Sail

The artiste's name is Aim and the song is an engendered version of Sail

It reminds me of something..

It's just some of the things she said
keep going 'round inside my head
"I'm gonna save my soul
before things get impossible"
I should've seen the signs
and they were right before my eyes
She could've saved my soul

A fog rolled across the bay
I think I saw her sail away
now like those before
I'm just another body washed up on the shore
a curse on my bones,
I made a pact among the stones
She could've saved my soul

She could've saved my soul...

Maladjusted

This is the last line from the movie The Adjustment Bureau as narrated by Harry Mitchell (Anthony Mackie). It was a pretty deep line that I thought I should share.

I guess the Chairman in the movie was a reference to the powers that be.

Rock and Roll train

This one reminds me of song that a late friend of mine did once. He was always rolling in a train in his head. A high of sorts that kept him strumming along.

Good for Something

I want to want to be a charmer

I want to want to be a better Christian

I want to want to settle for less than greatness

I want to want to be filthy rich or die trying

I want to want to keep doing what I love regardless of the returns

But even with all that could be and all that isn’t

The fact is I am who I am and want what I want

It, too, is good for something

What we want

Is there ever really a flat line;  a point where everything in your life is so smooth that you need a "Beware slippery floor" sign above it just to walk on? There really never is. At least not in my life. There are kinks and bumps you have to get over. I have managed to convince myself that they are the real motivation for going through each day. But don’t we ever get tired?  Don’t we get tired of chasing dreams that can’t give us a break once in a while. The truth is we all want something. Nobody needs anything. The desire for something is what makes us want to continue living. Otherwise the illusion of an inflated want is sometimes called a need. It’s all just a game of want and desire. The only reason we continue playing is because we have seen others win and tell us we can win too and we get the hopeful feeling that we actually might.

So sometimes, fortunes does heed our call when we least expect it and throws in opportunities we didn’t see coming. Then we are left wondering what to do. In the moments we do take them and ride with them, its starts to feel pretty comfortable and we take them for granted. Responsibilities emerge.  Choices descend. It’s not all a bed of roses anymore. You can either change the world with your new opportunity or let it change you.

The price of progress is perseverance. I don’t want to sound all Jesse Jackson here but it true. The road definitely gets rocky but the journey cannot be thrown off the cliff. 

Gallery in Amsterdam

The jukebox played a love song
But she twisted herself to a lap dance
I gazed into her eyes

Like a vortex inside paradise

She looked away
And arose with contact lenses
A costume for her meekness
Like the coldness in her eyes

Methodologically
She carried on with business
“I’ll give you your money’s worth”
A bargain if I’d ever heard one
To protect her unmasked soul
For it had met its stripper
And he was pouring gold
Down-payment for the keeper?

“Your time is up”
“So soon?”
“You paid for thirty minutes.”
“But I want a lifetime with you”

A shock to the ear
A crease to the cheek
A tear in her eye
She scuttled away

Overexposed and undermined
What her’s is her’s
Can never be mine

24

Maybe one day I'll fall in love with the workaholic lifestyle. The cycle of having no life. Its something thats easy to accept and at the same time quite uncomforting. To look into the crystal ball of fulfillment searching for a golden nugget amd instead find a hazy mist of mundaneness called Mondays.

It begs an endless discourse on self discovery and life's meaning both of which have become quite too tedious for me to engage in. Again I am haunted by my editors words 'then you get to 25 and become depressed. Its not so far away, just less than a year." and here I was thinking I was already making a headstart in quarter life crisis at 24.

The good bit is that I can still create an art form of it with this here me blog.

So I feel I must embark on writing the story so that I can look back at it and enjoy the purity in its events.

Sailing for the cookie

One more cookie and I’ll be very very full. You won’t like me when I’m full. I know the toilet doesn’t. This bag of cookies was supposed to make it through the last episode of Game of Thrones. Going by the pressure that layeth upon my stomach lining, I think it will even survive the entire first season of Hollow Crown. 

Yes, I have recently started to nurture a great affinity for ancient epic series (Damnit, I hate words which don’t seem to have a plural form). Trust me the battle scenes are to die for (literally for the actors) but the romance is orgasmic (literally period) Hmmm but what if they shot an African epic. Luanda Magere, the great or Tale of the Miji Kenda. I should probably get into it myself. 

It probably hasn’t come by your knowledge that I am currently writing a TV series. It’s a series about kids. Not the kind I would naturally feel the urge to do but I am doing nonetheless. Let’s just say that I’m trying to lie to myself that I can challenge myself. How is it working so far? Like butter. I got the story for the first episode finished. A couple of scenes have been drafted and that leaves me without about ten more to go.

Why am I doing this? A. Because there’s a big fat cookie at the production studio offices if ever it should be considered revolutionary. B. Because I’ve had it with local productions. They are all shit. There’s no better way to put it. Someone needs to inject the oomph into this industry. 

So back to the sail, shall we?

Cabled in

Escape routes have now multiplied by a hundred fold. I was locked inside the time space continuum of obscene boredom. The ruthless controllers of our energy capsules had awoken me to a drab and dreadful monday morning without power again. Maybe the Wachouwskis were right when they conceptualized the Matrix theory. That we are in a virtual framework in which we only get to see what the machines allow us to see.
Is it but a coincidence that I always sulk into an amorphous state of mild depression each time the lights go out. The matrix might not be a conceivable physical reality but it has most certainly traversed the frontiers of the mind.
We are constantly fed on an electric staple that leaves us dependent on gizmos and technologies that dominate our attention. We have become too good at screen gazing and microwaving. I am somewhat convinced that a virtual plug connects our very eye sockets to our phone screens. And for this reason alone, I wish I could embark on a camp expedition with no electric appliance in hand and expose the nakedness of my social rustiness.

Or maybe I have been watching too much Revolution.

Rule #223 Communication

When I call you, I am the one who will hang up.
When you call me, you should say bye before you hang up
If you call me at anytime between 11pm  and 9 a.m I wont pick up
Ill be sleeping
Ill only pick up if you are calling me in my dreams
But if you call me at anytime between 11pm  and 9 a.m you had better be a girl
Then I might pick up

Unless you're an ex
If you are an ugly ex, then you should text
It rhymes with ex
But it also rhymes with sex
But that's not the point

When you call me and I tell you I'll call you back then hang up
I'm probably in a noisy place
If I don't call you back
Then I wasn't in a noisy place
You are probably a noisy person
If you are naturally a noisy person I probably won't pick up
You should text
It helps reduce the volume

If I call you a lot then you are probably either female or rich or my bandmate or my boss
If I dont call you at all its because you used up all my airtime the last time I called
And then you didn't call back
Be a responsible calling-back-kind-of-person

When it comes to texts I prefer short texts
That's why they call them short message services

Script #9 The Job Interview

Ryan walks into the office escorted by Ms. Jane Njeri

He proceeds to head to the only empty chair in the room after staring at it briefly.

Mr Nganga: How are you Ryan?

Ryan: Fine. Very fine sir.

Mr Nganga: My name is Mr Nganga and I will be taking you through this interview. So firstly tell me about yourself.

Ryan: Well I don’t where to start. I’m a 22 year old graduate from Strathmore University

Mr Nganga: We know that its in your CV

Ryan: Right…

Mr Gichuru: Tell us why we should pick you. What’s so different about you.

Ryan is caught off guard  by the suddenness of the question and smiles nervously.

Ryan: Well I am passionate about graphics… about Art in general. I used to do it when I was a child. But more importantly, I have a distinct style.

Mr. Gichuru: Do you have examples of your kind of style you might want to show us?

Ryan: I sent them to you along with my C.V.

Mr. Gichuru: Well, I don’t seeme to have them here. Do you have them Mr. Nganga?

Mr Nganga shakes his head to confirm he too does  not have them.

Ryan: But they were in the envelope I sent with my C.V

Mr Gichuru (smiling): Ok we will follow it up. Do you have something artistic you can do right now to show us this brilliant artistic nature of yours? … anything at all?

Ryan then pauses with sweat already trickling onto his forehead. He then slowly reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a paper and a pen. He starts to draw Mr. Nganga’s face. Just as he makes it halfway through the portrait, Mr Gichuru interrupts him

Mr Gichuru: Let me have a look at that.

Ryan pushes over the piece of paper to Mr. Gichuru.

Mr Gichuru: What do you think Nganga?

Mr Nganga pauses for a while and assesses the picture before responding…

Mr Nganga: I think we have ourselves an artist

Mr Gichuru: And I think you have yourself a job.

The Ninja

Like a real ninja warrior I persevere onwards

My sword is drawn

And my pants are torn

It doesn’t matter which road I’m on

As long as I make it there

Before the crack of dawn

The crack of Dawn

Tufts its clouds over me

And wrinkles my countenance

Like a canopy

It breaks the sun rays

And bellows

“Shine, my son!”

“Shine, before the sun outshines you, my son!”

So I defy gravity

By boarding a plane

I walk through walls

On the saddle of a crane

‘Any means possible’ will do

Divine and mortal too

And at last I beg the heavens

Don’t drench my armor in rain

Let my thirst for glory be quenched

As I sojourn new terrains

When they come to say my name

Let it be in merry refrain