Category Archives: Unfinished business

Switches and Suicidal Vixens


It has been a while since I wrote anything. I’ve been struggling to maintain my balance in between my job, a couple of businesses I started here and there, and an older lady. My job is something I’ve been handling for a while now, so it didn’t pose any problems except when I was texting and sexting this lady. My businesses were proving to be exactly what I did not expect. I met a few con-men here and there, a few thieves here and there, rogue employees and cunning clients. I learned what I could when I could. I’m still learning. I’ll get the hang of it sooner than you think. You wait and see. The rest of my time over the past three months has accumulated over seven thousand text messages from phantom lady. I call her phantom lady because she illegally fished my phone number from places where I trust that my personal information is kept private at all times. Let me answer you before you start asking why I didn’t ignore or warn her before things got heated up. Her English was perfect. In this digital generation that we put up with, text messages have become a messed up business of under spelled words if I may, deliberate confusions between ‘x’ and‘s’ and pathetic punctuation or even the absolute lack of it. Her messages were precise and easy to read. She started a conversation like an arsonist starts a fire. It never stopped until one of us put it out before we slept.

When I put my rig together a few months before, I felt I was alright for that period in time. Extended display with three screens working separately and together at the same time like an extension of my brain kept me indoors every time I wasn’t at my dead end job. When you put together a computer from sensitive and expensive parts then make it work just like you wanted it to, the gratification is intoxicating. I got used to switching between movies, computer games, the internet, e-books, magazines, hip-hop, music videos, and software. I hardly looked at my phone. My life became a relationship between me, this machine and everything in it. We had a good thing going. This is where I partied, did my drinking sprees, wrote my almost complete articles, did my life plans, calculated my savings, income, and expenditure and saw the world when I wasn’t out working out. This is where I lived… in my virtual world. I always thought to myself, “How would it be if I found someone with my exact taste for this stuff? “What if I found someone who would never keep pressuring me to go out clubbing or for aimless excursions on the white sands of this coast? My question got answered when the conversations started… or that’s what I thought. Honestly, the conversations were enticing and entertaining. When we finally met, the over-the-wire chemistry poured over the brim and temperatures rose to unbearable levels. Maybe it was the adrenaline rush doing all the unbuttoning and grinding, maybe it was just pure ignorance born out of the carelessness of our reckless nature that is our youth, and maybe it was genuine heart to heart communication in sync with the moment and our bodies. I have no clue what it actually was, but contact beat conversation. Two days down the line, I had a relatively distant relationship with my machine and a close relationship with phantom lady and my phone. Phantom lady would sing along to my favorite tracks when I played my type of music. We never danced because we wouldn’t get that close to each other without forgetting about the music altogether. What we had now was something that we wouldn’t say no to… until the messages got too much and I couldn’t take it. The good thing about machines is the fact that everything is run by a switch or a button. I couldn’t switch this attention seeking chat machine off even if I switched off my phone. She knew where and how to find me. There were no buttons, codes or firewalls to keep her away from me.

I value solitude. After spending my day around all sorts of people at work, and on my way to and fro, my place is the only place where I can be absolutely free. I can think clearly and throw my hands around when I’m listening to Tech9ne’s albums without anyone giving me the weird ‘you’re-losing-it’ stare. When phantom lady graced me with her increasingly frequent presence, my absolute indoor freedom fizzled away. I felt like she was changing me. I’m not complaining about a lady’s company, I’m just saying it’s not comfortable not knowing when she might show up just because my phone is off or she got bored at her place and didn’t think to ask me whether I was at my place or not. I got bored a few weeks ago and decided to end all contact and conversation in general. I called her and tried to explain what I had told her when we met. I wasn’t ready for a full-time relationship and there is no way that I would accidentally fall into the bottomless pit called love anytime soon. She stayed quiet. I’ve always known that silence is consent so I imagined everything was fine and under control. What I didn’t know was that she had a full grown psycho mentality locked somewhere between all those dreadlocks on her head. Two days later, she went full psycho and the suicide threats started. I thought to myself, “good riddance… if that’s how you wanna go out!” What I didn’t know was that all her suicide notes had been written to strategically point to me as the source of her misery… To be continued…


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