"What did she say this time?"
"How did you-"
"It's always your mother, and I always
know. Now tell me."
"…"
"I'm not going to ask you again. Just tell
me."
"She…said that I can't draw. I can't sing.
I can't act. I can't do anything and I
never shall- You're laughing."
"I'm sorry. Certain phrases make me
want to laugh. 'I can't' is one of them."
"I'm glad you find my grief so amusing."
"Look, you need to understand
something. The word 'can't' is going to follow you around for the rest of your
life. History is filled with people who were
told they 'can't' do something. You
know what makes them special?" "What?"
"They did it anyway."
"Pure and simple huh? Just like that?" "The truth is never pure and always
complicated. But yes. Just like that." "There is always someone telling me I'm not good enough."
"And there will always be someone telling you that you aren't good enough. You
have two choices. You can curl up and
stop doing everything you love. You can
let the world tear you down. Fall apart
into a million pieces."
"Or?"
"Or you can stand up and fight. Fight
against everyone who says you cannot
do something. Teach them a lesson!" "I don't see how that will help." "Because you need to go after what you love with a vengeance. Love it, worship
it, want it like a wanton lover who is
completely insatiable, but please, for the
love of all that is holy, don't ever, ever
give up on it."
"Oh come on...how many people do you know who have had their dreams come true?"
"Yes, dreams don't come true easily. You have to go after them with a hammer and a first aid kit for the broken hearts you will suffer on the way. But it will all be worth
it when they all come true."
"And what happens if I do find my
dream?"
"That's the best bit."
"Why?"
"Because that's when I'll take your
hand... and we'll build you a whole new dream to chase."
Sunday, 4 September 2011
Thursday, 18 August 2011
I'm not a writer
I do not know how to write. I do now understand the concepts and
the themes; words are just shapes
pressed together in an attempt to say
what my tongue cannot and the
phrases are already so clogged in my
throat that i am a champagne bottle with all the fizz and none of the pleasure. ink
stains and pencil smears
and typewriters break so that i am left
with nothing but ripped shards of paper
falling around my elbows and piling
around my feet in an attempt to sculpt meaning out of the absence of what i
was meant to fill. You see, writers know the way to
phrase and they know the brush they
have in their hand. it is careful and
planned and the art is in the crafting
and the hours of sweat that is put into
every syllable. it is a labor of love and loving labor and when the final
punctuation is added, there is not a
comma or curvature of letter that has
not been pampered and ushered into
final resting place. I, however, do not know how to write. No, instead i know how to spit up
memories and emotions until they are
spilled on the paper and bleeding
through the novel's back cover. you
see, i am nothing but a hurricane; i am
tearing off the roofs of the houses in my imagination to see how the final product
will look when smeared across the sky. i
am clicking open my chest a rib at a
time, dipping my fingers into the
canyons and letting the excess drip over
the ground; look and tell me what you see. stare and show me what it means
to you. I am not careful - my words are
neglected and abused. my works are
never final, but are rather bruised and
aching and always ready to be shoved
into the corner for the latest mess to be
placed on center stage. they are not polished and if you try to hold them,
you will only cut your fingertips in the
process. they are sharp and jagged and
living entities that bite those that get to
close. they aren't meant to be
examined, rather only experienced and when the fading howls have subsided,
you are meant to only think about the
way your pulse looped faster or the way
the incoherent made your thoughts spin
and swirl and fade together like the final
thunderclap over the distant ridge. I am not a writer; i am an assassin armed
with words. i am a natural disaster
rooted in phrases. my broadsword drips
ink and my incisors are ripping into the
jugular of thoughts. i kill with sentences
and disarm with paragraphs. i fire verses that i call poetry like machine gun fire
from between my teeth and hope that
somewhere within the bullet spray that i
struck a nerve. that perhaps in the
slashing of the blade that i am able to
cut some sense into the nonsense pooling from my tongue and onto the
paper so that i can rearrange these
sounds and convince the unbelieving that
i am indeed a writer.
the themes; words are just shapes
pressed together in an attempt to say
what my tongue cannot and the
phrases are already so clogged in my
throat that i am a champagne bottle with all the fizz and none of the pleasure. ink
stains and pencil smears
and typewriters break so that i am left
with nothing but ripped shards of paper
falling around my elbows and piling
around my feet in an attempt to sculpt meaning out of the absence of what i
was meant to fill. You see, writers know the way to
phrase and they know the brush they
have in their hand. it is careful and
planned and the art is in the crafting
and the hours of sweat that is put into
every syllable. it is a labor of love and loving labor and when the final
punctuation is added, there is not a
comma or curvature of letter that has
not been pampered and ushered into
final resting place. I, however, do not know how to write. No, instead i know how to spit up
memories and emotions until they are
spilled on the paper and bleeding
through the novel's back cover. you
see, i am nothing but a hurricane; i am
tearing off the roofs of the houses in my imagination to see how the final product
will look when smeared across the sky. i
am clicking open my chest a rib at a
time, dipping my fingers into the
canyons and letting the excess drip over
the ground; look and tell me what you see. stare and show me what it means
to you. I am not careful - my words are
neglected and abused. my works are
never final, but are rather bruised and
aching and always ready to be shoved
into the corner for the latest mess to be
placed on center stage. they are not polished and if you try to hold them,
you will only cut your fingertips in the
process. they are sharp and jagged and
living entities that bite those that get to
close. they aren't meant to be
examined, rather only experienced and when the fading howls have subsided,
you are meant to only think about the
way your pulse looped faster or the way
the incoherent made your thoughts spin
and swirl and fade together like the final
thunderclap over the distant ridge. I am not a writer; i am an assassin armed
with words. i am a natural disaster
rooted in phrases. my broadsword drips
ink and my incisors are ripping into the
jugular of thoughts. i kill with sentences
and disarm with paragraphs. i fire verses that i call poetry like machine gun fire
from between my teeth and hope that
somewhere within the bullet spray that i
struck a nerve. that perhaps in the
slashing of the blade that i am able to
cut some sense into the nonsense pooling from my tongue and onto the
paper so that i can rearrange these
sounds and convince the unbelieving that
i am indeed a writer.
Wednesday, 17 August 2011
Insane
I talk to myself constantly,
But I don't really talk about it.
People would call me insane. My best
friend is a piece of paper;
My lover,my iPaq.
People are obviously aware of that. Lord knows they think I'm insane.
I ask far too many questions.
For that, I am simply inane.
Little do my critics know,
All I'm trying to do
Is keep my demons at bay. Little do they know,
I think THEY'RE insane
For telling me how to act,
How to love,
How to dress,
How to talk, How to intake a simple breath of air.
Little do they know,
I'd like to tie them to a bed of nails
And scream and shout about their
insanity
Until my voice is no more than a whisper. Because it truly is insanity.
Beautiful boys
And handsome girls,
Dying everyday
At the hand of their own subconscious
Because they weren't good enough for you.
Too skinny.
Too fat.
Too pretty.
Fugly.
Or, God forbid, Gay.
Insanity is that they wasted
The short time they spent 'living,'
Trying to please you. You,
The insane,
The true "bitches," The true "sluts,"
The true "faggots,"
The true "sinners." The insane. What's
insane?
The fact that half of the people
Spreading this message Are too insane
For their own good.
So, I may talk to myself,
I may be antisocial,
And I may be a waste of your time.
In fact, I am. But, I refuse to hate.
I refuse to hurt. I refuse to be insane.
But I don't really talk about it.
People would call me insane. My best
friend is a piece of paper;
My lover,my iPaq.
People are obviously aware of that. Lord knows they think I'm insane.
I ask far too many questions.
For that, I am simply inane.
Little do my critics know,
All I'm trying to do
Is keep my demons at bay. Little do they know,
I think THEY'RE insane
For telling me how to act,
How to love,
How to dress,
How to talk, How to intake a simple breath of air.
Little do they know,
I'd like to tie them to a bed of nails
And scream and shout about their
insanity
Until my voice is no more than a whisper. Because it truly is insanity.
Beautiful boys
And handsome girls,
Dying everyday
At the hand of their own subconscious
Because they weren't good enough for you.
Too skinny.
Too fat.
Too pretty.
Fugly.
Or, God forbid, Gay.
Insanity is that they wasted
The short time they spent 'living,'
Trying to please you. You,
The insane,
The true "bitches," The true "sluts,"
The true "faggots,"
The true "sinners." The insane. What's
insane?
The fact that half of the people
Spreading this message Are too insane
For their own good.
So, I may talk to myself,
I may be antisocial,
And I may be a waste of your time.
In fact, I am. But, I refuse to hate.
I refuse to hurt. I refuse to be insane.
Monday, 30 May 2011
Haunted
Ghosts are burning the edge of my
vision. i can feel the way they crowd and
jumble, the way their fingers are pulling
sticky fingers against my sanity and
dragging me further and further into the
rabbit hole of my insecurity. i can see
them in the shadows at the base of my eyelids and feel their voices in the
spaces between my vertebrae. they call
me when i'm awake and they scream
when i'm asleep and i claw at my face
and i pull at my skin, but they burrow
deeper and deeper still. they quiet and stagnate, yet i can feel
them in the dust that my feet unsettle
as i walk forward. their faces are
persistent and their mouths gaping open
with the scent of decay bound like a
cord around their flapping tongues. they are silent and knowing, touching my
inner demons with a violating hand. they
nod, they smile; they are smug. i hate
them for this. they see the way my
heart quivers in my chest and they
stroke the trembling bones that it clacks against. they crack the silence and
whisper, tell me of sweaty nights and
whispered words of passion. they tell
me of possessive fingers and pleading
hips, and murmured words of forever in
the arch where throat kisses sloping shoulder. they tell me of how stars
burned for them like midnight oil, how
passion arched over arched spines and
the way they made pulses thicken and
slow. how desires that deep may sail
where they please, but always return to where they anchored first. they tell me that nothing lasts forever
except yesterday. and this is when i run, and scramble, and
fall to scraped-up knees and yet do not
stop. this is when i dive into a vehicle
entrenched in dust and spin rubber
against asphalt. the ghosts, they pound
against my windows and they scream in time with the wind. my pulse hammers
and the wheel leaps in my hand. my
palms are slick with fear, my back
drenched with doubt. i break my
mirrors, i blow my speakers, i run from
them, but i am naught but a moth in a thunderstorm. passing headlights look like
fallen stars. i am entranced by their light.
death looks like constellations hovering
above the two-lane highway. they are in
my lane, i am in theirs. ghosts are
whipping around my fenders and seeping under my hood. they are
screaming, but it's my throat that is raw. [falling stars taste like metal on my
tongue; passing galaxies feel like
shattered shrapnel in my chest. i am
laying on the asphalt next to my imaginary burning
car and the chipped-paint meteorite.
they are touching my cheek, my hand, the hole gaping by my sternum, they
are brushing matted dreads from my face. i
can see their mouths moving, i can see
their eyes rolling back into their heads, i
can see their bones jutting through
their flesh. i see the whites of their eyes and the past replayed in static. i see
projections that i cannot outrun in the
chapped skin of their lips. i was
screaming; now i can't stop hearing her screaming.
vision. i can feel the way they crowd and
jumble, the way their fingers are pulling
sticky fingers against my sanity and
dragging me further and further into the
rabbit hole of my insecurity. i can see
them in the shadows at the base of my eyelids and feel their voices in the
spaces between my vertebrae. they call
me when i'm awake and they scream
when i'm asleep and i claw at my face
and i pull at my skin, but they burrow
deeper and deeper still. they quiet and stagnate, yet i can feel
them in the dust that my feet unsettle
as i walk forward. their faces are
persistent and their mouths gaping open
with the scent of decay bound like a
cord around their flapping tongues. they are silent and knowing, touching my
inner demons with a violating hand. they
nod, they smile; they are smug. i hate
them for this. they see the way my
heart quivers in my chest and they
stroke the trembling bones that it clacks against. they crack the silence and
whisper, tell me of sweaty nights and
whispered words of passion. they tell
me of possessive fingers and pleading
hips, and murmured words of forever in
the arch where throat kisses sloping shoulder. they tell me of how stars
burned for them like midnight oil, how
passion arched over arched spines and
the way they made pulses thicken and
slow. how desires that deep may sail
where they please, but always return to where they anchored first. they tell me that nothing lasts forever
except yesterday. and this is when i run, and scramble, and
fall to scraped-up knees and yet do not
stop. this is when i dive into a vehicle
entrenched in dust and spin rubber
against asphalt. the ghosts, they pound
against my windows and they scream in time with the wind. my pulse hammers
and the wheel leaps in my hand. my
palms are slick with fear, my back
drenched with doubt. i break my
mirrors, i blow my speakers, i run from
them, but i am naught but a moth in a thunderstorm. passing headlights look like
fallen stars. i am entranced by their light.
death looks like constellations hovering
above the two-lane highway. they are in
my lane, i am in theirs. ghosts are
whipping around my fenders and seeping under my hood. they are
screaming, but it's my throat that is raw. [falling stars taste like metal on my
tongue; passing galaxies feel like
shattered shrapnel in my chest. i am
laying on the asphalt next to my imaginary burning
car and the chipped-paint meteorite.
they are touching my cheek, my hand, the hole gaping by my sternum, they
are brushing matted dreads from my face. i
can see their mouths moving, i can see
their eyes rolling back into their heads, i
can see their bones jutting through
their flesh. i see the whites of their eyes and the past replayed in static. i see
projections that i cannot outrun in the
chapped skin of their lips. i was
screaming; now i can't stop hearing her screaming.
Monday, 23 May 2011
Scene 1
Pt.1
He stands there, dripping, with his head tipped down just abit.Kiasi tu, but hoping that this slight tilting forward of his eyes will prove that he is sorry. Very sorry. Repentant.
"Nishow tena, " she says, after studying him. Watching.
"What, about before?"
"Yes, that. Please."
"Well, see, we, umm.." He creeps forward cautiously with this next thought.True, she seems less hysterical now, ready to listen, but utajuaje? "....the two of us had met before."
"Before?"
"Azin..before we met." He thinks about this for a moment, about the genesis of the thing. "From before we,you & I, knew one another."
"Eeh???"
"Yeah. We went to Campo pamoja and.."
"Oh, so u were in school together?"
"Zii..zii..not together. It was in Chiromo, but not overlapping or anything.No, actually ran into each other in Main Campus..during this friendly 7's aside game of alumni at the pitch."
"Quaint."
"Which is kind of funny..."
"Why?Why is that funny?"
"Coz, it's u know..UoN."
"Uh-huh."
"And that's where we went to school, too.UoN, I mean.In Chiromo. Because Chiromo is in..."
"Yeah, UoN. Nimeget, " she says, without changing expressions. "Ni vile tu haijanibamba.Ata kiasi."
"Poa," he acknowledges, then moves ahead.
"Anyway, that's where we were, over by the rudge pitch, and, drinks...moja-mbili, u know, and we hung out a few times or whatever."
"I think they still call it 'Dating' in the 254."
"No....it wasn't a 'thing'!!We din't date or anything, we just-..."
"Slept together"
"...something like that." He falters a bit but ploughs on, spitting out the truth.Well, part of it anyway. "Yeah, this one time we did, yes. Do that, I mean. Not sleeping together, though, just some sex stuff. Sort of. But it was nothing..."
"So that makes it all right, then... What I saw."
"No, not all right, i'm not saying that, I just mean..."
He considers where to go next, what minefields to avoid and which to blunder off into. "Hell, I dunno, just that there's some background there. A shared background between us."
"Ooh.Poa." She responds quickly in small staccato bursts of language, rather than thinking through her next sentence. "Nimeget. I do. Really. I do get it."
"So, it's not like, I mean...a 'fling' or anything."
"It isn't?!"
"OK, sawa basi, a fling, but.... A fling with qualifiers. With history." He throws the last part in for a ka-effect, the history bit, but hoping it sticks somehow.
"Haukunishow lakini.About this 'history' of yours, I mean.All this time...natsing."
"No, I didn't do that."
"Why?"
"I thought I wouldn't,you know.."
"Uh-uh, no, I don't know.What?" Then she realises.
"Get caught?"
"Zii.." He stutters twice before saying, "B-b-be understood."
"You're damn right.U wouldn't b-b-be," she says obvoiusly mocking him.
"Unaona?"
"But that shouldn't have stopped u from telling me!Ai!"
She says this louder than she means to, but it's out now. Hangs in the air kidogo, her dark cloud of disbelief, then drifts off.
"What was I gonna say?"
"I don't know, it's not really my moral dilemma is it?
"It's not a..." He thinks carefully now, a misstep here could be hula.There's definitely some sort of morality involved in having sex with your neighbours, he muses. "...OK,yeah, it is, like a moral thing, but I think we can still.."
"Still what? What?!" She stops for a moment, stops loading clothes into her Kiko Romeo bag and turns to him. Faces him directly. "I'd love to hear how that sentence ends. Tell me."
"...work something out? Or.." He tries to hold her gaze but can't. If he wasn't wearing swim trunks he might have had a fighting chance, but standing there in a moist orange suit..it's just not Safaricom(the Better Option)lol
He looks away and out a window, catching a hint of the dinner next door.Their place. The neighbours'.
"You think we should work it out,eh? That's what u think?"
"I think tunaeza try."
"Try what, talking? Just like talking, you and me?
"Eeeh.Io inaweza kuwa.."
"Na therapy?" she challenges back."Or how about sharing, the two of us and the two of them? The four of us could swing on various nights, try new stingoz. How's that sound?" She studies him kidogo but can't meet his eyes. "Noma sana...ama? I mean, if you're not too possessive, that is. Then once tumegawana watoi we'll all be one big, happy family!!"
"If we can't talk about this like adults, then afadhali.."
"Adults? Oh,you wanna talk like AD-ULTS, that's what u want?"
"It's why I came back here, yes."
"No. U came back coz this is your house, OK, this is your home. Where you LIVE!!" She throws a handful of perfumes in ontop of her blouses, the bottles clinking dully together in the sea of fabric. The sound isn't very impressive, not as resounding as she'd hoped for, but she'd needed to pack them anyway.
"What'd you think, you could just live in the pool house there, set up a little place for yourselves or something?" "No. Of course not."
"Then what?"
"Look, enyewe seriously, I don't know what you think you saw . . ."
"Nkt!Oh, please, come on . . ."
"No, seriously, what? We weren't ..." "Your trunks were down, all right?" "They weren't . . ." He doesn't finish this because she moves toward him now. Quickly across the room to challenge what he'll say next.
"Sawa, whatever. You know what you know."
"Nooo...not whatever. I saw you...azin so clearly, your trunks around your knees and your bony black ass pointed right at me. Your back was toward the door and your thingy was . . . do you really wanna hear more?"
". . . no."
"I saw it out. I did."
"Not out, no, it was just caught in my . . ." He tries to mime an explanation but a wagging finger from her stops him cold.
"When you turned, surprised by the door and turning quickly, I know I saw your . . . thing . . . dangling. It got tangled in your mesh, there in the white mesh when you tried to hide it away. I know what I'm saying . . ." "But . . .we knew each other in Campo . . .!"
"What does that mean?! You keep saying that but it doesn't seem to mean anything. Lots of people know each other around, but that doesn't mean they're all doing it. Does it?" "No, but, see . . .we went to the same Uni and we got talking one time, we had a lot to drink and we just . . . it wasn't like this big thing."
"Ulinshow hivyo?"
"No."
"They've been moved in there, next door, in their time-share for three weeks. A month maybe. Since . . .nini...Labour day.."
"I was going to say something . . ." "But you decided to keep it all to yourself, huh?"
"No! God, you're so . . .we were both nervous about it. I mean, embarrassed."
"Obviously . . ."
"We were! When they introduced themselves that first day, out there by the pavement, I could hardly look up.."
"Or just now . . ."
"That's what I'm saying . . ."
". . . of course, you were a little busy."
"Stop! Jesus, let me at least tell my side of it."
"Please . . . go ahead."
"So, you know . . .if you don't take that moment, I mean, that first moment there and tell the truth, basi you're stuck. You are."
"Like your thing in the mesh . . ."
"Eeeh...A little, yes . . ." He wants to smile, since that was pretty funny, especially for her, but he can't risk it. Not right now. It might not have been a joke. Instead, he offers, "Kind of like that. Uh- huh."
"And since you didn't tell me that day, you just figured this tiny detail was no big thing. I mean, not a real problem for us . . .is that kind of what you're saying?"
"Sort of . . ."
"Huh."
"What's that mean?"
"Just 'huh,' no other real meaning to it . . ." Her head cocks a touch now, slightly to one side as she studies him. Glancing at his eyes but then down, to settle at crotch level. Holding this look for quite some time. He shifts from one bare foot to the other.
"What're you doing?"
"Nothing."
"No, seriously, what?"
"Just imagining . . ."
"Imagining?" He waits for her next volley, stepping off the wet spot he's created and involuntarily moving away from her. She takes her time. "Imagining what it'd be like for your son to walk into that shed. Looking for, oh, I dunno, some diving goggles or an inner tube or who knows what, and see that. What I saw . . ."
"What? We knew each other in Chiromo . . ."
"Stop saying that! " She glares at him, obviously conjuring up a picture. "How would it be for him to see your . . .cock —there, do you like that better? You're always wanting me to talk dirty, does that sound better?—to see his daddy's cock out and . . ."
"We were just talking . . ."
"Please don't do that! Usi-assume I've been nearsighted all these years on top of being a dwanzi. . ."
". . . it was this boys versus girls touch...err..touch rugby..game we were in, that's where we first . . ."
"Would you like it, if he saw that?" "No."
"You wouldn't?"
"Of course not. . ."
"Well, that's something . . ."
"But I wouldn't . . . and I'm not trying to start anything here . . .no offense, but I wouldn't want him to see it in anyone's mouth. I mean, ata yako" He almost grimaces after that one, not sure he didn't just step into some abyss.
"Then perhaps you should stop sticking it in people's mouths . . . shouldn't you?"
". . . yeah. I mean, yes, you're right." That's the least he can say. She does have a point there, albeit a fairly simple mathematical one.
"So, it was in, then?" She waits.
". . . what?"
"You had your thing out and in . . ." "Yes." Better to cut his losses now, mercy of the court and all that. "I did, yes, for just, like, a second. A moment is all. Honestly."
"Oh."
"Aki . . ."
"Because I couldn't really see . . .my eyes hadn't adjusted. I was pretty sure that's what was happening there, with the two of you, but I wasn't completely. Certain, I mean. Because of the dark. But, hey, now I know . . ." She smiles weakly, finally matching one of his more pathetic grins at the same instant. "I only went in there looking for their tiki torches. They told me we could use them for the barbecue on Saturday. That's why I . . .anyway . . ."
"Listen, we were just . . ."
"Right."
"You know?"
"Yeah, UoN, I know . . ."
"Exactly."
"The big game and all."
"Yep . . ." He fixates on a framed picture for a moment, drifting. A Dinesh print of someone sitting in a room somewhere. Alone. Lucky bastard, he thinks to himself.
"I see."
". . . I mean, you're in the 254, right? And you run into a bunch of folks from home, you know, men and women out there on the grass having fun, and you just sort of get caught up in the thing . . .few beers . . .I can't really explain it better than that . . ." He tries to, though, for a minute at least, his mouth searching for a more perfect phrase. It doesn't come. "OK."
"Does that make any sense?"
"No, none." She shrugs, unwilling to say more.
"Oh . . ."
"But I understand. I understand that it makes sense to you . . . somehow." "It does. I know it sounds wobbly, but . . .'
"And since it does, make sense, I mean, you'll need to explain it to them . . ."
"Who?"
"The children."
". . . what do you mean?"
"You're going to need to sit them down —they're back from swimming in forty minutes—and you'll need to walk them through this as best you can."
"No, I can't . . .what?"
"Naishia, in short. You'll need to come up with something for that. Tell them the rest if you want to, but you have to explain where I've gone."
"Sa..unaenda wapi . . .?"
"Coasto, I suppose. Meanwhile, anyway. I need to call my sister, and the lawyers, no doubt." She seems to tower over him at this moment, although she is only five feet three and not wearing heels, not even the ones he'd bought her at that Ivory store on the way in.
"I need to handle a few things.
"I can't tell them that! Manzee, they're only . . ."
"What, children?"
"Eeeh."
"Children bounce back. They do, that's their lot in life."
"Wait . . ."
"You explain things and on Saturday we'll get them on a bus,wanifuate, and they'll be out of your hair." She smiles some inner smile at this. "Then you can go back over the fence . . ."
"Siezi."
"Then don't."
"I want to . . .I mean, I'd like to, I'd really like to see if we could . . ." "What?" She waits for him to finish but he only repeats the previous phrases over and over. Trying to jumpstart a solution but never getting past the opening. Finally, she picks up her bag, tests the weight of it, then moves toward the door. He doesn't stop her.
"Do you want me to carry that down or . . .?"
"No, no, it's fine. You've done enough, believe me . . ."
"I love you guys. I do." He didn't want to have to pull that one out, not at this late date but he goes for it. Pitches the love thing out there like a final horseshoe.
"Well, that's something you can hang on to, isn't it? You can tell the kids that, if it helps . . .tell them I love them, too."
"We were just talking . . .we spent time on the same campus, for Chrissakes!"
"Yeah, I caught that part . . ."
"We did . . ."
"Najua."
"And we had some . . ."
"When did you become so pathetic?" This isn't meant to be rhetorical.
". . . I'm not sure."
"Huh." She stands at the door now, flicking the light switch off more from habit than anything. He pulls his arms in and around his exposed upper body now, stands in the semidark staring at his departing wife. She starts down a step then turns back, rotates even, and comes into the room again.
"One more thing.Swali ya last . . ."
"Yes?"
"Just one."
"OK."
"What position did he play?"
"Huh?"
"Our neighbor . . .the guy who was sucking your dick." This is new for her, this strong language thing, and she seems to be enjoying it. "When you met him, what position was he playing?"
"Oh . . . Hooker. He was their Hooker."
". . . I see." A pause, then a slight smile from her in the gloom.
"You do?"
"Nimeget . . ."
"Umeget nini?"
"The significance of it all."
"What do you mean?"
"Come on, he's the Hooker . . .you don't know anyone, you're lonely, it's not ur campo, this guy's kneeling at your feet, you've got your nice, firm hanger there. . .I get it. It's symbolic . . ."
"No, come on . . ." He hesitates now, unsure about her. Is she being ironic? "We were just . . ."
"What? You what?eh?"
"It . . .it was an experiment, that's all. Just . . . guy stuff. Kind of, like, you know . . ."
"No, you're right. It happens. It does. In 'Chiromo,' anyway . . .as u'd say ama?"
"We were only . . .see, I met him before we, I mean, you and me . . ." ". . . I hope you're very happy." Before he can say anything else she is gone, the door clicking shut downstairs a moment later. Normally, he would follow her, do the dramatic run down the stage, but he's got the swimsuit on and it would just look ridiculous now. He's sure of that. No, better to talk tomorrow, let things cool down a bit. Take care of the kids, maybe get a large pizza from Pizza Inn and watch a movie. Face the rest of it in the morning. Yes. That's it. "It's OK, it is, iko Sawaa, this is gonna be . . .anaku Shapre. Things'll be fine. It's . . . OK, this is all S-A-U-W-A-A . . ." He says this aloud but more to himself than anything, a kind of masculine mantra as he strips off his damp trunks. He shivers slightly, then begins to wander around the room naked, hunting down a pair of discarded Levi's in the oncoming twilight.
He stands there, dripping, with his head tipped down just abit.Kiasi tu, but hoping that this slight tilting forward of his eyes will prove that he is sorry. Very sorry. Repentant.
"Nishow tena, " she says, after studying him. Watching.
"What, about before?"
"Yes, that. Please."
"Well, see, we, umm.." He creeps forward cautiously with this next thought.True, she seems less hysterical now, ready to listen, but utajuaje? "....the two of us had met before."
"Before?"
"Azin..before we met." He thinks about this for a moment, about the genesis of the thing. "From before we,you & I, knew one another."
"Eeh???"
"Yeah. We went to Campo pamoja and.."
"Oh, so u were in school together?"
"Zii..zii..not together. It was in Chiromo, but not overlapping or anything.No, actually ran into each other in Main Campus..during this friendly 7's aside game of alumni at the pitch."
"Quaint."
"Which is kind of funny..."
"Why?Why is that funny?"
"Coz, it's u know..UoN."
"Uh-huh."
"And that's where we went to school, too.UoN, I mean.In Chiromo. Because Chiromo is in..."
"Yeah, UoN. Nimeget, " she says, without changing expressions. "Ni vile tu haijanibamba.Ata kiasi."
"Poa," he acknowledges, then moves ahead.
"Anyway, that's where we were, over by the rudge pitch, and, drinks...moja-mbili, u know, and we hung out a few times or whatever."
"I think they still call it 'Dating' in the 254."
"No....it wasn't a 'thing'!!We din't date or anything, we just-..."
"Slept together"
"...something like that." He falters a bit but ploughs on, spitting out the truth.Well, part of it anyway. "Yeah, this one time we did, yes. Do that, I mean. Not sleeping together, though, just some sex stuff. Sort of. But it was nothing..."
"So that makes it all right, then... What I saw."
"No, not all right, i'm not saying that, I just mean..."
He considers where to go next, what minefields to avoid and which to blunder off into. "Hell, I dunno, just that there's some background there. A shared background between us."
"Ooh.Poa." She responds quickly in small staccato bursts of language, rather than thinking through her next sentence. "Nimeget. I do. Really. I do get it."
"So, it's not like, I mean...a 'fling' or anything."
"It isn't?!"
"OK, sawa basi, a fling, but.... A fling with qualifiers. With history." He throws the last part in for a ka-effect, the history bit, but hoping it sticks somehow.
"Haukunishow lakini.About this 'history' of yours, I mean.All this time...natsing."
"No, I didn't do that."
"Why?"
"I thought I wouldn't,you know.."
"Uh-uh, no, I don't know.What?" Then she realises.
"Get caught?"
"Zii.." He stutters twice before saying, "B-b-be understood."
"You're damn right.U wouldn't b-b-be," she says obvoiusly mocking him.
"Unaona?"
"But that shouldn't have stopped u from telling me!Ai!"
She says this louder than she means to, but it's out now. Hangs in the air kidogo, her dark cloud of disbelief, then drifts off.
"What was I gonna say?"
"I don't know, it's not really my moral dilemma is it?
"It's not a..." He thinks carefully now, a misstep here could be hula.There's definitely some sort of morality involved in having sex with your neighbours, he muses. "...OK,yeah, it is, like a moral thing, but I think we can still.."
"Still what? What?!" She stops for a moment, stops loading clothes into her Kiko Romeo bag and turns to him. Faces him directly. "I'd love to hear how that sentence ends. Tell me."
"...work something out? Or.." He tries to hold her gaze but can't. If he wasn't wearing swim trunks he might have had a fighting chance, but standing there in a moist orange suit..it's just not Safaricom(the Better Option)lol
He looks away and out a window, catching a hint of the dinner next door.Their place. The neighbours'.
"You think we should work it out,eh? That's what u think?"
"I think tunaeza try."
"Try what, talking? Just like talking, you and me?
"Eeeh.Io inaweza kuwa.."
"Na therapy?" she challenges back."Or how about sharing, the two of us and the two of them? The four of us could swing on various nights, try new stingoz. How's that sound?" She studies him kidogo but can't meet his eyes. "Noma sana...ama? I mean, if you're not too possessive, that is. Then once tumegawana watoi we'll all be one big, happy family!!"
"If we can't talk about this like adults, then afadhali.."
"Adults? Oh,you wanna talk like AD-ULTS, that's what u want?"
"It's why I came back here, yes."
"No. U came back coz this is your house, OK, this is your home. Where you LIVE!!" She throws a handful of perfumes in ontop of her blouses, the bottles clinking dully together in the sea of fabric. The sound isn't very impressive, not as resounding as she'd hoped for, but she'd needed to pack them anyway.
"What'd you think, you could just live in the pool house there, set up a little place for yourselves or something?" "No. Of course not."
"Then what?"
"Look, enyewe seriously, I don't know what you think you saw . . ."
"Nkt!Oh, please, come on . . ."
"No, seriously, what? We weren't ..." "Your trunks were down, all right?" "They weren't . . ." He doesn't finish this because she moves toward him now. Quickly across the room to challenge what he'll say next.
"Sawa, whatever. You know what you know."
"Nooo...not whatever. I saw you...azin so clearly, your trunks around your knees and your bony black ass pointed right at me. Your back was toward the door and your thingy was . . . do you really wanna hear more?"
". . . no."
"I saw it out. I did."
"Not out, no, it was just caught in my . . ." He tries to mime an explanation but a wagging finger from her stops him cold.
"When you turned, surprised by the door and turning quickly, I know I saw your . . . thing . . . dangling. It got tangled in your mesh, there in the white mesh when you tried to hide it away. I know what I'm saying . . ." "But . . .we knew each other in Campo . . .!"
"What does that mean?! You keep saying that but it doesn't seem to mean anything. Lots of people know each other around, but that doesn't mean they're all doing it. Does it?" "No, but, see . . .we went to the same Uni and we got talking one time, we had a lot to drink and we just . . . it wasn't like this big thing."
"Ulinshow hivyo?"
"No."
"They've been moved in there, next door, in their time-share for three weeks. A month maybe. Since . . .nini...Labour day.."
"I was going to say something . . ." "But you decided to keep it all to yourself, huh?"
"No! God, you're so . . .we were both nervous about it. I mean, embarrassed."
"Obviously . . ."
"We were! When they introduced themselves that first day, out there by the pavement, I could hardly look up.."
"Or just now . . ."
"That's what I'm saying . . ."
". . . of course, you were a little busy."
"Stop! Jesus, let me at least tell my side of it."
"Please . . . go ahead."
"So, you know . . .if you don't take that moment, I mean, that first moment there and tell the truth, basi you're stuck. You are."
"Like your thing in the mesh . . ."
"Eeeh...A little, yes . . ." He wants to smile, since that was pretty funny, especially for her, but he can't risk it. Not right now. It might not have been a joke. Instead, he offers, "Kind of like that. Uh- huh."
"And since you didn't tell me that day, you just figured this tiny detail was no big thing. I mean, not a real problem for us . . .is that kind of what you're saying?"
"Sort of . . ."
"Huh."
"What's that mean?"
"Just 'huh,' no other real meaning to it . . ." Her head cocks a touch now, slightly to one side as she studies him. Glancing at his eyes but then down, to settle at crotch level. Holding this look for quite some time. He shifts from one bare foot to the other.
"What're you doing?"
"Nothing."
"No, seriously, what?"
"Just imagining . . ."
"Imagining?" He waits for her next volley, stepping off the wet spot he's created and involuntarily moving away from her. She takes her time. "Imagining what it'd be like for your son to walk into that shed. Looking for, oh, I dunno, some diving goggles or an inner tube or who knows what, and see that. What I saw . . ."
"What? We knew each other in Chiromo . . ."
"Stop saying that! " She glares at him, obviously conjuring up a picture. "How would it be for him to see your . . .cock —there, do you like that better? You're always wanting me to talk dirty, does that sound better?—to see his daddy's cock out and . . ."
"We were just talking . . ."
"Please don't do that! Usi-assume I've been nearsighted all these years on top of being a dwanzi. . ."
". . . it was this boys versus girls touch...err..touch rugby..game we were in, that's where we first . . ."
"Would you like it, if he saw that?" "No."
"You wouldn't?"
"Of course not. . ."
"Well, that's something . . ."
"But I wouldn't . . . and I'm not trying to start anything here . . .no offense, but I wouldn't want him to see it in anyone's mouth. I mean, ata yako" He almost grimaces after that one, not sure he didn't just step into some abyss.
"Then perhaps you should stop sticking it in people's mouths . . . shouldn't you?"
". . . yeah. I mean, yes, you're right." That's the least he can say. She does have a point there, albeit a fairly simple mathematical one.
"So, it was in, then?" She waits.
". . . what?"
"You had your thing out and in . . ." "Yes." Better to cut his losses now, mercy of the court and all that. "I did, yes, for just, like, a second. A moment is all. Honestly."
"Oh."
"Aki . . ."
"Because I couldn't really see . . .my eyes hadn't adjusted. I was pretty sure that's what was happening there, with the two of you, but I wasn't completely. Certain, I mean. Because of the dark. But, hey, now I know . . ." She smiles weakly, finally matching one of his more pathetic grins at the same instant. "I only went in there looking for their tiki torches. They told me we could use them for the barbecue on Saturday. That's why I . . .anyway . . ."
"Listen, we were just . . ."
"Right."
"You know?"
"Yeah, UoN, I know . . ."
"Exactly."
"The big game and all."
"Yep . . ." He fixates on a framed picture for a moment, drifting. A Dinesh print of someone sitting in a room somewhere. Alone. Lucky bastard, he thinks to himself.
"I see."
". . . I mean, you're in the 254, right? And you run into a bunch of folks from home, you know, men and women out there on the grass having fun, and you just sort of get caught up in the thing . . .few beers . . .I can't really explain it better than that . . ." He tries to, though, for a minute at least, his mouth searching for a more perfect phrase. It doesn't come. "OK."
"Does that make any sense?"
"No, none." She shrugs, unwilling to say more.
"Oh . . ."
"But I understand. I understand that it makes sense to you . . . somehow." "It does. I know it sounds wobbly, but . . .'
"And since it does, make sense, I mean, you'll need to explain it to them . . ."
"Who?"
"The children."
". . . what do you mean?"
"You're going to need to sit them down —they're back from swimming in forty minutes—and you'll need to walk them through this as best you can."
"No, I can't . . .what?"
"Naishia, in short. You'll need to come up with something for that. Tell them the rest if you want to, but you have to explain where I've gone."
"Sa..unaenda wapi . . .?"
"Coasto, I suppose. Meanwhile, anyway. I need to call my sister, and the lawyers, no doubt." She seems to tower over him at this moment, although she is only five feet three and not wearing heels, not even the ones he'd bought her at that Ivory store on the way in.
"I need to handle a few things.
"I can't tell them that! Manzee, they're only . . ."
"What, children?"
"Eeeh."
"Children bounce back. They do, that's their lot in life."
"Wait . . ."
"You explain things and on Saturday we'll get them on a bus,wanifuate, and they'll be out of your hair." She smiles some inner smile at this. "Then you can go back over the fence . . ."
"Siezi."
"Then don't."
"I want to . . .I mean, I'd like to, I'd really like to see if we could . . ." "What?" She waits for him to finish but he only repeats the previous phrases over and over. Trying to jumpstart a solution but never getting past the opening. Finally, she picks up her bag, tests the weight of it, then moves toward the door. He doesn't stop her.
"Do you want me to carry that down or . . .?"
"No, no, it's fine. You've done enough, believe me . . ."
"I love you guys. I do." He didn't want to have to pull that one out, not at this late date but he goes for it. Pitches the love thing out there like a final horseshoe.
"Well, that's something you can hang on to, isn't it? You can tell the kids that, if it helps . . .tell them I love them, too."
"We were just talking . . .we spent time on the same campus, for Chrissakes!"
"Yeah, I caught that part . . ."
"We did . . ."
"Najua."
"And we had some . . ."
"When did you become so pathetic?" This isn't meant to be rhetorical.
". . . I'm not sure."
"Huh." She stands at the door now, flicking the light switch off more from habit than anything. He pulls his arms in and around his exposed upper body now, stands in the semidark staring at his departing wife. She starts down a step then turns back, rotates even, and comes into the room again.
"One more thing.Swali ya last . . ."
"Yes?"
"Just one."
"OK."
"What position did he play?"
"Huh?"
"Our neighbor . . .the guy who was sucking your dick." This is new for her, this strong language thing, and she seems to be enjoying it. "When you met him, what position was he playing?"
"Oh . . . Hooker. He was their Hooker."
". . . I see." A pause, then a slight smile from her in the gloom.
"You do?"
"Nimeget . . ."
"Umeget nini?"
"The significance of it all."
"What do you mean?"
"Come on, he's the Hooker . . .you don't know anyone, you're lonely, it's not ur campo, this guy's kneeling at your feet, you've got your nice, firm hanger there. . .I get it. It's symbolic . . ."
"No, come on . . ." He hesitates now, unsure about her. Is she being ironic? "We were just . . ."
"What? You what?eh?"
"It . . .it was an experiment, that's all. Just . . . guy stuff. Kind of, like, you know . . ."
"No, you're right. It happens. It does. In 'Chiromo,' anyway . . .as u'd say ama?"
"We were only . . .see, I met him before we, I mean, you and me . . ." ". . . I hope you're very happy." Before he can say anything else she is gone, the door clicking shut downstairs a moment later. Normally, he would follow her, do the dramatic run down the stage, but he's got the swimsuit on and it would just look ridiculous now. He's sure of that. No, better to talk tomorrow, let things cool down a bit. Take care of the kids, maybe get a large pizza from Pizza Inn and watch a movie. Face the rest of it in the morning. Yes. That's it. "It's OK, it is, iko Sawaa, this is gonna be . . .anaku Shapre. Things'll be fine. It's . . . OK, this is all S-A-U-W-A-A . . ." He says this aloud but more to himself than anything, a kind of masculine mantra as he strips off his damp trunks. He shivers slightly, then begins to wander around the room naked, hunting down a pair of discarded Levi's in the oncoming twilight.
Sunday, 22 May 2011
Know me
If you want to know me, you have to
read my words. you have to let yourself slip into the sometimes boiling water of my ideas and
let them blister and scar your skin. you
have to touch the angry wounds and
understand the serrated edges that
placed them there. you see, i am more than syllables and more than vowels, but
to understand the cracking of my spine,
you have to decipher the noise that it
makes on the way down. Using jus words I will bleed this complexity onto a page and dare you to fall in love with me.
i will sit in a pool of blood, bleeding ink
and i will curl my finger and invite you
into the chaos, down the rabbit hole. i
will stand in the middle of the madness, this wonderful terror that i have
released from the locked cage of my
chest and i will glory in it. i will lean my
head back and breathe in the wind and
the rain and the dirt that swirls around
my legs and up my thrashing torso. i will paint and draw and write and invite you
deeper into this wild, maniac world that i
have created with misplaced and clumsy
words. i will call myself handsome in the
ugliest way and show you my scars and
show you my flaws and dare you to fall in and burn yourself on my flames. i will
dare you to take my heat and swallow
my poison and live in my madness. and most of all, i will dare you to read
my words.
read my words and try to know me.
read my words. you have to let yourself slip into the sometimes boiling water of my ideas and
let them blister and scar your skin. you
have to touch the angry wounds and
understand the serrated edges that
placed them there. you see, i am more than syllables and more than vowels, but
to understand the cracking of my spine,
you have to decipher the noise that it
makes on the way down. Using jus words I will bleed this complexity onto a page and dare you to fall in love with me.
i will sit in a pool of blood, bleeding ink
and i will curl my finger and invite you
into the chaos, down the rabbit hole. i
will stand in the middle of the madness, this wonderful terror that i have
released from the locked cage of my
chest and i will glory in it. i will lean my
head back and breathe in the wind and
the rain and the dirt that swirls around
my legs and up my thrashing torso. i will paint and draw and write and invite you
deeper into this wild, maniac world that i
have created with misplaced and clumsy
words. i will call myself handsome in the
ugliest way and show you my scars and
show you my flaws and dare you to fall in and burn yourself on my flames. i will
dare you to take my heat and swallow
my poison and live in my madness. and most of all, i will dare you to read
my words.
read my words and try to know me.
Frozen emotion.
i never feel colder
than when i'm talking to you. i don't know what this says about us.
but i know that i worry about the way
you complicate something as simple as
the beating of my heart. i don't think
i love you. not yet. not since. not
ever but maybe that's just the strong sense of denial i've built up in the
past few months. i don't think i'll be
okay. not now. not really. not quite. maybe you were good for me once
but you're no good for me now. i often wonder what would happen if i
stopped speaking for awhile since all
my words ever do is make a mess out of
things that should be easy. the thing is
that when i'm happy i let myself write
a better story than what i have. i get carried away and i make believe myself
to be a more lovable character than i'll
ever be. but this isn't fiction and the
fact is sometimes all we get is one
perfect moment. my moment was you. but when it's over babe, it's over.
there are no chances left. not anymore. i don't really think i'm hopeless even
though most days, that's all i feel. i
can't get over this idea that has been
growing in my head. out of control and
straight from my heart that all of this
would be different if you met me before everything happened. but i know it's
not
true because that's not the guy i am
suppose to be. not the guy i can be.
but i second guess and imagine and
dream such stupid things that i'm not over it
yet. i'm not over this. i'm not. but i will be. someday. i can be better
than all of this. somehow. i promise.
than when i'm talking to you. i don't know what this says about us.
but i know that i worry about the way
you complicate something as simple as
the beating of my heart. i don't think
i love you. not yet. not since. not
ever but maybe that's just the strong sense of denial i've built up in the
past few months. i don't think i'll be
okay. not now. not really. not quite. maybe you were good for me once
but you're no good for me now. i often wonder what would happen if i
stopped speaking for awhile since all
my words ever do is make a mess out of
things that should be easy. the thing is
that when i'm happy i let myself write
a better story than what i have. i get carried away and i make believe myself
to be a more lovable character than i'll
ever be. but this isn't fiction and the
fact is sometimes all we get is one
perfect moment. my moment was you. but when it's over babe, it's over.
there are no chances left. not anymore. i don't really think i'm hopeless even
though most days, that's all i feel. i
can't get over this idea that has been
growing in my head. out of control and
straight from my heart that all of this
would be different if you met me before everything happened. but i know it's
not
true because that's not the guy i am
suppose to be. not the guy i can be.
but i second guess and imagine and
dream such stupid things that i'm not over it
yet. i'm not over this. i'm not. but i will be. someday. i can be better
than all of this. somehow. i promise.
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