incognito all the while enjoying the fat of the land. However i digress, im now crashing several dreams into one nonsense diatribe. 

The idea of remote wildetect wild nature architectural pods - built off site - droned on top of this Masada type citadel is becoming very exciting. Not at all an easy simple concept to execute - as i said,  it could be on Mars at this stage. purchasing the land is way out the budget - will need specialized equipment just to get to site - its all so overwhelmingly impossible it seems possible - like when your offered keys to a kingdom and you look past all the broken vehicles, dilapidated homes, non existent pathways, collapsed bridges and you look up high on the face of the Everest and way out through the mist, ice and blizzards you catch a fleeting glimpse of a tiny wooden door with a bronze iron tiger knocker. Well its kind of like that - ive now briefly, fleetingly seen the tiny door tiger knocker, was it a vision or an actual sighting? - but hang!! i feel like forest gump starting to run,  just as he heads out the door with no plan other than head for the next street corner. - just a rough wild looking route to absolute crazyman, mapped out - the door beckoning - lets start  this show on the road, MAN!!. 

Sadly many a wagon has been deserted deep in many a desert with a tragic back story to tell. A story lost to the sands of time.  The sparks of those stories, those ventures being exactly the same sparks of this one. The road to crazy man is a spark to many a wild ambitious vision.

Well creating a home far from the maddening crowd , on an inaccessible citadel deep in the desert is the best darn idea i can possibly think of right now. Sure beats the humdrum of city life and waiting for Putin to the North, invaders to the left of me, cannibals to the right. Stuck here in the middle........ At least the wild animals in the deep desert, that seek to kill you, don't smile , say hello first and then try rip you to pieces after the pleasantries. its straight off the cuff pieces ripping stuff - which sure beats all that phoney nibbling ones ear politeness beforehand. 

Well a small update is farm 1 didnt unfortunately align,  the sparks fizzled out. but hay whats a romantic notion if you dont now explore the option of a wildetect African farm part 2. 

Did i mention, the road to crazyman is built with many an asylum along the way. Hopefully some are really aesthetically pleasing. With a wooden door deep through the mist, and a bronze lion knocker. 

(See what i did there?)

Circumnavigating the avo greens.

I am no self help guru or even as an advise specialist, i fall way short. I like to write, even there, people far more gifted in these matters, will say i fall short. However sometimes a subject matter lends itself to an interesting for me, old lesson in the tail, tale or tell. 

Perhaps the simple answer to raising children, to parenting is an important approach of making sure, you as the loving parent drive your own child personally into adulthood.

When they want to climb out the family car. (which in any normal household, is often), the parent simply locks the doors. You see, to my simple mind,  an inexperienced very young map reader, should never be put into a position to lead through perilous terrain. 

Also, it is wise perhaps to never give a young child, unable to drive, the keys or allow them to steer the car on dangerous roads. Well before its time really. The map to adulthood is for parents to hold 100%. Well thats if one wants the chance of creating a well adjusted adult. 

With rules of the car drive into adulthood very clearly established, the drive should become simpler. However, not without its huge volitile teenage challenges.  eish, i am gray, podgy, and have a twitch for very good reason - parenting stress. As ive clearly said, im no guru and this road we travel is not without its lack of guru mindset challenges.

Many parents today happily give a little, very young Johnny & Jane, the adulthood drive keys to the family car, and then go sit in the back seat. So when inexperienced little J&J completely derail, they still can not fathom the folly of their utter complete stupidity. 

Oh lets just give over the complete raising of my children to a coach, a guidance councillor, a nun, a teacher, a priest, a family friend, any other family on earth. Are these people completely mad, fully certifiably insane? The VERY best person, the most over qualified is a loving parent. Only in the complete absence of a loving parent, then the rest, the backup crew, the B team can apply. We can write a story for those selfish parents who dont try love their own children. palm them off on everyone else. But we wont, the backlash will be astronomical to say the least. Those absolute imbeciles that seem to now be growing in number. 

To my mind, adults, parents must always lead, and children must try to simply keep up and follow. it is the age old way. 

Well unless your New Age, of course, then you let the pied piper lead all the children. Or better yet. You become a pied piper type, as you happily flute your kids into a raging tempestuous sea to die. That would be just after you get your nails and hair done, a mottled avo green to match the drapes. 

Looking now very sadly at the complete independance of our many cast off street children. These bright young kids are given total independance in life by adults. It doesn't always really create a stable well adjusted adult end product. What does create a well adjusted adult is genuine love. Reaching over the divide with,  practical material needs, kindness, love, emotional support and adult advise and help. This really does make a huge difference in a street childs total lack of adult input lives. It is love that will give them everything, and love sometimes is discipline, working within a clear structural framework. Children without structure, tend to create there own perameters. Which can fall short because of the lack of life experience. 

Another huge challenge today is, most little Johnnys and Janes have never ever heard the word NO!!

You say NO to anyone, and you will very quickly learn what they really think of you.

Its really life lessons that we put infront of our children that will help them. Some lessons are very important to their overall growth. All lessons are not really easy to teach and learn, thats a fact.

To teach children from a young age to have very good manners and to be kind. Means they need to be very aware of others all around them. Thinking of others rights before ones own helps create peace. This bullying of my rights before yours is a powder keg of explosive dynamite and tnt. Today its an absolute right to express your rights first. Which works out to be a rather very long conversation after the first hello how are you?

Bare with me as i try to relate a small simple tale, perhaps its a silly little nothing story for you. A little left of center narrative of hero knights, dragons, and damsels in distress. No, no, not really any dragons in this story today. 

Learning the protector role in the tapestry, stitches, and beautiful thread making of life, as it weaves its many unique cotton cloth tales for the outcome of a technicolor coat. 

We try to teach our children that there are many characters we can become in life. We must all try carefully to choose the correct characteristics to add to our own personality. As we travel these highways and byways of life. Which could turn us into a terrible stepmother, a jealous step sister or brother, a wicked step queen, a terrible king. Or perhaps its being the kind hero, heroine that appeals to them. 

I always, from a very early age, told my daughter the story of the modest farm girl. It's a story i heard long before. but i can't remember the exact details or even the name of the farm girl. But that should not really get in the way of the gist of a tale that i wanted to tell for the ages. Embellish much i did, the core of the tale is not my own, just to be very clear before the onset. 

I can see the avo greens are all about to start frothing to bite. Bly net kalm!!

I share it now because these lessons are seen only in the outcome of the end product adult. Perhaps It is a lesson not understood by many today, unfortunately. The embroidered existing little story goes like this. 

Lessons we teach our kids, whispered in the home. Are amplified in the conduct of the grown adult. Sometimes the kid doesnt learn the valuable lesson and learns it in life. But the teaching by a parent is still important. 

Here is the story.

A prince of a very faraway land wanted to wed. He called all the marriageable young ladies in the kingdom to come to the palace. He gave a very definite time and said any lady who is late will be disqualified from being considered. He did not leave much time for the 4 corners of the kingdom to be traversed, an arduous journey of wolves, highwaymen, renegade smurfs, and a tiger.

The farmgirl was very happy when she heard the invite,  as the prince was known to be very kind and there were very few prospects in the land. 

It was a very cold winter, so she dressed warmly and took her trusty horse. She hadn't gone far, and she saw an ugly old woman struggling in the snow. She felt very sorry for the poor lady and gave her the horse. She said to her , "My horse will take you to my farmhouse, where you will find warmth and food." She carried on and then came across an old, smelly little old man. Who was freezing cold in the snow. She had only her warm coat to help him get warm, which fitted him perfectly. She said, "Follow my tracks. My house is not far, it is yours to recoup in." 

She carried on walking to the castle. It was rather late now, but she still had time. She came across a little mouse, and it was stuck in a hunters trap. She needed to spend much time untangling the little chap. She did. On she went. She then came across another young girl, also making her way to see the prince at the castle. She had no shoes on her feet. So the farmgirl gave her a shoe and said, "Let's keep each other warm and in good company as we hobble together.""

Just before the castle, she came across a badly injured dog that needed bandages. She told the other girl to proceed ahead, and she spent much time caring for the injured dog by tearing up her dress to use as bandages. 

Needless to say, she arrived at the castle very late and looked like a kaapse bergie. She was very cold and in rags, one shoe on, ripped dress, no warm clothes,  alone and very hungry. 

The gatekeeper chased her away with a disapproving shout and a look. She humbly complied and started walking the long, cold road home, deeply disappointed, cold and near death.

Not long after leaving the gate, she met the ugly old lady on her horse, the smelly old man in her coat, the happy freed mouse, the one shoe girl, and the bandaged up injured dog. 

They were all the princes' family and pets, and they welcomed her gladly back to the castle. 

The prince had been watching each scenario and knew he had found a gem. Because genuine spiritually aligned kindness is such a beautiful, rare quality. It's the only beauty above all else, really.

Fluit, fluit my storie is nou uit. 

Stories i told my kids and other tales of yore. Its not always in the telling, but in the doing. But a good telling can be a road to a good doing.

4 years a movie extra

Have i got an expose story for you. 

My therapist has told me to pen this all down to help with the voices in my head. So it's not at all meant to be anything but simply a form of medicine for me. Perhaps finding ones own medicine might help with your voices, im just saying. 

An eating props insight into life on a South African movie set. An expose of the movie industry as i experienced it.

As a veteran of over 70 adverts, film shoots as a movie extra, and having the claim of being the highest paid extra for a single day in august 2002, i feel i have some industry street cred to now speak of.

For only the second time in my life, can i understand the concept of a pecking order, a feudal system, and dictatorial communist North Korean governments. 

You see, on most shoots as a movie extra, you are nothing more than an eating prop, a necessary nuisance - must be seen and not heard. You are basically a living meat prop. You have absolutely no rights. Your basic human rights and dignity is simply left at the set door. You accept and understand this reality upfront. 

The very immediate pecking order consists of a 21 yr old wrangler who has walked past a super expensive branded clothing vending cannon. Each item of hugely expensive clothing flung or rather shot onto their bodies at great speed. Creating a very desired effect of an expensive bush dragged backwards. when this no clear skin without a tattoo person tells you to jump, you simply jump. It doesn't matter that you're old, married, and have 2 kids. 

Doesnt help that your dressed in wardrobe that makes you look like a Donald Trumps straggly toupee hairpiece. 

I found the very big shoots the worst sets to be on. over 2000 movie extras bussed on set from far and wide. All excitedly meeting at 2am in the morning to be whisked away on one of 36 busses to a secret squirrel location. The battery chicken hocks we passed on our long trip to the set looked very interesting, almost inviting. We would spend up to 14 hours on set - cooking in the sun, asking the same holy grail question - "when we going to wrap?” does anyone know when we are wrapping?

An interesting anonomoly was when one of your extra buddies, a comrade in the trenches, gets promoted to being a featured extra. They can cross over to the dark side instantly. Some people can go from humble, normal movie extra to snooty fruity high and mighty featured extra at the drop of the following sentence. “hay!  you there , come stand next to Heinz Wrinkly ----- NOW !!!" 

And whilst they are languishing in palm frond bottled water heaven, you are left feeling like Cinderella waiting for your glass slipper to be found. Unfortunately, I was never a featured movie extra, although my big toe , pinky finger and left ear are splashed across TV screens from time to time. My kids bask in my featured appendage glory, and my pinky finger signs autographs at pick n pay. The little git actually feels like a celeb. 

Being a movie extra with absolutely no rights was a very humbling experience – which I hope never to ever repeat as long as I live.

The bigger movie sets with over 2000 extras left one debating whether using the green rank building site loo's was worse than actually waiting till your colon burst to rather go at home. (possibly in 2 weeks) 

Cattle and communist Russia surprisingly spring to mind at these very emotional debate moments. 

Meeting new people is always exciting in life, and the sets are a melting pot of every sort of person, creed, and appendage. 

I did enjoy sitting for hours chatting to whoever had the misfortune of sitting next to me. I met some fascinating, strange , interesting, genuine, lovely people. And, of course, the notorious liar guy. his modis operandi was to fabricate tragedies of Shakespearean proportions. spinning an intricate web of marriage, soap opera betrayal , divorce , crashing cars , spy thriller intrigue, some more marriage and loads more betrayal, all chucked gratuitously in the mix. I loved it, it was Barbara Cartland and it was the juice. 

It's strange that I didn't click at the time, but I went to school with the notorius liar guy, NLG, for short. The various villainous characters in his stories remarkably resembled a certain English / drama teacher. the beautiful maiden was the sweetest girl in the school who possibly rejected him in the tucshop line. 

Anyway, the NLGs game was up when on one set several of us over invested victims of his stories compared notes. we were actually arguing about the contradictory tragedies. We vehemently bickered about who's tragedy was more correct .(As you know, whatever version of anything you hear first is absolutely true) At one point, we all looked at the NLG to verify which Jackie Collins novel was the correct one that we where gossiping about. 

One fellow detective extra after hearing NLG going on about the absolute beauty of his betrayed betrothed. Asked him an obvious question, which none of us thought to ask. The previous wife was described  by NLG just short of a victoria secret model status. Bearing in mind, NLG was not at all Brad Clooney or even Loony Brad looking. Also, he had absolutely no money, he afterall was an extra like us all, so it wasn't riches or looks it seemed that combined the hapless NLG and Victoria. 

The question was, why did she marry you? At which we all looked away and pretended to watch the director shouting at some other hapless extra. We never did get the answer. 

it was very tragic for everyone there to suddenly realize that the NLG was just a normal bloke from the burbs, who had never ever even been married, eish, did we feel like suckers on top of being the lowest ranked element on set. 

Needless to say, I never saw the NLG  again. At least now he has a real tragedy to add to his list.( The poor bastard betrayed us all - i felt very defrauded of my invested emotions). Anyway, on the most part, every other extra I met on set was a worthy acting comrade. 

On every set, there should be an extras craft table with biscuits,  food and coffee. on an awesome set, this table is not policed and filled to the brim with treats ,sweets , food, and cooldrink. (extra heaven) on a miserly set, this table is heavily guarded by Attila the Huns personality clone , or cost effectively , does not even exist. a very obvious sign that Poll Pots on the set running the show. One absolutely must hide at all costs.

On one set, we were driven out to Atlantis dunes, squeezed into a black 3mm full piece wetsuit and unceremoniously escorted to the middle of the white sand desert , All 40 extras at 40 degrees. What awaited us was something out of a Ryder Haggard novel. A director sitting in an air-conditioned glass cubicle barking instructions with a mega phone to the wranglers for us to all prance, march, dance, and star jump in the 40 degree hot sun. After 6 hours of this little spectacle and feeling like Henri Charriere afloat on the Caribbean Sea. I was about to start the first ever South African extra revolt. 

The storming of the glass cubicle was being plotted and planned, i was caluding with a Julius lookalike, who could easily start an argument in an empty room. i was to run the storming flank. But because this involved toi toing in the extreme heat, I didn’t. 

I do know South African’s are remarkably tolerant and obedient people. When all of a sardine we were accused of collectively master minding a wetsuit hood heist. Where we would put these hoods, in a skintight 3mm wetsuit I don’t know. The theft would have been a hobbit miracle under the watchful glass eye of Sarumaan the white in the cubicle, on the hill. Anyway, we were herded back to the busses where for 2 hours we had to individually go fetch our personal belongings off the bus and parade it in front of the newly formed wrangler, director and gaffer crew inquisition. Which consisted of the full bush backward brigade and the full blue tatted assistant director. I did hear a few snickers from the dead pan inquisition when my sons Batman undies had some how landed amongst my early morning stuff as I stampeded out the house at 2 in the morning. It was eventually found that the hoods never left the Cape Town studio and just before the triggers where pulled and the nooses tightened, we where prodded back on set with no apology given, non-expected , for more of the same.  

incidentally, I can do a mean dry wetsuit star jump in 40 degree desert heat,  thick sand, and lots of rolled eye director shouting. 

Those were the days i think so fondly of. The funny thing is I don't ever use that international product I sweated for.  When I see it lurking behind me on a super market shelf I literally break out in a cold sweat and I automatically check all my pockets in case a wetsuit hood has found its way there. 

I suppose on most sets I enjoyed my experiences even the few power hungry set officials ranging from directors to wardrobe gestapo, to featured models and artists didn't overwhelm the genuine folk I worked with and for in this interesting field.  My toes still curl when I walk past a craft table or set toilet watching some old, some new faces being herded from one small space to the next. I can’t help musing that South African extras are remarkably tolerant and obedient prey for the capitalist giants advertising machine. Cattle prod branding and communist Russia surprisingly spring to mind at this very emotional moment. The perfect fusion of communism in its raw dirty little capitalist form.

My crowning acting glory came when i was a dead body in a movie. Infact i was Brian Browns dead body, (cocktail)  Peter Weller was also staring (robocop), and the guy who acted as the betraying king in braveheart Heavyweight hollywood.

My oscar worthy performance debut.  Brian Browns dead body double. He had got shot dead in the movie, and they required my highly tuned acting skills as his dead body. I was actually given the clothes brian wore and headed to set for my major role as his shot up dead body.  There is one small snag, brian is 6.6, and he has a shoe size of 13. 

If you look at me with the lights off and at a 30-degree angle to the westerly setting sun. I look like him for 3 tenths of a second just before the gamma rays fry the batteries. 

So the director says to me , "Who the hell are you?" I tell him im the dead body of brian browns character. He looked at me, disgusted, and realised the budget on his movie had just been cut.

He shoved me in an oil barrel with my legs sticking out. Where i acted my guts out for 4 solid hrs. I was the only actively farting dead body ever to make it on screen in an action movie with a braveheart celebrity. You can take my face off screen, but you can't take away my FREEDOM!

The director decided he was going to get his full fare of my superior acting.  He made me a stuntman on set. I did 2 stunts on this movie, diving out the way of a speeding ambulance just before it crashed through a huge glass structure.  

And i also drove a car into another, not as good as me, stuntman. After my 3rd take, the director said if i didn't get it right now, i would never work on another set in Cape Town again. I drove that dude plat. Still walks with a limp. 

I will send a still of the movie, just before brian was shot dead. He was also exploded abit. The now famous oil barrel i was acting in is to the side of the shot.

The chap with the green dot is brian. He is 6.6. So you can just imagine how i had to act to fill those Size 13 shoes.