Skip to main content

Groove back.

Njanuuuaaaary,, please hold up!! We ain't even got our seatbelts on, or did the Michuki laws get relaxed? The month is moving fast, as if trying to disapprove those who say it has 69 days.

Anyway, hope you  are as fantastic as you had wished on new year's eve. Being consistent is hard, more so when you are writer. Sometimes you feel like writing, but the inner self disassociates  with such imaginations, not because writing is wrong. No, because as a writer, you meet many people and you feel the urge to write after each encounter . So the inner self doesn't want those people to think that you are writing about them.

That was the case with Doluh, too many things happening and writing about them would have given those people some degrees of entitlement that they shouldn't be having. 

But guess what? Your G' got his groove back, too many words crying, trying to escape from the mental asylum. It will be speedy and bumpy, remember to have your seatbelts on. Bon voyage!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Artful Deception.

That morning, I stood rooted to the tiled floor with my hands on the poorly done window grills. I had been examining the structure that we called home. The Sun was lazy, casting weak monotonous rays on the ground. It had sufficiently rained the previous night and the air was still fresh.  Since my childhood, I had enjoyed the petrichor, it had a way of pumping life into my dead hopes, and couldn't wait for a few droplets of rain to hit the ground. It was a moment I always craved for. Half past seven in the morning, if not for the birds chirping so melodiously I wouldn't have travelled back to reality. "Normal is boring." I said to myself reaching for my phone that was religiously playing my favorite Bob Marley playlist. Nobody can stop reggae. The tweets that day were not as snappy as I would have wanted. Something was eating me up but still I couldn't figure it out, at least not at a time when Bob was reassuring that things would be alright. Music to me had alway

Please Get Tired.

I write, You notice, You assume, I get disconnected And curse. " It's hard to show love to a stone" of no worth it is  making love to a marble, Shinny and elegant, Only adapting to the degree of my loving when in the same room And nothing is the same when we hug and part ways. I write You marvel Share it to friends And say "That was master class" You find it hard to read between the lines. Not born for the art, so you wont relate Our connection is relative, Like an uncle to a niece It's hi when we meet and high time when we don't. I notice You care less I get disconnected I miss her But who listens? I refuse to build a foundation on a forced connection I don't want to end up losing myself when you finally slip away like she did. Please get tired, and let me try to win her love back. I write Get tired And hope That if tomorrow ever comes with the darkness it left with, Then I would sit and wait for her to come aroun

Happy New Year

My new (f)ear was something different. We met days after my 21st birthday,,, some time back in November,. She has no gender, but she is a she for obvious reasons.  She is more than an illusion, some wild thought that needed to be harnessed and I really wasted no time, unlike in my previous situationships. Lets call my f(ear) Joy. A beautiful simple name, for that's what she is, makes you smile and doesn't care whether you love with the same energy, she took that from me. You know, am one person who really values personal space, it can be small, large depending on who you are associating with. One's personal space is another's social space and that's the irony of relating. I might say I like you, but deprive you that one inch. We could be smiling and a "hello" or "habari" be the warmest greetings you get from me. I know some, many who are like this. Back to my story,, there is no story,, its all about showing the love you claim. Leave alone wit