Midnight's Children

Who am I? Who were we? We were are shall be the gods you never had.
                                                                                                     ------ Saleem Sinai

Waiting for the milkman

Dearest Martha,

I have decided to leave this city and go meander and trundle in the countryside. This time, there is much less of a sense of escape and more of a feeling of adventure, of possibility. There is a calm belief that there are places out there as yet untouched by man's inexplicable dissatisfaction with himself often manifested in meandering mercantile mishaps. Everything's for sale. Nothing is sacred anymore. I guess nothing's ever sacred but for that one fleeting moment in childhood when you grasp the entirety of the universe and you feel at one with it, when you know without a sliver of doubt that it's all for you.

Do you remember waiting for the milkman in the evenings by the roadside? The counting of cars. The hellos, goodbyes and welcome backs. That little corner of the world. Who would have guessed where that road would lead us? It took one leaving and that world was behind us and all the times we travelled back, it seemed we had travelled further and further away and were only strangers in the houses that once we called home. It was odd feeling that way, and all the childish questions we had never found an ear willing to comprehend. Yet I believe the hills love us still and whisper our names, for we were born there and the river knows the feel of our feet but I cannot help feel that I have walked so far on that road that I might never return for now I long to be in the sky.

Will you come with me Martha? I don't know where this road will take us but I want to walk it with you if you will come. I can only promise that there will always be ground under our feet and if it should shake and rumble, I will always hold your hand.  But if you do not come, I will go with the memories of old days and whenever I get the chance, I will sit by the roadside and wait.

The Life That I Have

The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours.

The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours.

A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause.

For the peace of my years
In the long green grass
Will be yours and yours and yours.

------ Leo Marks------

boko-maru

We will touch our feet, yes,

Yes, for all we’re worth,

And we will love each other, yes,

Yes, like we love our Mother Earth.


----------- The Books of Bokonon

No fear, kid.

Everything you need is before you.
Even love?
Yes. If you should want it.
And what of this pride?
It is only the beginning of love.
I am still afraid.
You would be a fool not to be.

A Happy Happy Birthday

Today I turned 32. It feels normal, quite normal. I wonder if this is how the rest of them will be. There's a bit of 'if only' but no more than my fair share I think. I carry the sphere no longer, I am Atlas no more.

I made a few resolutions at the beginning of the year most important of which was to 'laugh' honest and true laughter, with some happy tears if I'm lucky. To love someone too, if I can find you. To write everyday, rebuild old friendships, heal my body, say yes,  and buy myself a present. Not to feel guilty about failing to reach your expectations of me, as a man, a brother, a friend and sometime lover. To say no to the 'bad conscience', to pity and nausea; to walk out of the land of 'Nihil' with a bigger soul.

To acquire thirteen new skills, do something scary, get a long overdue full body massage, pay all my debts and acquire complete autonomy, if that is possible.

I want more than that to be happy, if I can define it for myself for I find it is an ever moving mark, this happiness, and the moments when I feel I have hit it, I  have found myself afraid of lingering too long, lest boredom overtake me and I yearn for more, so I push myself to want more, things that have gone before, of old lore or something that is nevermore.

I am happy to be here. To be friend, brother, lover and just another.

Happy birthday Dincy, much love sweetie.

Naked Days

In my next life.

 Yesterday I stayed home and wandered around the house naked. I ate most of the food in the fridge, drank about a litre of bushera and watched The Tudors and In Treatment. I read a bit too, touched myself, fiddled with a broken camera, briefly perused the internets, took a dump and whiled the away the hours in idle contemplation of life, the universe and other things.

I like to take a day off once in  a while and spend it doing whatever I want and not hustling with any client demands, debtors, creditors, deadlines, blah blah blah. I remind myself that 'it's never that serious' that the world will go on whether I'm there or not and so I can spend some time being myself.

Naked days are tricky if you have a housemate but fortunately mine had run off to the village to check on his plantations and so I had the whole house to myself. As an added bonus, the cleaning lady had been by the day before, so the house was sparkling and I had no issue putting my balls and behind on the cool tiles, aaaaaah.

 There's a certain liberty to strolling around sans loin cloth, the proverbial going commando, it feels  a bit like floating, if you could become a feather or a dandelion and were carried and gently caressed by the wind. I'm afraid I cannot find a simile elaborate enough to explain the feeling, but I'm sure you know what I'm talking about, if not, I recommend it. Naked days are that and much more.

I wanted to say something about naked days, about how shamelessly looking at your naked self is good for your head, about not being afraid of it, about how much power it can give you but I find myself weighed down by all these cloths, my hands can hardly reach these keys. I can't wait for the next one to come round.

Try it out.

Petty Pleasures

The happiness of ‘slight superiority,’ involved in all doing good, being useful, helping, and rewarding, is the most effective means of consolation for the physiologically inhibited, and
widely employed by them when they are well advised: otherwise they hurt one another, obedient, of course, to the same basic instinct.

----------------------------------------------------------- Friedrich Nietzsche

Yesterdays and tomorrows

I want to write. I feel like I have so much stuff to say but it's still swirling in my head, muddied pools of thought obscuring the bottom and I am led to imagine that if I give it some time, let the mud settle, I'll be able to see the bottom clearly and then perhaps I can give you a glimpse into the depths of my spirit. That however is the procrastinator in me, a persona I have nurtured so well that in the kingdom where everything happens tomorrow, I shall be crowned king, tomorrow.

I have been trying to find myself for a long while now, the me that I lost, whose hand I let go of in the crowded marketplace and when I turned round could catch no glimpse of. I have been running around the marketplace shouting his name, frantically grabbing hold of sleeves and shoulders of strangers who looked like him, apologising and running on.

Over supper every evening, upon realising that one chair is empty, the others ask whither he has gotten and I reply with a shake of the head, looking at the food on my plate, now cold and tasteless. I cannot bring myself to look into their eyes, I am afraid of the shame I will find reflected there.

Everyday I go to the marketplace, sit next to the fruit vendor and stare at the throngs of people before me swarming back and forth, ants, little ants, little happy ants in a mill, and I hope to see him somewhere in the crowd smiling and waving for me to come see what he's found. Everyday the sun sets and I go home to an empty seat, cold meal and shame. The others bid me take my sustenance, for tomorrow, they say, is a new day and there will be fresh fruit in the market.

Today I met you in the marketplace. I was not looking for you and would have missed you but for the fruit vendor and the basket of lemons that rolled to your feet. Today the table was full and supper was warm and filling. Today I looked into your eyes, smiling eyes and I was not afraid, was not ashamed. Today is tomorrow beginning.

Happy New Year

I've only just nicked a few moments of lucidity to wish you all a happy new year. In between a few lengthy and meandering walks with Johnny, hits off the pipe, sniffs of something that I'm sure was baking soda and the various weird happenings that follow a bender, I thought I would float by here and say hi, check up on you, keep the connection alive and solicit a deeper friendship with you this year.

"No sweetie, get off the ledge. You're not superwoman. I know, I know, I said so last night but if you jump then I'm going to have to spend January consulting with Chameleon's lawyer, claiming that you walked into my house and jumped off the balcony."

 Happy new year once again. How is it going so far? Good? Made any plans yet? Broken any resolutions? Still feeling good about going three days sober? Good for you, I'll check with you in a week.

"Okay sweetie. Give me a minute and I'll come play kennel with you but I'm the 'big dog' this time. Okay?"

Behold! The honourable minister for general duties.

This just in. The minister for 'general duties', prof Tarsis Kabwegyere claims that it's okay for you guys to steal money because, well, even the guys in the 'West' did it when they were still trying to develop. According to him, if there's nowhere to get the money, then we must steal it, because money has to be gotten one way or another.

I mean, what the hell are 'general duties'? I think they encompass idiocy, perhaps he's the 'king's fool'.

"Sweetie. Sweetie, no. No biting."

Okay, I'll catch up with you guys later, oh, and a happy new year to you all again. May it be kind to you and may you steal only hearts.

Eldorado

Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.

But he grew old-
This knight so bold-
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.

And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow-
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be-
This land of Eldorado?"

"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied-
"If you seek for Eldorado!"

---------------------
Edgar Allan Poe