Round n Round

Movie number 27 for Randt & Hoisan is our holiday offering for all our little group of friends and fans who enjoy our machinimas. If this one makes you happy (that is our hope) please feel free to share it. This is a Steampunk mother-daughter feel good movie inspired and powered by the most amazing kalimba piece, SaReGaMa’s Kalimba Solo para Lotus. It takes place in a lushly decorated Steampunk set, beautifully furnished an refurbished (The elevator was made from scratch) by Nat and her excellent set design. She also is my sweet-bratty little daughter “Natskies” who besides being adorable is a formidable bossy Director as always hehe)
I wrote the poem, inspired by the hypnotic music and almost a year later, we are finally witnessing its’ birth. I have to confess I do love this baby a lot..It is such a different project for us, and yet I hope you will agree, we did pull it off..
Full screen is best and HD or Natskies might thumb her nose at you:) Comments and Likes on YouTube always welcome..
Happy Holidays!!


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When my wheel of fortune spins around to the left, I hold my breath.
I know to count the cracks in the sidewalk, avoiding them, side stepping.
I know to look up just in case, then down… up and down, head bobbing,
as I stroll along familiar streets, expecting the worst, counter-clockwising.

I read my signs, the coffee grounds, the tea leaves in the morning cup.
If some bad thing happens, I can always expect two more…the law of contrary luck,
and even though I know, it’s been proven by science and my best friends to not be so,
I keep my eyes wide, waiting for that ladder to collapse while I foolishly walk below.

Superstitious you say? Not I! I’m just observing which way the wheel is turning,
and not expect much of this mercury in retrograde, that waits to trap me undiscerning.
Paranoid you say? Open your eyes, while all rolls to the left, I’ll not be caught in surprise
But you might be accused of a crime, or be a victim, in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

A day later, the spin’s slowing down; the sun comes out, as I cruise through the town.
8 pounds of weights I drop on the street, stepping lightly, I find a $10 bill at my feet.
It feels like a choir in harmony; everyone I see is smiling and being helpful & charming.
No need to wet my finger & check the wind; my wheel of fortune’s spinning right again.

Karima Hoisan
December 6, 2018
Costa Rica

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The Swamp House

This is a little different for me…not a machinima, but just a spoken word YouTube and a little mood I created with an original Garage Band piece I put together and the poem it inspired. The sign “The Swamp House” is a real sign that amazingly still exists after 30 years, painted by Jan Betts, for a swamp house I used to live in:)
The Image:
The Frog Hunter Shack
by James Finch
seemed a perfect fit for the music, lyrics and mood.
Let me know what you, or YouTube or….anywhere you can find me:)
The poem is written out under ” Show More” on the YouTube page.
Enjoy it on a headset turned up nice and loud:)



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The Last Leaf

The last leaf_o

The Last Leaf

It’s not for fear of falling that I cling,
in the cold autumn rain, the pin-prick wind.
It’s not for the drop that I know will be graceful,
the floating, and sashaying gently down.
To land once again within my family and community,
into the familiarity of a damp leaf-textured ground…
Because, for weeks, upon its piles,
I have silently looked down.

I am here, chosen by fate to wait.
My acceptance of this lonely role,
will make… the surrender even sweeter when I go.
The icy gusts twist and tease; I am ready to give in.
I am ready to twirl and descend while I spin,
then to lay a last time, with those of my kind
to let go…and become something else again.

Karima Hoisan
Nov. 2, 2018
In the Leaf Room
“Creation” Kitely Virtual Worlds on Demand

*Footnote: Thank you to Jeanne Roup for posting this picture on Facebook.

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When I Fall Asleep…

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When I Fall Asleep…

When I fall asleep, I don’t remember my dreams of better days:
The ones of my youth when hope was sewn into my chest with steel threads,
When I believed all the shades of grey, that my eyes were just beginning to see
And even the words of strangers who whispered … as they past me on the street.

When all the imagery of my waking hours began to mix like oil paints
Then my subconscious dabbed into the colors to paint my dreams…from scenes
Of an hour before, mixed with fears from my child, and hopes of the future
From the wise old soul that was waiting, for her cue to take the stage.

My dreams now come far and few between; each one is a surprise
Barely done, half-finished when I can remember them at all.
Each one now, is a hazy sketch from an artist in a hurry
To slip back down into oblivion and sleep the dreamless night.

The Artist I once knew now no longer dreams with me
She just pastes pictures torn from books of my life
and calls them collages, so rough and carelessly made, lack-luster
boring, uninspired; so now, I don’t even try to remember them.

Karima Hoisan
October 30, 2018
Costa Rica

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Even a Vampire Has a Heart…Sometimes

SBubbsshot_006(In The Spirit of Halloween)🙂

Even a vampire has a heart… sometimes.
We don’t need to drain Every cat in the woods…
Now and then we take them in and make them pets,
and yes…put silly hats on them for Halloween!
Oh how we love them, like only a vampire can!

One who has seen Life and Death all together…
Who has crossed over and yet, for some hours each night
looks into those cat eyes so trusting and alive…
and feels the warmth of its fur…
against our chilled skin
our frozen faces.
Yes we love them in our way…
So, we put them down…and walk off into the woods
to find something else, a small reprieve, from the iciness…
of our empty veins.

Karima Hoisan
Oct. 24th, 2018
Costa Rica

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The Library Has Come Undone

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The Library Has Come Undone

So many words about tears, about awe, about love,
I named each grouping, calling them poems.
Yet today, some poems and their words are lost in a mind
of too much time..
so many fragmented nights, piles of weeks

like heavy books falling over me.
The whole library has come undone,
names lost, order replaced by chaos and fog.

Like pictures fading in a drawer,
of people so long ago,
no one remembers their names.

Like fish swimming here and there…never returning to here.
So here goes on without them…
and something else sits in the scene for awhile
where they once rotated,
in impressive schools, inspiring dreams.

Now it’s a shell, or a fallen boot, at the bottom of the sea
Now it’s here and now we have no memory… until something else takes its place.

We should always know our own, but even that goes.
Our flesh and blood born from our sleepless nights, of passion and pain,
Lost in a veil of “I can’t remember this poem’s name”
While we are looking for what was lost,
we come upon a few, that we’ve signed at the bottom,
and yet they look unfamiliar, like strangers,
who, at one time, we might have intimately known,

but have almost totally forgotten.

The whole library has come undone;
those systems we used so longer work as before.
If our little word groupings,
our paintings, our diaries and prayers

are not gathered safely to sleep on a cloud,
backed up and tucked in, while floating eternally (or so we hope),
Who could say they ever were here, for a day, a year a lifetime?

Karima Hoisan
Oct. 23, 2018
Costa Rica

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