Lifes' files

A nippy evening at the Tribeka . It cuts a place forlorn for me [because my first laptop was stolen here] a few years away. I am constantly sipping the intoxication of the old because I am letting off steam. Drinks and more drinks. I wanna drink the night away. Probably wish my sorrows away. I’d drown my sorrows tonight ‘cause YOLO. But I am dead from the inside. A majestic frame from the outside but a small flicker of hope survives in my arteries. Hopeless much . I am a bowl of unrealized dreams like those of a flower plumed and withered all within a turn of a clock. Alone, desolate and a couple hundred thoughts flashing past my mind I sit. Razing thoughts wrestle one another on my mind.   It’s been like thirty minutes into the hour and emptiness is threatening to weigh me down. A night of fun after a lazy Sunday siesta is the precursor of it all. All of it.   The sequel – a girl gowned in riveting delight. In a couple of days, she will be turning two.   And I...

On a quintessential Wednesday in April of 1968, Dr. King delivered one of the most pompous speeches to have ever been written in the history of oration. As marquee as it may seem, it was not just any rhetoric. It was about the advent of time.        Even Cher sang:- If I could turn back time If I could find a way I'd take back those words that hurt you And you'd stay I don't know why I did the things I did In Dr. King's exhortation, I have found inspiration to pen another one. Another one of my boy musings. So I was conversing with my guy (let's call him Joe) the other day. Although the junk of such a conversation was about football, he told me something that I figured could headline a tabloid like  Life's Files. So he opens up... If I could turn back time, I'd go to the year 2005. Miniature feelings from childhood have overwhelmed my mind, my heart and my torso.  I am barely fourteen years of age and ther...

Welcome to the land of the bananas. Banana trees are the signage that welcomes you to the heart of South Nyanza. A few months away, I landed in Kisii town - a crowded town to the South of Nyanza. It was deep into the night, an eerie night, when I arrived. On a cold still night, Kisii can seem a forlorn place.  And there I was, with a bag in tow, ready to take the town by storm. I had traveled a couple hundred kilometers from Nairobi to get started once again. Bored with the chagrin of a dirty metropolis and its inept officers, I had no love lost for a city I had lived for the better part of the decade. So I set sail, and waded to Kisii where I was keen to eke a fortune for myself and for the glory of the Lord. Growing up in the rift, there were lots of inoculating stories I heard about Kisii. Mostly, they were terrifying tales that scared my childhood away. And so, as I set foot in Kisii town, in spite of the morbid fear I harbored about the place growing up, I ...

“…….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...