Control

Why am I always in control? Why can I never just let go and give in to whatever I’m feeling? Anything; anger, joy, depression, whatever... Is it normal to question everything I do before I do it just to analyze it and see if it will have the effect I intend it to have? Anger? That seems to be the prime candidate; yes, I have been angry, angry enough to throw whatever I’m holding in my hands as hard as I can to the nearest wall, my phone has suffered that fate often enough, but just before I do I’m thinking is “it worth it?” and usually when I do it, it is cuz otherwise I have no idea how I will short circuit my anger. (hell, I can’t even get drunk properly, I drink my friends under the table just to get out of driving them home, but when I have to go park the car I’m driving very carefully cuz I’m thinking, “I’m supposed to be drunk, right?”)

Happiness? Yes, I can be happy, i’ve done stupid things in the name of elation, like jumping on top of the nearest table and announcing it for the world to hear, but before I express it I’m thinking, do I really want these chaps see me do that? I can’t dance for crying out loud, partly cuz I just won’t give in to the music, and I will not let myself dance like a white boy (no, that is not racism).

Right now I don’t even know whether I’m angry, frustrated or whatever, I do know I’m in the mood that calls for one to do stupid things, like take my car from 80kph down to 0kph in the space of less than 10 metres, but then I think, nah, can’t afford the tires, think of hurling my phone to the ground, against the wall, anything, but nah, not this time, when I want to break a glass or a cup or something I’m thinking, nah, you already have too few as it is, can’t break one of the good ones, now can we? Punch out my frustrations against the wall? I actually worked myself into doing that once, till I bled, this time, nah, don’t feel like having the pain tomorrow morning, cry, oh you have no idea how good that would feel, just let it all out and the hell with whatever anyone thinks... but no, not this time, I don’t want to, not this time, something inside me is begging to just let it all out, a few tears is all it will take and I will feel much better, but no, I fed that particular monster yesterday, today, it can starve, so what’s left to me? Write...

Write out all the anger, all the frustration, all that seems to be tying everything inside me in knots right now, yes, I am doing that, yes, I’m doing my best to pound the keyboard like it’s going into retirement tomorrow, but notice, my spelling’s still perfect, my punctuation marks are exactly where I want them to be, and I’m actively searching every sentence I write for somewhere I can use an expletive naturally so you can think, “he really has lost it, hasn’t he?”, I’m hitting the keyboard this hard just to tell myself that yes Brian, you are doing it right, but hell, I’m even having supper while I type!!

This is useless.

And I’m supposed to be typing out my bloody frustrations!! I wish I could just go out and scream, but I’ve tried that, it doesn’t work, it never does, nothing ever seems to work; nothing but the tears, but I. Will. Not. Let. My. Self. Cry. Not today.

Letter to a Stranger

You probably don’t remember me, but we were friends once. Yes, all the way from school.

I remember you in primary, you were the kind who liked to go kick a ball around the field and I, well, I was always more comfortable with my nose buried in a book. Different lives they seemed then, different friends, but when we had to make our way home, we were always together, braving the quiet streets of Jinja town together and always seeking out some kind of adventure... we buried an owl once together, remember? Gave it a funeral and everything, my Mum went crazy when I got home late and covered in dirt, but oh was it worth it!!

I remember when we sat across from each other and you forced me to study, forced me cuz you knew that I would never do so on my own, and then our futures were both so bright... I remember you used to talk to me about a girl... I teased you about her... a lot, you were crazy about her, crazy enough to start spouting bad poetry, oh yes it was technically horrible, but it had heart behind it, and guess who had to read it, who had to try and shape it, give it rhythm and rhyme without losing the heart, just complementing it so that instead of trying shambling along the ground like a marabou with a broken wing it would take flight and soar like a hawk... come to think of it, my efforts probably weren’t that good then either, but still, it was fun to try...

You always had more confidence than I did, dragged me out of my corner during the school dances cuz I too had to find someone of my own you said, someone who would light me up the way she lit you up... even when she hurt you she was still your precious princess...
What happened to that boy, do you know? Cuz yes, we were boys then, footloose and fancy free, the world before us for the taking, you and me, side by side, and of course her, by your side, always by your side...

The real world happened. People change... yes, I know people change, we grew, from the kids who used to poke fun at the girls to the teenagers who were fascinated by them, you finally got the girl, and I, well, you always had me.

All good things come to an end they say, people change. I knew you once, I’m not sure I do anymore... you got the girl, yes, but since when was she not enough for you? Since when did “my precious sweetheart” change to “that stupid bitch”? We change, yes, we grow, but how is it growth when a romantic letter a day changes to a barely coherent demand for food and sex when you stumble home at 3:00 am after “a night out with the boys”? The boys? What boys? Those lecherous con artistes who hang with you just because of the car you drive and the apparent size of your wallet? Apparent yes, see, I might not write out your poems anymore, but I still do your accounts, I know how heavily you borrow just to keep that car running, how much you count on the next big break, but when oh miracle of miracle it comes, yes, when they do pick you despite the alcohol on your breath, your eyes red from the latest drug to hit the streets, you come to me barging into my office to demand for your money cuz you have something important to spend it on... I know of them you know, they come to me sometimes when you’re through with them, lost, scared, you don’t even have the decency to seek out a bona fide sex worker, no, you must prey on other men’s daughters, some of them even younger than your own...

Do you even know you have children? Two beautiful girls and a boy who used to look up to you, right up till the moment you started beating his mother cuz the food she served you at 3:00 am was cold, his mother, your precious princess, that stupid bitch...

I love her you know, I could have made her happy... but you, you could have made her happier, and so... I stayed with you for their sake, for her and her children, yes, her children. They’re gone now, you’ll find out soon enough I guess; if you’re sober enough to recognise the green corsa you bought for her before you even owned a bicycle in the wreckage they just...


No...


Your precious princess, yes, that stupid bitch, she finally got the guts to leave you, to take her children and run where your corrupting influence would never reach.

And then this happens...

Eh!!

just realised its been over a year, over a freakin' bloody year!! eeh, doesn't matter i guess. if you have stumbled here by accident, well... hmm...

be back soon...

:)

404

Ok, so I just realised that everyone who's receiving that 404 error page is clicking on that link like they expect to find something witty at the end of the line... well, tough luck, you're stuck with this sad, sad blog that no one ever visits, and trust me, by no one I mean no one, not even the owners!!!

Well, of course that could change, now there is an idea, I could actually post stuff here every once in a while... and steal something Abid has written too, he seems to like leaving them on facebook for some reason (dang site).

Anyways, that's all I wanted to pass on.

Check out life144.blogspot.com when you get the inclination fo something more... I think Christian's the word. J

Question, one question

Tell me

Is it wrong to want to touch you?

You know I smile whenever I think of you

I guess it's crappy

Yah it is crappy

But I am still smiling, ear to ear

Remember that goey song

That one that you said is our song

With a stupid catchy pop tune

That you failed to even hum along to

It's playing right now,

It's actually playing right now

Quaint

Can someone feel quaint?

That's how you make me feel

The look you look at me with

I can't stop this babbling

It all started with a simple question

A single simple question

Like those trick ones you shoot out

Ambushing me when my autopilot is off

You have always been crazy

Bonkers, off the chain

Okay that's a bit harsh but its true

You made me seem normal, sane

Yes, it's true

Yes its so true

So very true

Damn it! I have to go

And that question is still hanging

I wonder if I will ever get an answer!

This was actually written by Abid, very silent friend over there, but since he doesn't seem to want to pitch in just yet...

And i noticed a couple of Visitors from TVFL (my only visitors actually, i think) "WELCOME!!" Hope its not a total drag... :-)

The City

The city, I heard, was a grand place, that is why I came here, to see if all I heard was true, to see the wonders I had heard of; the small suns in people’s homes, the small coiled black snakes that cooked without wood or fire…

But nobody had told me of this, of these tall huts that kept rising and rising, of these wide black paths that led you nowhere but took you in circles. Nobody told me of the suffering I would see here.

I remember my first day here. I was down on one of those black paths-roads they call them-wandering and admiring. I got lost hopelessly lost. Every other street looked the same, the same old rows of doors, windows, same merciless orderliness.

I remember the panic that rose in me as the day turned into night, as the natural light was replaced by the artificial light. I didn’t know the language, the white man’s tongue that every one seems to use here. If I tried to speak my own, I was shunned, treated like a leper.

I still do not know how I got back to this place I am forced to call home, maybe God had his Angels watching over me. All I know is that though I live here, in the deepest part of my heart, my soul, I still yearn for the open Savannah.

2002

Someone’s written a message on the board, a welcoming message to us-the outsiders who are now forced to be one with them, suppose it ought to make me feel better, it does not by a long shot. I think that may be I’m the only one who feels this way, but when I look around, I see no happiness. The smiles I see are bitter, some brave, most resigned. But even those are few. Most of the people look glum, some have resigned themselves to sleep, hoping it will be better them the stark reality.

But its hard to sleep in a strange place, a place hat was once familiar in another forgotten time.

Familiar strangeness. My poetry teacher would call it…

I don’t know, I have forgotten. Things I learnt in this very place are hidden from me, leaving me empty, empty…an emptiness that consumes me… and emptiness that will be filled sometime when the strange becomes familiar and the familiar strange.

A new journey has begun; am grateful for my companions

Wrote this in 2003, first day in a new class
oi, anyone reading this stuff?