The reader

I am not frightened,
I am not frightened of anything.
The more i suffer the more i love.
Danger will only increase my love or sharpen it or give it spice.
I'd be the only angel you need.
You would leave life even more beautifully than you entered it.
Heaven would take you up look at you and say, 'only one thing can complete a soul,'
'and that thing is love'

Emotional liberation

Once the heart finds a voice and it shares the wide expanse of its coastlines peace comes with the crushing surf and the silent runoff.

Choices

Today i face the challenge of ceasing the day with no hope for tomorrow or forgetting today and hoping that tomorrow things work for the best.
My heart tells me life is for living today that tomorrow never comes and things are never better than now.
My mind tells me that haste has stolen many lives that planning is surest way of getting to success.
Who has the middle ground? I dnt knw.
With each breath we change into a new person unknown before. Hence can we be sure that which has been planned for will still have placehn our lives when it comes?
Reason or rhymes of the season. Knowledge or the natural pulse of your heart who carries the day?

Walking in town today my legs seemed to rediscover a youthful exuberance whose memory had been scrubbed clean through bondage to gas pedals.

7 o'clock and the streets swarmed with people like a bee colony. There's scarce a foothold for the hasty step and shoulders spur and dance in full contact and close shaves. The air swelters and the buzz of a million shared words and thousands of cranky horns floods the ears.

The world seems alot smaller and there's no space for 'me' just 'us'.

Us? Yes! This amorphous frenzy of humanity bursting from every fold of the city in droves and singles.

Endless winding bus queues spin round corners and spin tales of frustration and fatigue. Tales of mary home in the kitchen and patience her sister snag in your pocket singing songs of solace. solace at great home comings to warm hugs and sweet aromas, mary in the kitchen and sweet relief at rest.

Enter 10! The streets are dead like Pompei at the wrath of Vesuvius. Nightguards hang in the shadows silent monks in a homily to the night sky. Finally sleep comes to the city. You rush along the silent streets aware of your uninvited presence and your urged departure.

Buying porridge

Its very easy to live in a cage lyk a lion in zoo. We do it everyday at almost every moment. The cage in this case is routine. Dull, endless, repetitive routine or maybe fun, endless routine. hmmm... So suddenly there is a change whereas once your cage was clean now there's a nasty dollop of tard right next to your dinner plate. Things are no longer good and routine is disrupted. Same thing happens in life. One day your eating mahindi choma next day your toothless and drooling. What to do, what to do??
ADAPT
So you change and in the process you have a 'damn you how retarded have i been?' kind of moment.
Why?

You realise that you have been so shortsighted that you couldn't pick out your nose in a lineup of ears. You have been so accustomed to one working formula for so long that you didn't realise there 50 other formulas (many more efficient). Inspired you explode into activity and nothing is ever the same.

So i had a box of oat porridge in my hand standing somewhere in nakumatt and this flood of thought swamped my head. Who would have guessed an oatmeal packet was such potent mind squeeze!!

Knowing each other

Yeats qsts whether we have to be genuine with each other to truly build a rtshp. Is the mask of us enough?
Wht does it matter that i dnt knw you favorite colour or your most treasured memory. Are rtshps based on libraries and catalogues of each other or on the now and how we share it?
Is fake affection any less than real affection if the receiver believ it?
Isn't what we believe more important than what is? Whether the world is flat or round it al counts for nought if i nevr leave my couch. Whether a friend is true or fake counts for nought if our friendship is never testd.
I thnk the best friendships constantly create themselves whn your together, they spontaneously explode lyk a venus flytrap at the touch of a fly

A poem for linda

Pitter patter down the gutter,
runs the squalid water,
A flash! a gash! all is skelter,
Bye bye mister spider,
Bye bye mister ant,
All is quiet with nought a squatter.

This a tribute to rahim, gabriel, and liza. To jolly fellows and merit of gold. Gratis. For Jds and sonny, for b52s and head bangers. Gratis.

Self control

Our thoughts and feelings are ruled by those things that we empower/ subject ourselves to; we cannot control everything though, bt we can choose what to empower/subject ourselves to. Some choose ideology: religion; others, personal pleasure: capitalist consumerism; others the disadvantaged: philanthropists. Pick your father, pick your king, pick your God.
Just a thought.

Friday sunshine

This feels like a brushstroke on van Gogh's canvas. Streaks of sunlight beamed through colonade skys of grey. An egg in rupture the clouds silently cramble, an innocent willful radiance bursts forth and hearts quiver with vibrant energy...

The misery of diligence

Frm alexandria of yore to oft to cme such miseries, the most atrocious creation by man is the libraries. The barking hounds of tests close in tail of migrating hoardes of CATS drive virgin minds into these towers of gloom. Stale, musty unexcitn, untraveld air weaves its arms round you tighter n tighter prison bars to experienc. Endles march of fingers thro' yellown, lack lustre pages and the usurping of flights of fancy with rhythmles, tuneles facts.
The world speeds by n time couldn sip though slower. Minutes pound by lyk drunken sailors blindly seeking the abode of the northwind ne'er catching the hour.
Sleep comes to the weak, bland reticence to the strong!
Bt slog we do, like sloths masticating, diligence finds hme in the rhythm of aspiration and libraries fill with fear-driven hoardes and goal-driven sputters

Ngendo-athletics galore

Go Ngendo, al the best on the field.


Am seatd in the freezing vip section of nyayo stadium. Discvrd vip means 'vision impaird position.' keep to the wananchi stands; warmth in company n u c smthn. Bt woohoo we gt family on the field. Suddenly the games seem so important.

Long exhalation

After a long climb
Bolt at the finish line
America on 9/11
Mandela 27yrs on
Armstrong meeting the man on the moon
Russia - 1812
Clinton on the white hous couch
Wonder
Contentment
Regret
At the close of Max Bruch' violin concerto
SLR-maclaren exhaust sound
Constipation relief
Toothles, paraplegic lion in your bed
Ruto bound n gagged
Meeting 'her'
Eunuch on viagra in a nudist colony
Fart in a garbage depot
Oasis in the sahara
Netherlands july 11
DEATH.

Sliver of heaven

Often our lives drift by with the current of the times, warm or cold we drift by but at certain moments, few though, a light breeze picks, a sliver of heaven, n sudenly a course is set. Bon iver is a breeze straight frm thse abodes with a divine sound that carries u away to this litle island of contented simplicity. An island of no expectation, of seamles time, of broad imagination n free flight of uncapturd posibilities.
A priceles gem of music...

Cynicism

Dyogenes: whts beta than a belly rub after lunch... Eh... A wank in a public square in 400bc greece. Crus you myt say, definitely! Bt great food for normative cultural critiques n expositions.
Does a dog live a more honest life unfettered by societal mores? Is a man a slave to his intellect and its social extrapolates i.e the concepts of society, of man withn the society, of mores (and even less), of contours of engagement and romans n the quintessential roman? Perharps.
Yet again, hw cn one man presume to know beta than the multitude? Jesus, Mohamed, Maina Njenga(you just have to be kenyan), Gandhi... Yes i hear you. Just maybe...

Sunday morning rehearsal

The silent, wide expansive spaces of karen with echoes of nature serenading the sun have a profound calming effect. Troubles seem so far away and you find yourself floating in static dreams with marshmallow clouds and sweetpotato submarines. Hmm

Musings in a netcafe

Are we seeing a re-creation of the pre-babelic age? Since the scent of man fell on ths apple, no single offspring of human creative genius has shifted the apple's tectonic plates as much as the cybernet has. Wht ws oft a lifetimes journey is nw a mouse click away. Human thought and experience is merged into an amorphous glob of 1s n 0s tht moves soles and sets hearts beating. Wht were once innumberable languages and dialects are giving way to a singularity through cross cultural exposure and interaction...

Heureka!

D-DAy

the boat is sailed and the ocean is all around. A union of thought and motion occurs and as time unfolds it reveals the tapestry of possibilities: the ifs and whens that could and did. let open oceans breed open hearts, let open skies breed open minds.

adieu today hallo tomorrow.