So I murdered my muse month or so ago...

Unlike Bob's shooting of the sheriff, mine was not in self-defense. It wasn't a shooting either... more a drowning. Just like the well meaning but inexperienced pastor who, while upriver doing his first dipping into the murky waters of river_X baptism of his flock, forgot the words of the baptismal prayer and as he grasped desperately for the elusive incantation lurking somewhere in the recesses of his brain, succeeded in keeping his would be new devotee under the water much longer than the poor fellow could hold his breath.... and thus the good Lord's will was done or so the heartbroken mother and devout follower of Christ would later allude; So too would my muse, in what can only be summarised as an unfortunate event, fall to the zealous ministrations of a spiritual devotee... me in this case.

Having read somewhere and believed (to read is to believe, no?) the supposed magical properties of absinthe - the green fairy, and having for the last few months been suffering a serious bout of the block, I went in search of this fairy. Slaying numerous dragons of fear and doubt that lay in my way, and leaving in my wake half empty bottles of rum and of coke (a cola), thus discarded unconsumed as I tried to cleanse my body of any intoxicant that could in one way or the other hinder the workings of this magical spirit, I finally sighted this holy grail (more like a watered down version) of the writing world on the shelve of the local alcohol dispensary of my town. Imagine that.

So, to cut a short story short, I partook and I passed out. When I came to, my muse was no more.

Of Toothless Dogs and their incessant barking

There was a time not too long ago when calling me a girl would have gotten your face punched in... not by me mind, but by the legion of loyal fans that I had somehow amassed in the relatively short span that was my meteoric rise to fame.... That legion, btw, has since disappeared in pretty much the same way that my star burnt itself out... unceremoniously.

Twice now, in less than a week, two girls have gone on to call me a girl to my face and I have done nothing but cower in the hole that I eventually sunk into.... not that I would hit a girl... heck, I don't beat girls except, perhaps, when in a race to reach an orgasm... thanks to having what one might call an unfair advantage in the form of hair trigger something or the other.

I don't know if it's something I said or the way I said it. Boy do I miss those fans.

One Score and a half......

Or to be more precise, one score and 9 years ago today, folks, unto a young beautiful woman hailing from along the ranges known as the Aberdares in the heart of the Kenyan highlands, a new babe was born.

Today while the rest of the world marches along on its quest for survival or whatever ambitions drive it, seemingly oblivious of our very existence, the owner of this blog has declared this day a holy day... nay, a holiday... nay... arghhh who friggin cares. Thing is, we don't gotta do shit coz you know what, it's his effing birthday.

So here's to doing nothing.

Inspired but without direction....

'A morning of awkwardness is far better than a night of loneliness...' I couldn't have said it better so thanks Hank Moody (Californication) for those bytes of wisdom. Actually, it would never have occured to me to say something like that. I wouldn't know about morning awkwardness, having majored in lonely nights for the most part of my life. But then again, who wants to admit on his blog that he's once woken up with a 'broner' - another Hank coinage (I think) for an 'unintentional male inspired boner'. Not me for sure, so don't expect any talk of morning awkwardness on this here blog.

So, I was crawling through the KBW aggregator the other morning.... my only access nowadays to all y'all's blog posting nowadays, when I ran across 'Tamaku's List of blessings.... and, I know I don't get to give enuff props for all the shit y'all write in your blogs.... this cat - gay as he is, is quite funny. And no, not in the broner inspiring kind of way. I am protected from self incrimination... aren't I.

Anyway, Tamaku's list, while not necessarily rib cracking served to inspire me to make a list of my own - but I am having trouble deciding what kind of list to make. I would make one of blessings like he did but that wouldn’t be too original now would it. I already made a Christmas list and I can’t quite think of any other interesting list that I could stand writing.. Can you?

I'm Hurting Inside

 

I'm Hurting Inside

When I was just a little child,

Happiness was there awhile.

Then from me, yeah, it slipped one day.

Happiness, come back, I say.

'Cause if you don't come, I've got to go lookin'

 for happiness.

Well, if you don't come, I've got to go lookin',

Lord, for happiness, happiness.

 

 - Bob Marley

 

A crappy post

September of 09 will go down into the annals of blogging history as the month that this blog almost went without a single posting... almost. But not quite. I could have also used the following line as the intro - 'I am back... this time not by, or to be depressingly candid - despite the conspicuous lack of, public demand....' but I did not.

No... this is not what you think it is. Self-pity, while obviously being a large part of my make up, is not what drives the publishing of this blog. No, I write on whims, and publish only when I have the courage or, as some might be tempted to call it, the audacity to think that what I wrote might provide y'all with an interesting read. The only difference this time is that, as I have tried to hint at by the title, I don't quite give a crap.

See, it's not, as I may have alluded to somebody earlier, that I have been lacking blogging inspiration or the mojo as some of you are fond of calling it; no the inspiration has been there, only this time it's been largely negative as opposed to the waxing positivity y'all have grown to expect. Forgive my vanity... a man can wish can't he? I do like to think of myself as an artist after all... but what is an artist without an audience? Anyway take this one for instance.

So there I was going through my day yesterday, when an urgent call of nature came in....

Irritated, I take the call and I'm further dismayed that it is a number two call. I glance at my clock to see if I have time to take it.... I didn't but I didn't really have the choice of postponing it anyway, hence the 'urgent' before call, right? I had to make the time. So excusing myself from my busyness, I find my way to our remodelled crapper.

So there I am, feeling all warm and invited a la the new warm and inviting ambiance that is the result of the remodelling, when a hissing noise above reminds me that I shouldn't quite get too comfortable. And as if the noise wasn't enough, a pungent gas suddenly envelopes me and in no uncertain terms lets me know that I have not only wasted the last five minutes not doing my work, but that also the waste that I have been getting rid off has resulted in the polluting of the air.

O.K.... so why should I give a crap about that? I ask myself. And while I'm at it, I decide to ask myself twenty other questions.... like what's with all the automation of this crapping business?

Has anyone noticed that they are taking away all the things that mattered away from the crapping experience... I mean, does it not piss you off that you can't even flush the darn shitter anymore? I know it does me. I mean I reach back for my mid-crapping flush but the handy lever that we used to flush with is nowhere to be found. No sweat, might as well count that as my contribution to a greener earth.... Then, as I shift around to efficiently and hopefully effectively, use the toilet paper, the auto-flusher senses my movement and flushes. I stand up and it flushes again... I walk out the door and the trigger happy thing goes off again as if to mock me.

I suppress the expletive that is threatening to explode from my mouth, mindful of the fact that anyone walking in on me cursing out the shitter might get spooked, and walk to the fancy new faucet ready for some hot hand sanitizing action but alas! no handles here either. Instead a stupid sign directs me to place my hands under the spout but the water that spews from it can not even be classified as luke-warm: Not anymore than the foam that comes from the automatic soap dispenser be called soap.

Disgusted after an un-thorough hand washing, I turn, now fully resigned to my powerless fate, and insert my wet hands into the hand drier and wait for it to do this apparently mundane task. It starts to enthusiastically attempt to blow the wetness off of my wrists. It is only after I have angrily wiped my hands off of my pants and I'm pulling the door open that I notice the directions etched on the fastest most sanitary drier in the market that say I should move my hands in an up and down motion for it to be effective.

Aaargh! I walk out feeling shittier than I did before walking in. I tell you, this would never have happened in the good old days before the automation. On the other hand, that means that this post would never have happened... and God forbid but September 09 would have gone down as the month this blog went postless. No Shit!

Za Wikendi? A two part trilology (sic)

A Concrete Jungle

No sun will shine in my day today.
The high yellow moon
won't come out to play
Darkness has covered my light,
And has changed my day into night
Now where is this love to be found,
won't someone tell me?
'Cause life, sweet life,
must be somewhere to be found, yeah
Instead of a concrete jungle
where the livin' is hardest
Concrete jungle, oh man,
you've got to do your best, yeah.

Bob Marley

So this past weekend would have gone by... well it did go by.. as just another event-less weekend but for two events; one that did happen and another that... well, just didn't quite happen.

Event one!

So, my uncle, having gotten better plans for himself and his better half, decided to postpone, indefinitely, my debut into the golfing world that was supposed to happen this past Saturday. So, after I'd finally picked my disappointed self off of the floor and wiped the tears of my face, I decided to... ummmm ....try and salvage the rest of the weekend by joining some buddies at the park.

So I get there and do the rounds... shaking hands here, hi-fiving there and all the while feeling the effects of that glass of 'Long Island Iced Tea' as it courses through that intricate network of veins and arteries that feeds my body. Apparently, for those who know about interactions... med professionals and all.... alcohol and high temps and humid conditions interact... and not in the best of ways.

So anyway, there I am... interacting with my fellow Kenyans, and as I go down the line of outstretched hands, shaking, hugging and pecking indiscriminately, I happen to hug a bust that is somewhat familiar. I take a step back and practically jump out of my skin when I recognize that the cheek I was just about to kiss belonged to none other than Leah's mum. Imagine that..... lol!

So I summon my wits... which are by then quite inebriated, and attempt what couldn't possibly pass for small talk.

KK: 'hic! Errr uhoro waku Mama Leah! hic!'

ML: Oh! Hi Kei... So good to see you... where have you been... blah blah blah...

She tells me they are all doing fine and, in-fact, Baba Leah had just come back from Zamunda and had asked her about me.

Whoa! Now, under normal circumstances, that statement right there would set off a million red flags and be cause enough for orange alerts to be declared.... but these circumstances were anything but. Somehow, I manage to last through the small talk... and smiling gratuitously, move on down the line of eager fans.

Peck here, "hi there"...
kiss, huggies... "uhoro? how have you been?"
Shakey shake "oh nice to meet you..."
"Kei, Kei Kei..." That with a Bondish wink
"nope, no autographs today." Haughtily with an upturned nose

Finally, fairly exhausted after shaking the last hand, I turn to where I imagine the drinks should be and run right smack into Baba Leah. I suppress a groan and try to match his enthusiasm as I return his greetings.

"Sema mbuyu, story za masiku" or the Kikuyu translation of same.

He goes on to repeat... I could almost swear it was verbatim, but then I wasn't quite myself and may have misheard.... what Mama Leah had told me before; except that when it came to the part of him asking about me, he pulls me towards her and asks her to confirm that yes, he had been asking about me.

Now, after hearing it the third time, my highly sensitized defense system scrambles to get the red flags up and the brain struggles to come up with a coherent response to the... ummmm ...allegation. We most certainly do not want a repeat of the Iraq debacle here so this calls for due diligence.... no!

But alas! no rash response is needed as this dictator is not afraid to reveal why he had been asking about me.

"You know Kei..." He starts in that patronizing drawl that is so Kikuyu.... designed, I think, to let you know that what you are about to hear you aren't supposed to know.

"You know it is quite refreshing to see a young man like you with a good head on his shoulders"

I don't quite burst out in laughter but only because I shake the said head as if to verify its goodness even as he goes on to shower me with praises.

"So many of our young men get lost when they come here," He goes on to say, throwing a disparaging eye towards a rowdy group of guys that I was just thinking of joining.

"But not you. You wouldn't be here otherwise."

'Well... actually I wouldn't be here if it weren't for my Uncle flaking out on me' I'm thinking to myself but dang...

"You know, I wish my daughters would end up with a stand up guy like you..."

"What!" I manage to say through my embarrassment.

"I thought you had an eye for Leah... what happened?" He chides.

I try to say something intelligible but my mouth does not cooperate...

"Anyway... you are too late now," He goes on to drop a verbal weapon of mass destruction on my ass..

"Somebody beat you to it..."

"Yep," He reaffirms as if he's read the disbelief in my eyes, "they are coming for the official courting business this coming week."

I was speechless before, I am dumbfounded now...

I mean.... WTF!

So I stand there for another minute or so, embarrassed, smiling like a fool as he goes on... telling me not to worry, the other daughter is still available.... blah! blah! blah! And the first chance I get I am so gone. I am out there gulping down shots of Captain Morgan with that very group that I, supposedly, different from.

So there, you have it.... Celibacy my ass. Ms. Leah may be voluntarily celibate... but I sincerely doubt that pure enjoyment is the reason for it. My thoughts are that she has to prevent potential trauma to the goods before the eventual owner has put down a down-payment on them. Either that or she's afraid if he turns out to be a lousy lay, her recent memories might mess her up. Both moot points but.....

What do you think?

About the second event... well, it didn't really happen so it's really not an event. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow. For now, let me placate my boss by getting some work done:)