When the rain stops and the storm looses its rage, i’ll write about the journey and the journey’s end, ill tell you about that morning when the sun rose with a chalice of bile and the other one, the other one of spring flowers and the fields of Ireland i have never been to, I will relive the script, scroll after the other..but for now let me journey on and scribe about unimportant things because i have time to burn and no sleep.
Oh! pardon me, Hello dear banters? how’ve you been?..good? ok i get it already, i forgot to update you when i turned 27 a few weeks ago, twenty bloody seven! holy mother! anyway, i know i have abandoned this blog for a while reason being, (a). I am nursing a serious writer’s block (b). I’m trying to make a dollar out of 15 cents and none of you pay to read this nonsense so… yea, you catch the drift.First order of business, allow me to run you through a summary of how my life has been faring since we last met on father’s day here on The Banter; My blood pressure is stable and my bladder still works like genuine manufacturer parts so yea, forever young, I suspect i have H-pylori bacteria but from the look of things it has failed in its unrelenting attempts to assasinate me over the years, it appears i am winning, Mashallah! . I dont have a bulging belly (yet) or balding head (depending on the angle you are looking), I (sort of) have’nt moved out of my mother’s yet but in my defence she’d be lost without me so i’ll stay a little longer, I mean, why would a 27 year old young toddler want to move out?, to wither in the cold and burn in the heat?, no son! who will tie his shoe laces and pack his lunch? let us be, they say life begins at 40 so incase someone asks for me? i’m the one in unpaired socks licking a bowl of uji, thank you. I work alot but i haven’t gotten a ‘job’ the way society expects me to because…well, because why? I could get a job and move out to sweat coin for some corporate, i mean, there are many jobs one could do ;Roll up your sleeves and count cash both ways behind glass, pour hot tar on a road under the ravaging sun or sit as a board member of the tsetse fly and trypanasomiasis commission. Yes, there is probably a board meeting in session right now hammering away on matters tsetse fly et al or even the crisis meeting at the Department of Non-ruminants in Naivasha. Our government has been thoughtful enough to structure parastalals based on the digestive systems of animals and here you are wailing that there are no jobs in Kenya, you lazy sloth! dont just sit around, get your ass up and do something…like what you say? i dont know, maybe artificial insemination or guidance and counselling, the variety is mindblowing if you looked keenly which i am not, i had enough of that “tell me about yourself” and “where do you see yourself in five years” shit. I looked for jobs at places with threatening names like Base Titanium and Guaranty Trust bank (PLC), places with names long and winding that they had to include parts in brackets and uppercase, others that ended abruptly with words like Inc. and Corp., you know you are about to be employed by a very serious firm when their name ends unceremoniously in a fullstop, no joke i tell you. I am a wild oat living untended, surviving in uncultivated overgrowth and for that reason I let that ship leave the harbour, fashioned a small raft and headed out to fish because i heard that half the world is for sale, the other half has already been bought, so i picked my things and left, not much, a handful in sum and followed the sun.I wake up every morning choking in twines that grew overnight, i cut them and out of them fashion a whip for the day’s battles, thats what you do with your problems, you get them off your neck, look them in the eye long enough untill they blink because men have to write their own stories, they have to bleed, they have to sweat, they have to cry and then they have to get hold of their balls and be men, either that or be remembered for nothing and their memories starved in oblivion. I hope to read more by myself, probably enough to release the book jailed in me, I hope to find flight enough to write with eyes closed from the altittude of a falcon. By design or fate and fueled by the impulsive decision of the drifter in me, i hopped onto a stale minivan with a chatty crew and fat seatmate encroaching on my side of the seat like an invading platoon, almost required a hip replacement surgery by the time we pulled in at the end. I set up camp in the midsts of somewhere in nowhere i really knew, brief space but it shall fit my dreams alright, I call it The John F Kennedy space center because this,.. this is where we leave for Mars, this is base camp, this is the foothill station…. See you at the top.