Drat it I dun Joined The List May 4, 2008

Not the merriest of weeks. I think i moved up a couple of notches on the priority list of the god of chaos.By a couple of notches, i’m talking top of the list! I repeat, for utmost clarity, not the merriest of weeks.

 

So in conclusion of this utterly pointless post, given a gun? Just point me in the direction of my face and kiss me goodbye.

 

(Disclaimer; “C’mon people. We all know I am much too selfish to indulge in the petty and cowardly escape of suicide. Much too selfish. I would kill the Pope before i commited suicide. And for any intelligence reading this, no I am not planning on killing the Pope, consider the former a sort of figure of speech.

             However, should the Pope die anytime soon, I hope we’ll all have the decency to understand that s**t happens and we should move on. I mean it wouldn’t be a big deal, right. It wouldn’t be like Peter Petrelli (the guy from Heroes) had died, or Will Smith had gotten shot or someone in Linkin Park broke a nail or something. Coz that would just be catastrophic, all the days of the year would have to be public holidays and whatnot. That would be some seriously messed business!

 

You damn right I have beef! May 4, 2008

It wasn’t enough that he was one of those “out of the blue” rising stars who logic dictates you regard with suspicion because you don’t know where the dawg is from. He passed this stage with ease rocketing the charts with “Lonely” and then later “Belly Dancer”. We forgave him.

 

 

It wasn’t enough that the guy had probably thought out music as a serious business venture. He had most likely dedicated years to planning his entry on the scene. And then all hell broke lose. It was like freaking Pandora’s box. Only this time more like Pavarotti’s box. Song after song after song after song. He denied fans the right to say, “What happened to that has-been Akon. When is he planning his comeback? Next century? Ha ha ha!” against our better judgment we forgave again.

 

 

It wasn’t enough that he took the world for his psychiatrist telling us his every problem like we cared! Mbu “I’m lonely”, I hear “grew up in the ghetto” and all that B.S. we stood it coz quite frankly we had no choice. Once Capital FM got the track it was a lost cause from thereon after.  

 

 

He paused (but ever so slightly, you’d have had to be real observant to notice), and looked about him and saw that what he had done was good. But not enough. So he teamed up with everyone’s favorite artists left and right and like a collabo whore he violated music on a level that K-Fed can only aspire to . We were starting to get a little ticked off. One more move and this guy was getting the fucking boot.

 

 

Then he laid low for a while. I figure someone “snitched”, he got to know the beef was so on.

But he wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. That stunt with the underage girl…the shameless bastard. It was classic R.Kelly, had his signature and everything. (Although truth be told Micheal really set the ball in motion).

Anyway, just when the mob was preparing to lynch the A-hole, he released that “blame it on me” bollocks and the entire team was weakened, debilitated and died on the first note. 

 

 

Just as we were re-grouping, the guy goes and does this. And new Intel tells us he has done it before. It is so bad that everybody ought to know without my mentioning it. But then again, I could twist my speech and make him sound like the oaf he is, that disgusting child of pure spit and nothing else. If you’re going to lie to a whole bunch of people by the assumption that they are stupid and know no better, as I’m sure Akon has learnt, not everyone shares your depressingly stumpy thinking aptitude. You idiot! The very composition of your lie exposes the drawback of your acumen. Sore throat or whatever it is? I know we’re African but come on for the love of brain; you could have staged a plane malfunction with all your money. Anything but that pathetic lie which sounds smart to you but not without a damaging show of the kind of stupidity that should be outlawed.

 

 

Akon, I can never forgive you. Your fans (note the separation) will never forgive you. Liars all over the world are insulted that you dare apply their technique with wit, (pardon my use of the word), such as yours.

That’s what Celtel gets for bringing a “gu loser” like that falsetto aspiring voiced possible fag!

If I had a choice between Kevin Federline and Akon after this I’d pick Kev (God the revulsion) and Akon, it’s probably wise to commit suicide. We’re grouping you with Federline now? As if T-Pain wasn’t painful enough!

Drat You Caldwell and Thomason May 2, 2008

Been testing a theory I happened upon a while ago. The theory is that with applied analysis, contemplation and devoted thinking, you can actually figure life out and see the world, as it should be. From thereon, it’s just a matter of trying to make it that which it ought to be. As is obvious to those familiar to such course of action, I have come to learn rather despairingly that the world is determined to think as contrarily as Mistress Mary.

 

 

Battling with the idea of God and the existence of the two dualistic afterworlds heaven and hell, these I conclude, are not the sort of thing that would normally concern a teenager of my position. But then again, I came to the terms of the matter of the fact long ago that I am anything but ordinary.

 

And the question of purpose and meaning. Of sensibility and significance. Defining carefully what it is that we were created for, from whence innumerable other sub-questions thus arise; who created us, why is he/she/it so mysterious, is there more to life than what we are raised to believe, who decides what is right and wrong and by what right do they decide?

 

And I need not elaborate on the endlessness of these questions. Far beyond the imagination of one solitary man.

 

And while the journey to discovery is a beautiful and exciting experience exclusive in rush to no other experience, it Is rather like a conscienceless mistress, leading you on until in spending your one most valuable resource to her (that is your time and energy) she forgets that you ever were and all her promise she unveils to revel the empty space where ought to lay the reward for your effort.

 

 

Ian Caldwell, Dustin Thomason. Two men well worth blaming for all this line of thought. Thrusting me into the depths of what started out as a magnificent book, one worth sewing onto one’s body to read at leisure whenever the urge should arise; to always be in close proximity with such a work of art. From that to the book you want to throw far away, to remain knowing of its existance but forever in denial. That kind. So conclusively maybe Savonarola was right. That books are the very weapon of the devil, should such a being exist.

 

…………………………………………… 

 

With the exact same venom driven force as would all book-worshipers all over the world use, I have slapped myself.  Such utter and complete nonsense!

 

 

Failed Attempts To Fly May 2, 2008

I have been working on a novel for so long now if it ever gets published I should think that all things formerly impossible would choose then to prove themselves otherwise. The way Danielle Steel dispels her writing you would think she did it in between sex breaks and after the warm memory of her climax draws to an end so does her next novel (for lack of a better word). 

But then again she writes for a different audience all together. And all the while I pray for these people, pray for their souls, pray that their lives may find more concrete meaning, more worth, and higher purpose than in the confines of the sappy and romantic universes that Steel chooses to inflict so successively, so cruelly upon the world. Such a time should and will come when I finally write my book.  Not to mention in precise coincidence with the flimsy wisps and grayed shadows of ghosts roaming my mind in insistent demand for release in the form of writing. While this sounds vain, I do not doubt as do all the vain, that it is as honest as I can ever possibly be for I believe in this as though it were The Christ child come from the heavens hands scarred and all.

And while urgent grows this need with each passing year, blank remains my writers canvas.(Maybe that’s why…I’m trying to write on canvas…a lol moment back there). My hand hovers over the blank page hungry for the blood of the massacre of the purity that is the pages’ blankness and… nothing.  I fail yet again to put down that satisfactory enough that I might let another read it and offer criticism, remain cocooned in what I know as a black hole devoid of inspiration and drive.

 

 

 

 

More “ahs,” who’d a thunk it?! April 21, 2008

Further along down the road of nineteen, points of “ah” keep popping up, some of which I would much rather have popping away than anywhere else.

 

Presenting points of “ah” continued.

 

While working my ass off on the latest life-consuming project of my days, starting a company, I have come to “ah” that people don’t reason quite as clearly as I had assumed the whole world to. In layman’s terms, there are some really, REALLY dumb people out there. I will not go into any details here lest I insult anyone (or any receptionists working in Uganda)

 

You would “ah” too if you realized as you grow up, that the world it seems is bent on operating on principles absolutely and completely contrary to the whimsical and romantic ideals on which you have fed your mind to the point of obesity. Illustration? Okay, so what would be so wrong with me opting for a bicycle as a means of transportation as opposed to the very mundane and very dangerous car? I have issues with cars. Am I to be forever bound to the horrors of public transportation, which from the current look of things doesn’t seem to be improving? Not for the better at least. I want to ride a bicycle and so I shall so help me God! That I even invoke the name of The Almighty should speak volumes on my determination to carry through with my dare. Wouldn’t it be simply cool to breeze through the jam, get to work on time, pull down my pants or alternatively out of my socks and carry on about my life while the rest of the world sits around on their hinds in stupid traffic! And hey, if the Chinese  and Ellen Page can pull it off, who’s to stop me? (Ignore the fact that they both can’t count for this argument.)

 

I am in complete “ah” of the fact that my dreams and ambitions are the butt of every joke when I dare to bring it up in conversation. I have learnt the hard way, which would be experience, not to point out that I wish to teach professionally among people. If they don’t go “Ha ha, very funny… not!” they go “it’s been nice knowing you. When you come to your senses, call me up. Although I might change my number or divert your calls so people won’t know I know you.”

I am touched by the support the public has shown and middle finger up yours.

 

I also discover that life is really complicated. I mean it’s not enough we have to deal with shit like really dumb people and the un-intellectual, bull like insomnia, periods and crappy weather feels it is duty-bound to join in on the fun of complicating it further. “Ah,” indeed! This one borders on frustration.

 

It has also only just now hit me that I am bored beyond deliverance. I might as well be an economics lesson in the afternoon. Hopelessly and completely bored. I charge you with the burden of sharing my plight; accept the challenge with grace. Walk away without a comment. “Ah” in the fact that you bothered to even get this far in reading. That should scare you for a while, think on how bored, pointless, irrelevant your life must be to dedicate so much time to taking in the trivials of another’s life such as. But then again this is me we’re talking about. So maybe this is actually a plus on your part.

Even God is NOT Impressed With This One April 21, 2008

Okay so maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. But I’m pretty sure The Bible mentions the pick-up line cliché somewhere. We just need a Biblical scholar to devote applied effort and time to the task of finding it. That’s translation for “it sure as hell isn’t going to be me.”

 

I couldn’t single out one pick-up line and say, you “have we met before” line; you’re the worst of the lot. These lines are very bravely, very diligently contending for the sole spot of “most evil words ever put together in sentence as far as pick-ups go.” They’re all bad.

 

Now the thing about being in a third world country is, eventually the phases get here. Just a season or five behind. So maybe pick-up phase is over where you live, but in Uganda, it’s only just begun. What I love about Ugandans is their admirable but failed ventures into the unknown armed with not much save for their natural born wit… which is not much. They’ve started twisting the stuff to fit into the widespread English-vernacular lingo that some of us have had the misfortune of hearing first hand. The “herro, I’m kur and you?” to express concern for someone’s well being in this language makes you wish they hadn’t asked in the first place. There ought to be a law! This is why I should be president of the United States (don’t ask). 

 

Moving on, I was saying… the adaptation of the pick-up lines. What was formerly “I’m actually a good kisser but don’t take my word for it” is now, “herro shekse rips (and then the dude fakes that whole time-frozen glaze eye lean in for a kiss and tries to “eat” your face).

 

It’s very valiant of our daring desperately seeking but mercy! If I get picked up again by one of those local talking dudes, I am going to jail. I’ll just walk in so we don’t have to go through the hassle of me beating the guy senseless, and then the rights speech and the arrest and the trials, not to mention the funeral and the thank-you letters from millions of gratefuls all over the world. I’m starting to think bad things. Wrong things actually. As flattered as I am that I induce leave of sense in these guys that they actually think they’ve got a shot… I take offence that I seem to attract quite a number of their breed.

 

So pooh your stupid pick up lines and pooh your very bad English. Pooh your very existence too, for good measure. 

Yes, well hurry and get back! April 19, 2008

 

 

That time should wishes grant us,

Of speed and passing unobserved,

So hearts may weep no more,

For longing of each other,

Or distance, the chimera becomes

Of minuscule and trivial

So dreams need not wander far,

In hungry search of soul’s entirety.

And though I wish for selfish fancy

And think to soothe my helpless yearning,

I pray in earnest that gods may grant,

This humble plea from a heart affected.    

 

Guns and Liqour anyone? April 1, 2008

Given a gun? In the next life, after the Masanyalaze guy, I’d do the stupid producers of those stupid Spanish soaps in next.  

 

Before all the world knew of sucking at the professional level that these guys have introduced us to, there was peace. Then some Spanish guy without a job went like, “Ola! I think I’ll try my hand at this producing business, si? Oyemicanto even!” And then all hell broke lose. Without even the slightest regard to the feelings of millions of television viewers all over the world, Oyemicanto began to produce soaps.  

 

Now, I think the earlier releases were just below okay. We might have even tolerated him as a monopoly in the trade. It would have been his thing. He could have made it to Hollywood (or someplace, coz c’mon, who are we kidding, right?). But turns out, there were more than one broke ass Oyemicantos! I forgot that these guys usually have families that can feed hungry cannibals for worlds to come. So Oyemicantos brothers, Si and Ola (who was also gay, with a name like that!) began to produce soaps.  

 

It goes without saying that ideas such as usually have the originality of a designer label from Owino. They played around with the same story using different variations of the name Maria as the star to their stories. From this was spawned the likes of Maria-Louis, Maria-Clara, Maria-Belle, Maria-De-Spaniolla, Maria-De-We’ve run out of shit so deal with it, Maria-san-Maria and so on and so forth. The rest of the family brothers could take up alternate roles as the lead man, pretending to pretend to act in these soaps.  

 

Then they had the family gatherings that are common to all Spanish families and cousin Toni-yemicanto and uncle Jorge in the midst of celebrating the newfound success of the Oyemicantos thought of starting their own brand of soaps. I have to give it to these guys. They exhibited what is probably the only trace, however slight, of originality in the history of Spanish soaps. They decided to use variations of the Barbara name. We’re talking Barbara-Louis, Barbara-Clara, Barbara-De-Spaniolla, Barbara-De-We’ve also run out of shit but it was to be expected, Barbara-Barbara-De-Barbara and so on and so forth. Soon the entire country’s formerly broke population was minting money from the damned production. But somehow the bastards were just not content! 

 

Back in the rest of the world, we were living perfectly content lives feeding our minds on “Dangerous Women,” “Riviera” and the like. 

 

Now the guy I would shoot like ten times, is the mother of a son of something who thought, “Ola! How you say we import to other countries so they can enjoy too, si?”I would shoot this guy then shoot myself, check into hell and strike a personal friendship with the devil to ascertain that he make it there.  So they started to creep into the system. And Pandora’s box stood as ajar as swinging doors. There was no stopping it. We could not have foreseen it; it came like a bloody tsunami.  

 

Enter the mother of a son of something’s brother who simply couldn’t get enough of the shit. This guy was definitely part Ugandan. His thought process went something like this, “Oba now which ka country comes next? Hey, say, what about Uganda?” now here is where it gets frustrating.

So he had picked on Uganda, who was stopping him. No one. So he put his shit on the market. No problemo. So he advertised his stupid Spanish soaps. We were cool. Then some gundi of a Ugandan reached out and pulled one of these heralds of disaster off the shelf paid cash (!) and went home and watched. It was a ripple effect. Apparently stupid is something we’re not short of. A few fans became millions of ardent followers till nearly the entire population was dancing to the tune of one of those Spanish soundtracks at the start of these soaps. 

 

The intellectuals among us? We wept as Jesus did. But we can’t weep forever, because things stop being sad. They become a bit irritating, then positively irritating. Then they just get messed up.  So if you hand me a gun, just direct me to the nearest Guns n Liqor store, I’ll need ammo. The list is long and growing as we speak. These people are beneath any sort of torment hell can offer.  

 

I know no Spaniards personally else I wouldn’t be writing this. No offence you guys, but soaps aint your forte.

Humpty Dumpty April 1, 2008

 Have we ever stopped to consider how Humpty Dumpty ever got up the wall in the first place. I mean from all the illustrations i’ve seen of the guy, i’d say he loves his sugar a little too much. Okay so maybe Humpty Dumpty didn’t fall off the wall, maybe he walked into it. I came to the former conclusion when Ma did just the same. There must have been a wall or some concrete obstacle that came into sudden  contact with her head. It’s like a mark, kinda like those native Chinese tribes where you’re kidnapped and taken to partake in some wierd ritual with snails and badly co-ordinated dance moves because it’s a five-man ritual and they only had four. They let you go with a tatoo to show YOU WERE THERE. . . okay i made that up, but still. To understand perfectly the vein from which flows my inspiration for this one, one must know my mother considerably well.  

 

Here is a woman who would be suspicious of a dying man holding his head in his hand and begging assistance of her. Sinister looks alert her Spiderman sense as I have grown to view it. Curious coughs and throat clearing is invitation to investigation. She would have made a great detective. She would probably be a one-man department but a good detective likewise.  

 

Her travel plans were prior knowledge to the both of us, and yet no visible effort was made on her part to procure a babysitter so to speak. I wondered what her plans were but did not lose sleep over it. I have mentioned my selfish nature of which I am in semi-denial. So, anyway, the day drew near when she was scheduled to leave and still no mention of who was to take care of me. The suggestion that I could and would indeed be able to stay alone at home was dropped so often it graduated the “hint” category and flew straight on threw to the options for consideration. It was here that I was I alerted of possible falling in pit-latrine or hitting brick wall syndrome. I brushed that aside but not without some serious hopes, wishes and daydreams to go along with the possibility. 

 

D-day came. I waved goodbye to ma dearest and breathed my first breath of fresh free air, avoiding the dancing idiot within celebrating my newly acquired independence. It’s not like she’s in the country and she can call me up to check up on me. No. She’s not even on the continent (for another week). Au contraire. She is in Hong Kong, in China miles upon miles away. I still awe at this fact. 

 

Walk into brick wall syndrome was confirmed without alternative. How else do you explain my gravely strict and suspicious mother’s flying off to a far off land and leaving me in the charge of… who was that again? That’s right, nobody. Words fail me when I try to comprehend what brought on this new and unexpected show of complete trust in my decision-making abilities. It is to some degree cute and touching that she thinks so highly of me as to trust me. I understand that it is I who is always bickering away at the need for trust and its absence in our relationship, call it what you may. But this kind of trust is only characteristic of people who are blind to the potent of evil within us. Strike my mother off the member list of this club. 

 

And there you have it, founding for my firm and unshakable belief that my dear mother must have and did in fact walk into a brick wall! And nothing anyone says will change my self-concluded assessment of the situation.

Whiff of Inkshot…Not April 1, 2008

Day Two; Part two

 

 

Not too bad. I’m getting the hang of this being alone thing. I don’t actually comprehend why I was so eager for company when I know in my heart that I love my solitude. I am not too keen on the company of others, I am selfish of existence. I am particular about the company I keep. The vanity of self does not tolerate the company of idiots. I do not appreciate a lacking in intellect. I in fact, abhor it. Where does one come off being ignorant? I am not without some degree of ignorance but to be burdened with the charge of entertaining large amounts of the vice is something I am yet to grow to learn to practice.  

 

 

Today I had a friend over for the most part of the day. Woke up at a ridiculous 12:30. By the arrival of said friend. After my stupid bout of insomnia, even a 12:30 rising did me no good. I was still tired, weak and in dire need of at least a couple of more hours of sleep. And yet true to my nature, daring, dauntless, gutsy and the like, I arose. Yes, I am also not without a sizable ego. 

 

 

The Internet was a bit slow, not much solace there.

 

 

Moving on, I have been pondering quite a bit more than ordinary which is to be expected, I am in complete and perfectly harmonious solitude. What more can I want but a cloud to sit on? And a temporarily satisfactory supply of money and rock. This is the life!

It’s not quite at the point where I would willingly welcome the ultimate release of death but it is convenient.

 

 

I think I shall write me a book. I am in good writing spirits. A certain Hollywood crush helped unravel me from the cocoon of stagnancy that my writing had taken. An idea should not be hard to come upon. Three cheers for the Hollywood crush and ten cheers for the original givers of my great gift, the gods of endowment.

A fine job they did with my endowments. So long day two and hello my debut book.