Enjoy things while they last, because everything ends. Death and the nature of humans promise just that, endings. My grandfather lost my grandmother at old age, he had three wives, but he wept for losing one.
Still, that was a beautiful ending. I love beautiful endings. Pray for a beautiful ending, not eternity, because that doesn’t exist.
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 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.
Commit to what you can accomplish comfortably. Don’t kill yourself trying to be productive. Who knows, you might not survive this.
Smoke. Eat. Sleep. Piss. Repeat.
Let us toast to animal pleasures, to escapism, to rain on the roof and instant coffee, to the comfort of unemployment and humility of empty sugar dishes, to absinthe and innocence-eyed cougars, to landlord notices, to music, to cold nights and warm bodies, to contraceptives and missed periods… and to the good life, whatever it is and wherever finds you, to sighs of missed calls, to serenity of nature and positive vibrations it brings with it…
Let’s toast to pretty faces and big asses,to supple lips and seductive eyes, to smitten pastors and falling bibles…to rumbling stomachs and naked tissue rolls, to missing left socks and stripped bible pages, to blocked drainages and grey water, to missing family members, to absences found in presence of nagging wives, to weed and chimney noses, to thirst for righteousness and magnetism of pornography, to failed attempts and soiled hopes, to bodies torn after deities’ duel, to life in fullness; what you consider it to be!
Thank You, God for simplifying life
Thank you God for a chance to right my wrongs
Thank you God for Nesta or Isabella
Youtube, Thank you for another euphoric sound escape!