people am hating this quietness thats coming over this maskan. and its not writers block..but rather a sudden slackening of the fingers…
i hope to be back on board soon, with vitu freshie kutoka mtaa!
baadaye wadhii, ivo ivo tu
playing: devil in a midnight mass – billy talent.
Tags: dreaming, nothingness
the last graphic in the ascent of man illustration shows him standing upright. but here i is, hunched on a 17″ school iMac, frozen in time, defying several calls of nature, with hunger being the most persistent…
but its my favorite past time, you know, earns me a dime not, but besides my mshe-fulani’s ‘leather so soft’ the next best thing for my walking fingers are the amorous caress they give the keyboard and more so, the tune that dances across the screen to you, at times confusing but with a mystic meaning to me.
the fingers, sometimes pounding hard, sometimes gentle strokes, that if we were to take the ‘QWERTY’ keyboard for the sheng version of its corruption, it would read ‘NGWATI’.
yep, thats catching strokes, in sheng’speare, especially the heated random ones, forgive my grossness.
my friends, all so close to me, are miles away from knowing who i really am…
” oh, child, stop the torture!” they get concerned at times.
for sake of the sake’s sake, i have to tell her that she is the first thing i think about when i wake up, but, oh, what a blatant lie!
soon, the source of all my troubles, will not be my ‘creditors’ turned ‘predators as Shake-da-speare would say – but rather, the dose of literature, on screen and between the sheets that am pumping into my system.
God forgive you if you think its course work.
Course books are a major turn off to me, but i read them anyway.
sad and happy thing, like agony and excstasy is that am not giving it up soon…even as i run, write and comment on anonymous blogs, where am allowed to be me, such a free spirited soul tethered to the universe by a string of decency and a reluctant other, of formality.
even as i take a break from this reading random shit, i still value the mini-storms that i raise incognito, dishing bouquets and a healthy doses of barbs…though, this blog is not evidence of course-
but could logic be….that….the ‘cliteral ecstasy’ i derive from the way thoughts, maiden and provoked, they crawl from their dark dens into my veins through to expectant bony fingers that strike this key-board oh so softly and the lovely tune wafts off the screen, holding you captive, as i rob off, all your comments.
it’s a beautiful life~30 seconds to mars
hmmm, with such declarations, i deserve a permanent editorial position at some Nairobian newspaper you and i know, but then, i only own a measly free blog- where i try make it juicy for y’all ama?
iko ivi yaani, today is sato and everything is dancing to the tune of a shattered-day(or shat-a-day with shat being the past participle of shit hehe).
well, i am not feeling so well but my mojo is so beyond its normal.
i want out!
out of this shell of being tired of being sick and tired!
For this reason and others, i’d so like to attribute to some feministic attribute, i visit the campus clinic. en route there, i realise that it’s my first time since 06! is that a Glory to God i hear?
my file was/is still there and i couldn’t help but shudder at the thought that they have my records. it’s not that i have a criminal or questionable past, but i dread leaving trails!
soon, i was ushered into the ‘Doc room’ where a label above the door read ‘Consultation.’
i knock once and a glum voice tells me to come in.
i find him putting down a ‘Rich Boy Poor Dad’ book as he reaches for his glasses which are resting on the desk. i wonder why he needs them – to see properly? or to look ‘Doctorly’? after all, he could read the fine print of the novel and am way bigger…
“do you have headaches…so i can prescribe an injection?” he enquires
uhm, yes, but not severe, in fact they have stopped…i said quickly as the thought of needles pricking my behind sends a ‘false healing’ through my head.
he asks a string of other questions as my eyes wander around his small lonely office with little intimation of life – never mind i had come here to have my life improved…could i survive working here?well, maybe am just too claustrophobic…
later on, after the usual dose of drugs that has been prescribed year in and out – even if its HIV thats eating at your marrow – i drag my not-so-feeling well body to the lib.
my mood was mellow-coddly (as val could say) everything is in purple, pink and a lovely orange 🙂 and whereas i dissassociate my absolute manhood from manipulation of the faintest trace of oestrogen in me…i think if i were a chick, on such a day,like this, with such a vision – i’d ovulate!
dropping my student ID at the periods…uhm, periodical section, i chuckle.
there is a quizical look on the librarian’s face but i move on to peruse the day’s papers and am going through the magazine section when i bump into Adam magazine.
how to groom yourself, blah blah and similar pictures fill the pages that i think it has an appalling gayish feel to it!
it’s so ironical to think Oh-younger Parlour (wo)manning such a mag while he so furiously writes a ‘man talk’ column!
the metrosexual man, hmmm..they call him (the man, not Pala Oyunga)
what’s up with them and make up? a man using lip balm? what the hell is fair and handsome?
what happened to the traditional man we knew before? the one that is perfectly embodied by dad?
with a natural scent, a little vaseline if any, to shake off traces of ‘mpararo?…after taking a bath on yet another scentless soap- jamaa…name them?
rough yet smooth, raw yet ripe, tough yet soft, that be me!
with a little he-motion here and there, am ready yo go…or don’t they say that its soft deep inside?
but to be swallowed by this wave of seemingly wimpy creatures(no pun, but quite intended!) :i refuse!
the kind that take ages to prepare themselves (in the bathroom- what with all make up?) kila weekendie, they are at salons, queing with ‘other’ womenfolk for a re-touch, pedicure, manicure…
honestly, i’d feel quite uncomfy spending a night with such (you know those arrangements, dont misquote)….remember Terence Howard in ‘white chicks’?
manze, you may wake up upate umembamba ule jamaa mbaya uuuuuuuuii…(after getting derailed by your dreams and some sweet musk from your bedmate.
“they tell me to think outside the box/but my mind is the devil’s playground”- Jadakiss
yesterday i captured some few images that rotate my life and i thought it cool to share.yeah, i admit, crazy things do have their fine abode in my upstair compartment but what to do if i notice on too late ;)?
my life is one little mess and one little tumbling on the other end of the world. i mean, its a neat one. a neat mess.just
i got some pals that i really like to hang around(reverse that pris, they like my company..er)…pliz, focus on her face hehe.oh, want a number?
my wall littered with beaus’s wallpapers who cant help but oggle and watch over the sleeping hunk of a guy..lol.so much for being in BT..
well, friends, when i say i wake up early and i go to chase aways my consistent stupidity…i really mean it. this part of the kedo 1.2 km that i cover every morning be4 reaching the mat stage..cover another 2 km..then board the campo bus….another kedo 9km, then am expected to b in kirathi b4 8:30.what a life.
its been long since i met pretty bloggers….any one out there feeling pretty enough to be met by me? 😉
tilt your comp to see this one.hope its not too dark..but it captures the virtues, i as a young man strongly chant, hold dear to my heart and not only champion for..but live the talk..what a mouthful.in other words i mean..nimechill(there’s a very serious sticker over my bedpost hapo..
my oldschool desktop.the exact location i leave my heart, lest cupid strikes…notice the piece of the iceberg..newspapers, i really devour them.
erm wots more?al check on other layter..cheerz