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Joints, not the kind you roll, not that altered state of mind that you have to buy.

Take in that puff, inhale that emptiness and pass it to the next. A room clouded with smoke, does everybody think that shit’s dope? That the air is filled with lost hope.

When that one half can’t get high anymore, screams dissolve into sullen sighs and that ‘ I don’t care anymore’ comes out. You exhale that warm chronic into the world, but it’s still so damn cold. Tears run down your face at the memory of daddy’s ‘ I don’t care’ when he left , leaving mommy feeling like death.

These joint’s connect your world. You fill up with slow sex in bathrooms and can’t even look her in the eye when she tries to say ‘I love you’, you’d heard it all before. You knew that tomorrow she wouldn’t recall. You felt like you belong in these streets, you’d say ‘anywhere but home, please’.

Leave out the weeds, and start plantings seeds. We need more food for thought, because when the smoke clears out and everybody in the room still looks lost.

Written by Kea Mooka

Photo by Sameera Soorjee Photography



White Shoes.

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She had this sway to her step. She slept in crisp white linen that matched her shoes, sashayed in silk robes and let her nipples free to pierce through her sarong. Her penthouse filled with paint stains and dark shadows from the journeys travelled in hew white shoes.

Chasing a dream with hopes of one day being called a queen. She didn’t always know which side of the road, would lead to the pot of gold. Stepping forward towards her unknowing victim who would be trapped in her system.

Trapped by the bittersweet aftertaste of the devouring allure drenched in her aura. Her beauty more hypnotic than Medusa at her greatest.

Enter her world, queen of the universe in her four white walls. A scent of purple pedals she left behind.

Written by Michelle Mooka

Photo by Sameera Soorjee Photography

Study Time!

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“It’s the last lap, you have to do your best because those few hours in the exam room are the only chance you get. You have to do all that you can to get through the year. I go to Wits so,  exclusion is real and I want that degree. Exams can be stressful and draining,  but you have to do your best. Use your time wisely, you’ll only regret the time you wasted. Study hard and believe that you will do well.”  – Okuhle Gxekwa

Photo by Sameera Soorjee Photography

Tosso Street Brand


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It specializes in head wear, from exclusive Panel Caps, Baseball Hats, Snapbacks and Truckers that range from R180.

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061 844 6303

The Visage of Thought: Part 7 (Finale)

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It Dawned On Me

These locks landed in front of my face. They blurred the path in front of me. Till suddenly I saw a light in front of me, uncovering the browns and gold of my skin, as though I was peeling off the dark this world had laid on me. It was my dawn.

I had to scream, and look at these hands, the hands that helped hold up my smile. Till a hand from the sky chose me and let me be free. I had no fear of flight risks and I let it dawn on me. The visage of my thoughts, sought after dark souls who needed to see that they are gold.

Don’t drown in those sorrows and woes. Hold on to your soul, dig deep enough until you find gold.

You are golden.

Prose by Kea Mooka

Photo by Sameera Soorjee Photography

The Visage of Thought: Part 6

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I flipped my hair forward, and stopped  mid air. I saw myself outside of myself. I needed to know what it was like from the other side. It looked to me, like a conqueror in motion. Holding on to hopefulness.

What I saw mid air was the courage, to be free from cowardice. Resilience, I stood still as a tree, while they ran back and forth from me while I still tried to find me. So I moved, and like a force of nature and they will notice me.

It wouldn’t be as fun if I hadn’t jumped the gun. I told them I’d be phenomenal. I needed this time to reflect from this high and ask myself why? I was beautifully and wonderfully made.

Stop, before you move. You won’t stay stuck. It’s not just luck.

Prose by Kea Mooka

Photo by Sameera Soorjee Photography

The Visage of Thought: Part 5

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Let It Be Free

I throw my head back, I’m untied, without pride. My hair falls loose from this hold, a fresh breeze runs gentle tracks on my scalp. I grew tired of this hold, my roots were tugging at my skull. The system had tried to contain it. Ma’am said “you can’t leave your hair loose”.

You knew that untamed, I could grow a staircase to the sky. Hair that grows up would be unreachable from the ground. This magic in me, moves with me magnificently. I let my hair loose and remembered that this flowy mess always felt mine.

Remember child, that the wind blows but your hair clings to the sky and doesn’t fall down.

Let these brown girl locks be free.

Prose by Kea Mooka

Photo by Sameera Soorjee Photography