Lift upstairs a memory — to bash it down just so to feel how broken she’d see most pieces of herself fall apart worn out, only to grow back together with such spectacular rage and appeal if meant to. She lost a lot of friends along this pathetic connection but again so did he.
Head bowed down, she’d stare at her vagina in constant wonder of what’d become of her life now that size was finally an issue.
I urge you thus far not to be like Kendra. For she’d;
Safe in hiding, is how I used to feel. But again what’s safety if your life is all but hidden away?
I held no ties whatsoever, cold as it got I wore no socks, and never twice had my shirts tucked in for a female but mother. I still miss those first days of schooling when she’d insist on escorting me to where we’d both agree was safer to place my head each night as I lay drained, inebriated and in about a sudden whiff of time – passed out, from reading all those textbooks she’d had bought me each coming term. The last time that happened – Us, deciding about where I’d place my feet) was about marauders, I recant. Part of the bed I’d chosen had half of it’s top exposed to the window. I needed the slanting view of the stars since I’d just promised this girl I liked to never leave again, and her the same. Life was good, to be succinct. Mum on the other hand was worried sick, that an owl might eat away my nose as I slept (Sorry for mentioning it Ma) and for years that seemed to work. Never once tho did I let consequences as such defy my paths … I mean, I once drunk past that sour bit of the yoghurt where anyone from Ankole is bound to walk over the counter, beat up the waitress who served it, and perhaps hold leverage over 25% of the entire yoghurt earnings the company makes for a ranging period of 4-7 years depending on how long your game face would last — I have no idea where I’m going with this, but it was so, then … long as one could manage a fellow that knew a guy who knew a guy that’d heard of a guy who had a mate in the army for a drinking buddy, or at the very least owned a copy of their business card, I’m telling you, it was that kind of town, and it was those lesser fortunate days when I knew no such a guy.
You see, defying fashion has aways been a thing of mine. I derive most of my jokes this way. It’s a horrible way to live but we do it nonetheless. It’s more of how this creativity all comes about actually. I see a nice girl forinstance, I’ll run in the opposite direction ..not because I’m proud, or scared. No. I just choose to hide cause I’ve been a cross that bridge and it ain’t pretty laying there, watching everybody pass you by happily as they all seem to have forgotten someone once died there. I choose to hide ergo because it makes me feel safe knowing I wont get crucified. Now to answer my question; Safety is not something you reach out for, or call out to, or even hide away to achieve. Safety is a myth. None of this is wrote. I made it up. I never actually read any of those 13 textbooks Mum bought me. I once lost a Chemistry one to the school Library I’ve chosen to not disclose. Hooray! But still, I admit I sold a couple for cassava and status. Most however just rotted away beneath my case grinding on a fine mix of sugar and OMO crystals, rendering the entire loss of a chemistry book oddly hurtful. Nerds weren’t cool way then so I chose against being one. Greeks too, which is kinda how I got here.
My urge to feel safe had a hand in it still, tho I’m telling you now; can’t hide your way out of a tetanus infection once the right girl kisses you wrong. Been there. Hated it. Bloging about it.
I’m done here.
I want to, but the girl I call on makes me text 5, 6 times before she ticks back.
You know yourself.
Eitherhoo, the highest form of disrespect is nonexistence, I’m shocked — to not mean a thought to me, and it’s all I’ve been undoing lately. Mending wheels, if so. I’ve friends like Dorcus kayendeke, Mugumya Jenetia, Amanda Madumere, Adrix Norman, some one called Van Helsing, Hahaa. And others more if you follow … All that I’ve not talked to ..’d love to.. even for a split while like that but can’t still and that hurts — knowing it. Still, at least I think about it week to week.
Can you imagine how much attention tho, this takes — to write up a text this long – ey? — on a busy networking day like this, I don’t suppose you do. Cause see I’ve numerous unreturned letters on Longreads, hundreds more on Cease Cows and shockingly others on Sentence first, I’ve gotta break to. Like yesterday, and yet for some reason I made time to say Hi amid my flight to the rise. I must truly love you. But yet for some futher bummed up reason(s) that just isn’t enough?
Seems only logical from this point onwards.
Screw you, karma!
I have twelve forts back in nursery school all built with two blue ticks for all I care. That all you got you asshole!?
The word is innocent. How people perceive it tho is a whole different basket case. It’s with no valid reason on que with the likes of virginity, sex, blondeism, and Lucifer – the series, and yet. And yet. What’s odd tho is how many of us grow to run away scared of them. Insulting further more that we spend endless hours picking out the perfect emoticons for conversation’s sake. I know I do. A term BTW that happens to bear origin from… never mind that … You just guessed it.
“Trying to see as far as this darkness went, past this past of ours that’s held me statant, I might put. Further in fact, I now see all we thought impossible alive — a while ago two universes colliding right outside our expectations. Life is just strings underneath strings of emotions and dirt floating around entraping lives broken. It’s the urge for justice, I believe .. beneath all that pains us in mind (and I perhaps more) at the thought of what we could have become that binds us sad, happy, afraid or even excited. It’s that one kiss. One last hug. Or in my case, the first. Ergo, how I partly got us here. I feel pained writing this. But again, form me a nation. Make me king and watch me paint our story allover these walls with nothing but memoirs we equally shared.”
I get furious at times. It’s just the thought of this all gets me verbs all around. I’m talking sacks of emotion stacked twelve by nine for a base of 6, and that’s a lot of sacks.
Is it just me? Or do they all seem to be persons on their own. Independent minds as it is creating a surge ..a wheel of unfathomable beings that suffer insane personality disorders that ultimately bind us all fucked?
How could it be not?
What you, I (or anyone else for that matter) has to blame or credit about their current selves has all in a manner been decided by emotions. Honestly. To take you back 25 or so years ago when I was nothing but an effortful sperm swimming about in my creators nutsack … I got a chance to meet one of the chemicals (serotonin) capable of raining a lot more than salting and love (and ofcourse lives) upon this mist we’ve all grown to hide from. But here’s the shocker ey, even he had thoughts of their own. Voices that on occasion forced my creator to do unimaginable things. So grand in fact it got me here.
By Sandie & I
Once upon a decade, I looked up — got up infact just to catch a glimpse at whatever it was that happened outside this life I’d known. The first time I ever got Faced to be axact. Sounds ridiculous, I figured … holding a giant hammer to my own fist so to teach me a lesson.
But take it off is all I heard ..that stupid human suit, is all it said – straight faced – with that much grief and terror it almost seemed right doing it.
You can imagine the exposure that brings. How exposed that leaves you. Or self imposed, as you might appear to become if you truly believe in anything possible.
Unposed. Terrified, and clueless.
But the picture you paint believe me is never just what you intend it. Dont be afraid to take a chance if need be. You’ve got nothing to hide.
Cold souls running — jumping about like calves in an krall just outside the watching window. In this fantasy, be afraid, I just bought a house dangerously close to a national park. I want to say Elizabeth but haven’t had the best of experiences dealing with either. My neighbours – both Bwambales BTW came around earlier today each talking about the equal importance of what we was doing. Whatever that is. I’m assuming it’s because my fiancee – Liz, couldn’t have been any taller in those hide imported sandals she’s made habitat. An issue to never be discussed, turns out.
Anyhoo, just hours ago on a return journey from the Lounge,(which BTW is also hours away) we saw what seemed like a hook where such things all prey would hang underneath this humongous acacia tree in our own backyard. We intend to turn it into a swing. Nice and high enough for adults as well. Bwambale (A) (for identification) was just here to invite us for our first neighbourhood hunt. Stressed how important it was to have us our first kill and offered to trade arrows if it even gets to that … dropped in on us as we were having dinner, wearing nothing but a ball sack, a quiver and bow — what a lad!
Bwambale (B) (Also for identification) a retired prison guard and elder there tried to convince me to do two things: marry Liz — “appears in camouflage and a bush helmet, carrying a bow and arrow” and get a hunting license to help him shoot some of the elephants. I thanked him but did not marry, and as for the hunting license, we prefer watching the elephants eat apples from the trees in the meadow and shag the hell out of each other, nude, documenting the entire thing … you could even say we prefer the elephants to some of our neighbors.
The elephants don’t bother us — not like these cold souls do.
Ever sit to get thoughts in word but all you can seem to ryhme with is iron and potash? I’m in this specific boat and hey, I gotta tell you — pretty friggin exasperating. I’ve had moments this week when silliness has hit me at the busiest of hours. Like this yesterday when one of the kids I (pretend) baby sit swallowed a peanut she liked by accident and tried to get it out with a fork. What a dork! And that’s not it, I missed three whole episodes of birds anatomy (the silliness) while at it, a spatula that had my iron on it .. threw away a pretty much ordinary fork, but still … I had to lose it. And of course the kid. Giggles. What am I, human? I ate them.
Any hoo, Iron sucks.
Anyone with a magnet can trace it. Litrerally. Plus, water erodes it so no sex for this poor element. At least not in the way we experience it. And you, how often do you think about ironing? [[Reflection runs away]] or did you not know those were made of iron!? — I yell after it. But to be honest I’m utterly clueless about this all. Then again, it’s (iron) so popular no one writes about it willingly. Can you think of anything more tragic than this? I probe. Not being able to change form unless hot or banged? Having everyone know of your weariness and You, not quite figuring out what you did to deserve all? Or better yet how to fix it? I’d just end it. I don’t like where this is leading, but there’re some options. But in just the mere case that some actually do; Not pleased, are the words I’ve chosen.
So kids, don’t be like iron. Or grasshoppers.
I wrote this entire piece staring at drums of iron containing disturbing swarms of grasshoppers outside my window — most just hoovering about and others trapped.. tricked actually by their strange love for shiny nothings. Drawn to such lights which I assume is party, they’d hoped. Two pointless factors in all this, both utterly helpless but I bet even they think they’re in charge of their own destiny. Ouch. Way I see it tho, it’s Love we oughtta be worried bout. Desire & Cravings as such that make us predictable … Not me, Not SIRI, Not the change of power, or even why that just came up. –Not even Trump, I think. Worry that you love your partner, your pet, football, foosball, basketball … other balls, straight to your favourite candy, or even artiste. But not that old blue belt you quite never wear cause it makes you look tan, I urge.
Be it those little annoying birds that keep fighting their reflection in your bedroom window.
Take nothing for granted.