When You Realize You're Fucked.

It won't come in small waves,
No, my love...it's not that kind.

This is an epiphany. It will hit you the only way epiphany's know how.
Hard.
At once.
And it will linger, hover. Like that annoying mosquito you thought you swatted but creeps into your ear as you sleep.

Did you blink? Because that white silence piercing your ear drum is now a massive shit storm.
Raining fecal matter,
On your perception of yourself.

Oh you know, just all your hopes and life's dreams...covered in shit. Glittery, bedazzled shit. You can spray paint it all you want but it's not gonna glow. You know that. I know that.

My love, You. Have. Fucked. Up.

You. Are. Fucked.

"A little louder for the guys in the back, please?"

...

But you're not a total fuck up, so don't knot that noose just yet.
Shh, put the rat poison down.
No buts, step off that ledge my friend.

"You have brains in your head,
You have feet in your shoes,
You can steer yourself,
Any direction you choose." - said the mystical magical wizard and Shaman, Dr. Seuss.

So steer yourself to the bar,
Or to the bong,
Pop that pill,
Sink that acid,
Whatever your poison, (NO RAT POISON)

And drink this colossal fumble away 'til you make a bed of the filthy floor.
Inhale until you lose sight of this pitiful blunder.

Then wake the fuck up,
And try again.

Or you know,
Fuck it.

Move on.

147

Any decent millennial remembers Code name: Kids Next Door, with it's children's liberation dogma and limitless amount of birthday cake in that one episode. Now, remember The Delightful Children From Down The Lane? The five kids that were in fact one single being? The villains that had one shadow? (I was a very observant child)

Even though these were five different individuals, we couldn't help but see them as one. Their silhouette looked like heads stuck on a fluffy cloud. (Again, very observant.)

It's easy for us to imagine the Garissa University victims like that. A bunch of obscure faces and names we never knew. Cut-out heads glued on a fluffy cloud with #147notjustanumber scribbled on it and we can stick some bottle cap wheels on its sides and push it off the sky.

But my dear, they were so much more than that.
They were living breathing human beings.
They were sentient and conscious.
They had fingers and toes.
They ate their breakfast in the morning and dinner at night. Like you & I.

They had a mother who sent them care packages of fruits, vegetables and Indomie noodles.
A father who called every so often to make sure they were alright in that stern-but-loving way that fathers do.

A boy probably liked someone, he was summoning up the guts to ask her out on a date because he just had to spend time with her.
He enjoyed her company.
He enjoyed watching her blush, the corners of her mouth slightly turned up, every time his arm brushed against hers.
She would have said yes, if he'd have asked.

Maybe a girl had just aced her CAT.
She had studied very hard for it and it counted for a significant part of her grade.
She was gonna go out with her friends that night to celebrate.
She was going to wear that gorgeous LBD her aunt got her from Woolworths a few months ago.
Red lipstick.

All it takes is a small twist of fate and any one of these 147 girls and boys could have easily been your brother; tousling your hair and yelling at the TV screen whenever Chelsea scored a goal.

Your sister; taking too long to get dressed when you're already 20 minutes late and making you soup when you're ill.
His primary school desk mate.
Her childhood crush.

So no, 147 is not just a number. It's 147 daydreamers.
147 desires.
147 fears.
147 hopes and dreams and ambitions.
147 laughter.

...147 beautiful hearts,

minds,

and souls.

Dead. Gone.

Just...stop. On Second Thought, Don't.

So a few months ago, I decided, “Why the fuck not?” and submitted a story to Jalada.org for their Afro-futurism anthology.

In retrospect, that was so brave and yet so dumb.

On a scale of 1-10, my story was a cabbage.

No-one really likes cabbages. They don’t taste that bad, they have all these health benefits but you’ll never see anyone ask for cabbage at a restaurant or as their last meal unless life really (and I mean REALLY) screwed them over.

Fuck.

I’ve only read one story and already, my mind is blown. Brain bits everywhere, not gross at all; it’s actually quite beautiful.

And these are all very accomplished writers with actual books and accolades and their own presses.

I am not worthy.

So, I’m going to go cry in a corner with a bottle of wine like a suburban housewife. It shouldn’t take long.

Then I’m going to write some more ass wipes and hope that as I go along, I dry heave less.

P.s: You can check out them out here: http://jalada.org/2015/01/14/jalada-02-afrofutures/

Edith & God. God & Edith.

-Edith is walking alone in a vast white desert. There is nothing in sight for miles-

"Edith! What do you want?"

"Always happy to see me, aren't we?" Edith smirks.

"What do you want?"

"I don't want anything," she pauses, "...I think I might be dead this time."

HE sighs. "You don't say? What gave it away? The vast emptiness of this abyss? The disconnection from time? The fact that you're hovering 2 feet above the ground?"

-Edith notices the space between her feet and the ground, for the first time-

"Wow. For a supreme being, you sure are one caustic motherfucker."

-Edith strolls casually to an empty point in space and sits with her hands in her face-

"I mean, I knew it was bound to happen sometime but I'm still so young, y'know, well...was...
I kept hoping it was all just a dream but...it feels different from all the other times."

-Edith stands up and jumps forward onto more air-

"Plus I couldn't hover before so that's new."

"Yeah it comes with the territory," HE rolls his eyes.

-Edith prances around for a while. She sits down and loudly exhales. HE watches, amused-

"So what now?" Edith asks.

"I don't know. You wanna prance around a little more?"

"I'm serious. Am I going to be stuck here with you for all eternity?"

"Oh c'mon. It's not that bad. We can have deep meaningful conversations about life..."

"Don't..."

"...I also enjoy long walks on the beach and calamari."

"Jesus Fucking Christ! I know why my life was so fucked up. God's an ass, ladies and gentlemen."

-HE laughs. Loud booming laughter-

"Such a bore. Okay you wanna be re-incarnated? Is that what you want?" HE asks.

"I don't know. Do I get to choose where to go?"

"It depends. How big of a shit were you before?"

"I was fairly nice."

"You ignored beggars."

"They're annoying. And some of them are actually capable of self sustenance so why should I give them a cent? Bunch of freeloaders."

"And you never visited your grand mother."

"She's mean."

"She's gonna die soon, just so you know..."

"So I'll visit her here. Mischief managed."

-HE sighs- 

"You, my dear, are a terrible person but you make me laugh. Congratulations, you've cracked my frozen soul."

"You have no soul."

"Touche. I'll tell you what, I'll cut you a deal. Middle class family. Norway. Mom's a nutritionist, dad's a dentist so get ready to eat your greens & floss."

"Fine. Do I get to keep my memory?

-HE laughs. Loud booming laughter-

"Did you seriously just ask me that?" HE chuckles, amused.

"And I'm the bore," Edith rolls her eyes, "Whatever, let's go."

-Edith closes her eyes and spreads out her arms. Nothing happens. Edith opens one eye-

"Uhmm, yo...what's the hold up?"

"Oh, you mean't now?"

"No shit. Beam me up, Scotty."

"Okay...well, bye."

"For Christ's sake, stop being so melodramatic and zap me already!"

-HE exhales loudly. Edith begins to flicker until finally, she disappears-

...

"...such a bitch."

A Brief Extrospection Brought To You By 3 A.M

You know that moment when your digital clock/watch/timer is stuck on unreadable figures and we all just assume that means error?

What if it’s trying to convey us something …some sort of message & we’re all just here assuming it must be broken because we can’t understand it?

I think appliances are conscious beings. I mean, for all those parts to be assembled for it to relate with us even for those 30 seconds you warmed up your burger, it must take a pretty good sense of self awareness, just a little though, to communicate to all those different parts so that your burger tastes as good as you want it to. Think about it.

We treat them like they’re our slaves because they do our bidding when really they’re just doing us a favour.

Here. You can look at The Persistence of Memory while you ponder upon my words and what drugs Dali was on when he painted this.

Stories of Our Lives or We Officially Suck at Being Human.

Ugh.
I'm gonna just leave that there.

So The Nest (an amazing Nairobi based arts collective that always seems to be doing the most awesome projects) made a film called Stories of Our Lives about the lives of LGBT folk in Kenya. They were initially going to release it anonymously but decided not to because it's 2014, and it's about time people got their heads out of their asses.

Still with me? Great. Let's keep moving.

So they premiered it at the Toronto Film Festival this year & thought, "Hey, you know what would be great? If we could show this movie to the public back home because it's about Kenyans, for Kenyans, by Kenyans." and that's what they did...or tried to do. *Insert rocket malfunctioning noises*

Basically, the Kenya Film Classification Board (You remember when they tried to ban Wolf of Wall Street and no one, and I mean ABSOLUTELY NOBODY gave a shit...yeah, those guys) restricted them from doing that under the premise that it "Promotes homosexuality" & "Contravenes the morals and values of Kenyans" or something like that. So that was that, they're trying to appeal it and we're waiting to see how that goes.

But ah, dear reader, the story progresses. Yesterday, they arrested George Gachara, executive producer of the film, for failure to obtain a licence prior to shooting (You can see The Nest's statement about this here). They released him on bail but he has a hearing coming up on the 18th, which is tomorrow.


So a lot's going on at that quaint house of creativity on Jabavu road right now. And a stack of questions are buzzing through our heads.

Did they break the law?
Well, yes. They did. It's in the Film & Stage Plays Act Cap.222. Shooting a film for public exhibition without a licence is punishable by a fine not more than Ksh. 100,000 , a sentence not longer than 5 years or both.

So why didn't they just apply for the licence?
Because they probably wouldn't have gotten it either way. Part of the application process involves giving the licensing officer a copy of the script and a synopsis of the film. So they'd have just red stamped it "DENIED" & moved on to licensing the next Aromat commercial.

But they did the right thing, right?
Abso-fucking-lutely.

See, I feel like the whole 'morality' thing is just a ploy for people to distract themselves from their  personal issues and feel better about their crappy lives e.g: "Even though my father abandoned us for his mistress and I'm an alcoholic with commitment issues, at least I'm not homosexual." *smiles & goes on with shitty life* 
And politicians use it because they think that we wouldn't notice the fact that they're stealing money from us, grabbing land in Karen & basically doing shit-all if we focused on something else...the homosexuals.
(Because the homosexuals totally made them do it)

I'm gonna throw another "Ugh" in there for old times sake. Ugh.

I just don't understand why people have their rectums in a knot about it. I just don't.
Gay people are real. And they're everywhere. They could be standing right behind you in the bank, sitting beside you when you eat dinner...or reading this right now.

Fucking get over it.
NOBODY is trying to fornicate in your face. NOBODY wants to have sex with you (If you're gross to people of the opposite sex, you're probably just as disgusting to people of the same sex. Face it, you're still ugly.)
If someone being the true versions of themselves makes you that uncomfortable then you should probably deal with those deep rooted insecurities first before deciding your next course of action.

Homosexuality isn't a foreign concept. The church is a foreign concept. Skinny jeans are a foreign concept. Rick Ross is a foreign concept. Christmas is a foreign concept. Homosexuality is just as old as heterosexuality.

The fact that I even had to blog about this just goes to show how much ignorance we still have left to eradicate in this country. Can we make that happen, please? Vision 2020 and all that jazz. I'm ready to start making posters.

So you want to talk about morality? Homosexuality isn't immoral. How can loving another human being ever be immoral? Because they're the same gender? Is that it? Jesus Christ.

Bigotry, hatefulness, discrimination. Now that's immoral. Hating someone so much because they're not like you.
The sooner everyone realizes this, the sooner we can get to channeling our hate to people that really deserve it, like ISIS or corrupt politicians.

The Nest made a beautiful film that would have sent our film industry to the heavens but because of idiocy like this, I can't watch it. That makes me sad.

"A virtue," they said. "Patience," they said, narrated Yoda.

I’m impatient as fuck.

I hate waiting. Waiting is the bane of my existence. If waiting was a vegetable, it would be okra.

But unfortunately for our kinky haired protagonist, I have to wait. It’s just one of those things I can’t avoid: inevitable.

I’m one of those people who’d play the Sims and have my girl Sim meet a boy Sim on the street, maybe make some small Sim talk with him then I would dedicate the rest of my time playing that God-forsaken game into making him fall in love with her as quickly as possible so they can start their little SIM family & I can finally feel like I’ve accomplished something for once in my damn life.

This never worked out too well. The boy Sim always found my girl Sim too pushy which apparently is a major turn off for guys in the Sim world. But I just HATED having to wait!

They’d have to be random friends first, then bffs before they can be romantically involved with each other; that would have taken about 5 days of playing which is like 2 years in Sim years which is a lifetime in Mel years. Ugh!!! Can’t two physically compatible Sims just meet, have a quick conversation to check if anyone’s dumber than the other and cross off any deal breakers and just get to doing the nasty & popping babies?

(Believe it or not, this isn't a metaphor for anything. I just hate how slow those darn Sims are.)

                                                          

But again, everything good in this realm requires patience to be attained. Sucks hairy ape balls but that’s just how the cookie crumbles, honey. Tough.

I have to wait and follow the path of consistent exercise & fruit so that I don’t look like a badly cooked mandazi in the next 3 years and so that I can get that banging outer body little dinosaur child me day dreams about. (My inner body’s looked like a slightly abbier version of Beyonce’s ever since I was 5 years old so I’m good on that page.)

I must wait and study so that I can sleep at night without breaking into an existential cold sweat. (And also, I really want to get to that point where I can work “Mandamus” into my everyday conversations)

I am obliged to wait & moisturize & deep condition in order to get healthy flowing (uhmm, 4b/4c hair doesn’t flow, it shoves) coils and walk around looking like black mermaid Ariel. I’ll even get the sea shell bikini top to go with my new found identity.

And a lot of other things but it’s mainly those 3: Be hot, be smart, be mane-y.

Ugh. I wish life had a fast-forward sometimes, (and an erase for those Saturday nights I yelled YOLO too loudly, too many times) but mainly a fast forward.