Lifes' files

“…….may lead to forfeiture of damages.” I enter the space key. I see my phone ringing. No haste, no haze to pick it up. I look around, still, as though some burden is piling lots of weight on me.   My thoughts wander afar and wide. I peer into the dark, unperturbed, and relentlessly quashing a languor of love thoughts. A dozen thoughts flash past my arcane mind. I start to think what possibly could be an impetus behind the ardous call? An emergency? Oh, no. The hour is ungodly and the cold could nip at your nose – stepping out is not a good call. Danger often lurks in the dark. But Tess, a damsel I have known for the past few weeks can’t call just for the sake of it.   I am yet to unravel this impetiginous motivation. I am yet to finish hyping my keyboard. I need i t for my sustenance. Before, I key in a few more words, my phone lights again.   I slide it open as imperceptibly as possible. And with such emphatic fashion. My adrenalin is on the loose,...

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...