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By Jonathan Swart

ISBN: 978-1-84991-107-8
Published: 2010
Pages: 83
Key Themes: schizo-affective disorder, recovery, family, relationships


This story is about the impracticality of the imagination, it’s the story of Quentin, Art and Melody. Quentin is a well to do entrepreneur, Art is a dreamer & Melody is a really renown model. Quentin has made a wing with which he fly’s over a huge expanse of South Africa. Art meets with Melody upon her arrival in East London, and comes in brief to fall for her beautiful charms. Melody is a working girl, she has the privilege of sailing by boat from Australia, to East London, where she meets Art and by a phenomenal working of chance, Quentin too. Between the lines is the tales beginning and end, the reality of my story. A strange brew of event and cerebral action. My tale of course meshed into theirs as they are of course sourced in the workings of my imagination. I am the addled Shizo-Affective one who dreams up this escape to cut myself free of the pain of this thing that has happened to me. To me, the imagination is the tool that is much underutilised, and in this tale, I have dreamt up the three fazes of recovery. Melody, someone to dream of and with, Art the creative side of endeavouring to be normal in life that is everything but normal, and Quentin, the dreamer, who takes the dream and works out of it a reality. There journeys and mine are the make up of “Odyssey”.

About the Author

Jonathan Swart, was born in 1975. He was born into the much evolving state of the empire, that was Rhodesia and Nyasaland. Zambia, had just taken independence from the crown, when Jonathan, was born. He was born into a family of four, and has an elder brother and sister. They came to live for some years in Rhodesia, and when in 1980, the said became Zimbabwe, they remained living there. In 1984 the death of his Mother, caused His family a terrible bereavement and the family unit consequentially became dysfunctional. A move to South Africa, happened and he finished his schooling in Bloemfontein at Brebner High School.

His matriculation saw him through to study at the Academy of Learning where he discovered he had quite a flair for computers. He then went to study Electronic Engineering at Cape Town Technikon. It was never completed beyond the first year, as he came into some inheritance money and sought to find his destiny in the green and gold of England.

He was rocking in a band called the Lovers, wanting fame and fortune, he thought the best place for it, would be in the great kingdom of the united! Thus he has been living in England since 1996. In 2000 he felt a little freaky, and was put on section in St Anns hospital, where the vagaries of his mind where attended to. He was housed and is much better now. Creativity, is a foolproof roadway to recovery, he speaks from experience!

Book Extract

He went to the source. Meditated on some flat majors and praised on the opposite major sharps. He listened appreciatively to the choir, did some singing along, was inspired by the pastor, giving what remained of his pennies, after purchasing some scent stoppers, which was 3p. I took to getting a refresher, from the Bishops good book.

With what he had got for 20 p the well dressed, good looking guy, upped his heart rate and found another unfinished end! During all the excitement he clean forgot, Chris’s poem. As his thoughts once more passed through the happenings of the service, he stopped the flow and steadied the rhythm, and tried to submerge himself in the poem. A masterpiece: “A farmers story” when at last the Bishop took to the dais, the workings of this scenario had begun.
Writing some signposts for the day rolled off to the bus stop, once more intent on the light, and the way, a ride up the wash.

He stops stoops and sways in tying his shoelace. It had become a slippery slope. The imaginings, which entertained on the doors to privileged intellects. Now, having found himself in an unsafe position. Loved, he smiled. His love, he thought to himself, where is she? Causing a riot in Bethpage? Is she riding on wings of colour, creating speculation, waving a jawbone? Marshalling the ghosts of those 1000 gone beyond philistines. Is that her there, dancing around a stone the jawbone of an ass in her hand, with flowers in her hair. Entertaining the ethereal corporations as the Philistines are stirred in memorial, one man that day who slayed a 1000 with only the jawbone of an ass.
He smiled once more.

No! It is she in obedience, sour and sweet coming up from Bethany. With a palm frond in her hand, to welcome her coming king.
He smiled again, almost snickered.

His day now in its closing symphony of darkness, night, new day, dawn. He had dressed down, comfortably clothed fro sleep. He thought.


The journey to Fulham started off well, with the butter bean bake going to its rightful source. Being as he had left church early, arrived in Bounds Green early too. Only to hear the opening bass-line for ‘you didn’t go!’ He made his troubled way up to Brownlow Road, catching a Piccadilly line North to Finsbury Park, changing for the Victoria line on the opposite platform and flying once more northwards. One more change at Victoria and he traced the through the Underground and noted the Carlsberg Performance rink. Then a District line train and finally the last change for a Wimbledon bound one of the same, to finally disembark at Parsons Green to perambulate the distance from thence to the familiars’ residence. Finding no-one in, he traveled back to Parsons Green and caught the train one stop back to Fulham Broadway. Finding the stop seemed remarkably long, he went topside and performed ‘We Are’ and then being distracted by some fool flippant floosies, was tempted into a discourse on my freedom and their keeping me down. Real spur of the moment stuff, went down well though. Feeling sufficiently moved he moved into the mall on the tail of the two hussies, making the doors open with a push pad, on a really, pretty, hip high pole.

He thought now in hindsight that Fulham FC needed vision. He agreed that football was more good than it was bad. It never was an honest game, but the game does get a healthy public voice started. Thus Man Utd FC being as strong as they are, the hang up though being the loutish acceptance of such things, as Audio bullies. If there is another team to win all out, it would be Juventas. That’s all side won. Anyway, so he disembarks once more at parsons Green, tries once more at the buzzer of 365. No response, still. Well at least mother gets her mention Happy Birthday Sharon!


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