Protected: Of Misconceptions and Misfits

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Life and the ‘Dash’


I engraved a gravestone once. It was easy. Dictating somebody’s entire existence on a block of bricks covered with a layer of white cement. Someone handed me a rusty four-inch nail and instructed me to write what was on the pamphlet in his hand. The pamphlets were ill printed with misspellings that could raise the dead. The dude didn’t wake up…I suppose you can’t really care about spellings when you are six feet into the ground. I was shaking. I couldn’t even fit all his three names on the gravestone so the gravestone fixer, swaying from the effects of the local brew, had to spread another layer of wet cement to correct my mistakes. I imagined, after kicking it on this galactic orb for close to forty years, a rusty nail is used to explain the only indelible details about yourself after you kick the bucket? A rusty nail for fuck’s sake! Your name, blah, initial, blah. Your date of birth, a dash, your date of departure, death…  and that’s it. Nobody gives a hoot about what you had going on where the dash sits. I believe the dash is the most important part of a gravestone engraving. That is why I decided to write a book, a few blogs, a few videos in the future maybe, a couple of websites…you know… my dash.  This is not my book. This is just a contemplation of what entitles a person like me to be remembered and respected even after my expiry date. Well… respect is relative, but memory is imperative. Lately, I’ve been trying to distinguish between responsibility and achievement. Building or buying a house is an achievement, isn’t it? It’s also a responsibility, isn’t it? No one is going to remember you forever based on the fact that you provided shelter for your family because it’s a natural human instinct. People do that every day. I’d really hate to have two dates and a dash on my gravestone and nothing else. If I croaked tomorrow, I’d settle for something simple like, “Published some incomplete blogs on the internet that no one seems to read”. I can ‘live’ with that. And inspire a sense of humor at my funeral.

Mtwapa Nights


Lean lady by the seaside
I see you slipping away in your blue slippers
I see you, you know
Being coy when you let your seat slide
I see you peeping away when your brows quiver
I see you I know
I’m being a boy but I’d rather shiver than let my carelessness glide
I see you we know
But I wonder do you ever
Run out of options this low
Lean lady by the seaside

Lean lady by the seaside
I see you sipping away at your smooth glass
I see your comfort sorrows you know
I see your confrontations with impending dawn and the hourglass
I see the need not we know
Not to ask questions and miss the point below
I see the constant vibe in your glass
Uniformly weighing sanity, sobriety, and vanity 
And I wonder do your triple beams ever 
Opt to evade this compulsive commotion
Lean lady by the seaside

Lean lady by the seaside
I see you spilling away at your cigarette
I see the smoke billow within, you know
There’s competition spelt all over your periphery
I see you realize contest you know
I see you need a podium we know
To poise your stature and promise it matches a below evasive beauty
Desperation is a fragile boat to row
I see you see it inspires you, I mourn
And I ponder ways to alter fate for you
Lean lady by the seaside

Lean lady by the seaside
I see you smiling away as if to snicker
I see pride that comes with choice you know
You see the doubt inside my sentience
I see that you now see, you know
I see we both fight intuition, inhibitions, and false pretenses
And I presume…. No. I hope. I will.
That these snicker-inspiring choices,
Don’t distinguish what we see in the precipice
You and me both
Lean lady by the seaside

What I want, when I want