The Story

The story. How I have longed to seduce my tongue/pen /keypad/keyboard and at least get a good story flowing without the emptiness of writer’s/speaker’s block or seeing yourself and the story being carried away by the rapids to the wrong direction and indeed to another crocodile infested end. Achebe says I should let the story own me and not vice versa ie go literally mad. At least that’s my interpretation. You know how these so called soothsayers know your entire life history before you even enter their premises? Freaky, huh? Big price to pay if you ask me. But it seems the more looney you get, the better your game. I can’t count the number of Victorian writers sent to madhouses or killed theyselves. I guess Death elicits eloquence in an outlandishly supernatural manner. Bach died before his 30th birthday, Tupac, Notorious BIG…etc etc.

I have just read Poe’s X-ing A Paragrab about a writer’s obsession with perfection, intent on proving that he can write a coherent story without using a single word containing letter O. Somewhere between the laughter I get a picture of Leonidas lookin up proudly as the Persians’ cloud of arrows bear down on a brotha. Sometime its your Achilles heel that should be held up high as a talisman to save your story. The unicorn moments…getting the audience to actually see the horn on the horse’s head.



Names really count too. With a name like Alejandro, I seriously don’t expect you to a virgin for long. But Scholastica, Conjestina hmm… I reaaallly don’t know but there are a few exceptions to the general rule. When I was a bit younger and more ambitious and allegedly going under the name Angels May Die, I’d sign off my work with the drawing of an angel dangling from a hangman’s noose, complete with a halo and wings. That was until my dearest mother saw it and was considering admitting the boy in some rehab, where they ask you useless questions about nothing in particular and ask for an ounce of weed as payment for the session a la The Wackness.

Communication being essential, I crab walk to make sure my walkmate isn’t lost in some other time portal as I rant whatever nonsense I have to say. Notice the audiences apparent flaws and make it an apparent magnificent advantage and the audience should love you. If she’s feeling self conscious about her new eyebrow piercing yeah thats the thing you should fuatilia like a pothead following a tractor full of crack (unga ya serikali). Avoiding attention to yourself would suddenly make them think the story was specially made for them yet you are recycling it for the umpteenth time. Small experiment. Let’s go check a sister out:

Hey , wassap! Am *insert relevant name to sound important*

Umm … ati who?

Am X!

X who????

X Y!!! Yani you have never heard of me? *Trying to look hurt*

Honestly,…naaah!

Am the guy who *insert relevant in-thing activity that is likely to be written about on Pulse*

*Lame plus unsuccessful attempt at recalling* ….

Such missions are what I refer to as Kamikaze. It either you get toasted or you become a prisoner of war. Getting seriously shafted whichever way you approach. Hmm, lets try and salvage the situation.

Anyways, I couldn’t help but notice your eyebrow piercing. Its very chic…suits you perfectly!

*Brightens up immediately* You serious??

Yeah… if it was the only thing you had on, you would still be sharp…

*Goes on and on and on and on bout how she had just wekad it, how she wasn’t sure how it would look…alas a conversation is born!*

Breezing decades later to the conclusion, as one pal would put it, the Conc-illusion. Ending things prove to be one hell of a bother… Like deciding how to kill a rat you have just trapped in a cage. Do you drown the damn thing, considering the Kenyan wing of the Society of Protection of Animals is still busy drafting policy on The Donkey Bill of Rights to notice? Do you like it bloody and full of broken bones? Well, this time its short and sweet.

They/he/she/it lived happily ever before…

Is this how to get over a break up?

Yeah it hasn't really been the best November for us pseudo-relationship enthusiasts... Amazing the excuses people come up with to come out of these things...If your mamasita you have had relations with more than five times come up to you with this line It was a mistake

,tell her to try another lie. And while we are at it we can get some good break up lines for me to use in a few weeks. Sugsetions most welcome.

So, so, so rewind to jana nite am in town in this random quest to alleviate boredom to no avail so am on my way home.Suddenly i bump into this girl pal of mine who is like "What are you doing going home at this time and you gots nothing to do... come help me drown my sorrows...I'm gong to drink myself sober!!!" Hmmm I'm there debating with Good Will/Bad Will. I've got an exam in the next 48 hours and here is this dame looking at me like its an emergency that I have a drink, no several drinks with her or else some ominous thing will happen. Ah, OK i decide,lemme just take the poor girl to the watering hole and watch her get wasted... you know, a bit of Community Social Responsiblity...

Three hours down, shes had two Johnny Matembezi tots and kiasi Viceroy... Me just mellow on two Malts.Weh, then comes the out pouring of emotion..Mamsita had been dumped summarily in the past few hours. Am supposed to answer questions that make me think I really should take something stronger:

What should I do now???

I wanna go home and give my Daddy hell!

F.ck guys..for the first time i invest emotionally in a relationship and this is what he does to me???

Should I go lesbian??

I used to have this HUGE crush on you in first year... I think it was your not giving a f.ck attitude that attracted me to you...

Yeah so me am there forced to give very random points of views just to get my poor ass off the hot seat and give those "what did the gynecologist say to the teabag?" jokes...Heh, Im bad at counselling post relationship stress syndrome, so am guessing we have a new lesbian convert in our hands.By the time we leaving the table looks something like this:



At least it didnt start like this:



Had to take a pee somewhere in the middle of town without a shred of conscience... Long story...At least everybody went home happy...

Princess Nubienne

My first sight so blinding bright, like they say, dont took at the solar
Eclipse, how she lick her lips made me lisp, looking at how them eyes be
Glown, polarized between black and brown, hip movements hypno-
Tizing, even on Fridays when she went about hijab-izing and hands
Henna-rising, still me blood pressurising the sec I smelt the per-
Fume, sweet enough to exhume the dead soul of me, think twas Chanel
Number 5, took me back to 1995 to this song bout sparkin mad
Izm, coz when she spoke she did it with lyricism, in some like semi-
Soprano, but not to me, oh no, but I kept won'dring how it would feel
Like, if she grabbed a mic and yelled my name-oh, twud turn me to Jell-
O, my tendings more like a psycho; I can hear it more clearly like liquid
Crystals, or getting shot from an empty pistol, yes its just but oxy-
Moroning, is that my name she be callin? "Willpress. . .Will who? Will
Press", oh yes at your service Mistress, OK not in that sense of comm-
On, its more peculiar than just a turn on, just a bit more subtle. . .

Approached with words pre-scripted, spoke like I was on prescription
Pills, mind spinning like chrome on Caterpillar wheels, outstretched
Hand still sweaty, voice heavy and poise unsteady, her palms fresh
Like daisies, or any other similie worth her-praisin and here I be thin-
King, "What are you thinking, do you loathe the fact that its sort of
Uncouth, to have an untouchable touching you" Atchoo! "Your every
Sneeze, to bless me as I yearn to please thee, even if it means to grow
Slim, fast 40 days and become Muslim, get newly named as long as you
Be my newly wed; let them call me Ahmed, Anything, Hussein or O-
Sama, as long as you be my baby mama and bite back Karma, ready
To change he-mage, walk thru the human pilgrimage, at Mecca in the state
Of ihram, fighting thoughts of your well rounded bum and come back a
Haj, Will Press Al Haj, build you a second Taj Mahal." Atch-
Oo! Pleased to meet chu, said she, you look wasted like you've flu. "Am
Fine," said I, composure not mine, freezing the potent she-mage of a fly wo-
Men, breath of Amen as I finally meet my electric Carmen, my Princess
Nubienne. . .