Lifes' files

What the heck? It's been so long. I ran out of ideas. Probably. I lost passion. Maybe. But I am back, and with a thud. I am here to ascertain that indeed I am at the heart of a burgeoning enterprise of words. Like those words that flow from the mouth of an orator so loved by his subjects. Well, that silence was so loud to the extent that they became a sore to the ears. It is commonly good that I apologise to my loyal audience for slumping into a tactical silence. On the yester, something unfolded in emphatic fashion. Something that'd possibly warrant this fanfare. ********* In the wake of the morning, my phone went on with an inexplicable chime. Excitedly, I pulled out of bed and stretching beyond a diadem of clothes arraigned on the table, I reached for it. I was anxious, like a cockerel on a hazy Christmas Eve. Outside, an orchestra of birds animated the neighbourhood. I peered through the lettering of the message I  had received as my hearth thumped. “...

0024hrs.The tranquility of the night has finally beamed in. The noise in the vicinity is immaterial. Probably, it is the sizzling of music in my hacienda (do not confuse with those in telenovas) that can bring some form of disquiet. The succinct thing about it is the purpose it serves and its picturesque. In such a setting, I can afford to pen a host of my petulant jargon.   I am glaring right into my PC; eyes so full of sleep and a heart that is guilty of discern.   Do not judge me for an insomniac. Quite frankly, I take a few hours to lie my head in bed. Yet even in the fleeting slumber that ensues, my thoughts often wander into the oblivion. I take solace in the proposition that I have been a busy goose over the last few days and that the effects may have spilled over. But only a proposition.  Today, I have the guts to commend City Girl especially with regards to a recent article she wrote a couple of days ago. The article Can the real Njoki Chege sta...

Whoah! We're going to Ibiza Whoah! Back to the island Whoah! We're gonna have a party   The night that was. I couldn’t get enough of it. Vengaboys were killing the Saturday’s yoke for me with their We’re Going To Ibiza tune in my playlist. The sweltering heat was nuanced by the rigor of the ever growing crowd. A fine Saturday evening at a club, albeit reluctantly, I blazoned my eyes across the Nairobi Streets as the mellow sun dinked into the horizon. I need not to stay for long. I had harbored this constant reminder for a while now. Slowly, the patrons and the revelers ticked and flocked in. The upholstery which looked like it would host a cocktail party was jammed to the brim. At the balcony, the smoke of cigars wafted intermittently. The puffs would constantly choke my breath but nevertheless, nobody cared- not a sur. Cars honked. Phosphorescent lights shone from all directions. Nairobians, hurried their trails to their various mitaas. It was your ordin...