Morning, we slept well. The balls are playing hide and seek now. It’s a funny game in a limited field. Here’s how they do it. One ball moves up the mound of flesh up the pubis, and the other has to leave the sac to find it. 😂
You should hear the giggles they make when they collide with each other.
If children came with a return policy, most of you couldn’t have lived long enough to spell your names. Parents could have been too empowered to raise any wayward, ill-mannered kid.
You break a glass, return.
You hurt another kid, return.
You steal sugar, return!
I’m doubting if we’d be having new parents in 2020. This whole generation couldn’t have lived. It makes me laugh because most of you couldn’t have known Corona.
Nor read about these balls.
Now, think. Could you have lived?
Or you’re a factory defect?
I woke up with thoughts of loss, but my balls are gaining weight. Yin must Yang.
I love middays. Just when the clock strikes noon sharp. Sauchiel meant every mother was in the kitchen preparing something for us, kids.
You’d hear a mother asking a pupil;
‘Omondi, iduogo chon nadi, en sauchiel koso oriembi?’
And Omondi would answer with a starved voice, chocking on his anger because he knows his mother depends on this woman for time. Omondi’s parents didn’t have a radio. It meant his mother wasn’t even back from the shamba.
Midday splits your day in half.
When I was a serious man with a serious job, it was the time to take stock of the day; what I had accomplished, and what more to do before the day ended.
Today, midday finds me too stoned to take stock of anything, but when I miraculously do, it will be about the pleasures of wasting oneself. It’s a mixed thing you know; on one side you want to take stock of the pleasures you’ve got and how you can’t sacrifice them for anything, but on the other, is a biting conscience that you had so much potential but smoked it all away! Still, midday is midday.
You can’t smoke weed and be stupid. That’s where we’re different.
It’s cold. My balls have shrunk that I need my glasses to see them.
When Nelson Mandéla told me he was more scared of mosquito bites than Akoth’s parents, I knew I’d sweat that night. It was 9 in the night, and I thought it was too early to fish the girl out without being hit by a bible.
I was scared of that shit. It spelled death. Nobody we knew had endured the wrath of 66 books and lived. I was scared.
Rumors had it that the guy who had tried to fish Akoth’s elder sister had been struck by lightning just a few days after the Pastor hit him with the bible. It was a suicide attempt getting those girls.
I was scared but we had Mandela, the antidote to every huddle we had getting ’em girls. Mandela had curious genitals, so he began sexing ’em girls while still in lower primary. By class 7 he was sexing the teachers. A bad bad guy that one.
With Mandela on your side, you were sure to get laid. You had to be ready. If you could meet Mandela, then you’d know how sincere men are when they tell you they tripped and fell in a vagina. Mandela had the charm that swept girls off their feet, swirling them in the air and gently resting them on your genitals.
It was magic.
You never saw it coming. So we’re on our way to get this girl when out of nowhere somebody passing by on a motorbike calls him.
The guy is giving him details on how Belinda and her sister have come back the very evening. I didn’t even know Belinda, nor her sister, but I could hear the yearning in his voice when he interviewed the dude.
So when he said we head to Belinda’s place, I knew things were getting thicker. Maan, it’s only with Mandela’s connection that you can introduce yourself to a chic you’ve never known and 20 minutes later you’re banging pon the sofa. Nelson Mandéla, may God bless you.
And Yo, I’m the first person who evaded the bible and lived to tell the tale.
Don’t try so hard to be genuine. Be random.
Be as random as this plant randomly smoking trees.
If corona takes another month,
many employees shall be their own bosses.
Have you found a new skill that might help you abolish your 8-5 job?
With previous posting of "Our World" on Blogger
... a sonneteer's journey (Tim Grace)
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Blossoming: A Story of Beauty, Pain, Struggle & Growth
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The view from here ... Or here!
www.aviv1233.linoduba.ru/ -- ехсеllеnt timе tо find thе lаdу аnd thе sеа hоlidау уоu will рrоbаbilitу hеrе.
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Learning to Live
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I wrote my way out
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