My Watschen

I am still reading 'The Book Thief' by Markus Zusak. I realized I have not yet gotten the requisite nerves to do book reviews. Status quo still disturbs me. But this blog is my Watschen. Not the one of spanking, smack on the ear  or slap on the face as Liesel probably was done to when she became too onmiscient in her class.

I am alluding to Watschen DEFINITION a good hiding. I just had to read the book concurrently with ‘Gone Girl’ by Gillian Flynn- finished watching the movie (Ben Affleck killed this one). A tweep had suggested the book. As for The book thief, it had to do with Biko Zulu. Obviously, I will not finish reading the books in 2014.I will probably in 2015. Like in the first week.

If it were not for the festive season- traveling, booze, clubbing and hangover. I would have completed reading the two books. As for Gone Girl, the movie was just intrinsic and superb. A good watch. If you loved Pulp Fiction “94. 

What will be my defence? I am a late entrant. The last minute guy. Kanye West’s late registration lingers in my mind like coils on a frantic centipede.

Solitary confinement. It is never easy I say. When you are scuffling to find some gravitas.

I have gone to hell and back. Reminder. Make your Himmel (heaven) here on earth. If you can’t, religion is the opiate of the masses. My agnostic debut at faith. I am not heathen though. Heaven and hell are real. You never know your designation in life. End times are nigh. When you kick the bucket, you are on a sojourn. Who knows? Maybe reincarnation is real. Could Jews have brainwashed us knowing full well something about belief.

The murky waters have to be trudged with focus, ambition and most of all the  knowledge of the fact that the end justifies the means.

I have been looking for peace. Elusive. But peas grow in the field.

Sin City: A Dame To Die For. The scripting, narration, the fiction. I wish I had that voice, Manoute- probably naught. Dwight, Yes he narrates. Maybe second to Morgan Freeman in the Shawshank Redemption. Old town, the women, debauchery. Good it was done in black and white for it would have been graphic.

I am on the grip of revelation, numbness, its obligatory. I miss graphic design: Photoshop, Illustrator, Indesign. Videos to Brain. Year was fine.

Spongebob Squarepants, I still get the nerves to watch it. Sometimes. Oblivious of the fact that I only know one character. Nickelodeon.

Like Spongebob, I have a knack for attracting trouble, sometimes with those I think can condone my versatility. Ocassionally my childish traits come to the fore. I reason loudly though.

Perhaps I should have smoked at some point. Cuban cigars. I crave them. The praise for Cuban cigars is effusive and consistent. They have the label of authenticity and you sure can never smoke an imitation. The retailers though, the price tag for a single stick, yes and location of sale. Out of my reach. The idea of billowing them are like ecstasy. I don't smoke.

I am struggling with indecision. Poor cognizance. Metaphoric jester. Rabid hesitation. I need a change of scenery. ASAP.

Found my own Willis Ochieng. Android App. Woman's voice. Lost my earphones. Disturbance.
This piece though caught my attention.

“I'm glad you've come to read this post and I can see you have things that are troubling you because I am receiving strong signals from you. I sense that the things you really want out of life sometimes seem unrealistic and you often wonder whether you can achieve them. I also sense that at times you are friendly, social and outgoing to others, but that at other times you are withdrawn, reserved and cautious. You take pride in being an independent thinker but also know not to accept what you see and hear from others, without proof. You like change and variety but become restless if controlled by restrictions and routine. You want to share your innermost feelings with those closest to you but have found it unwise to be too open and revealing. A man in your life with the initial 'S' is exerting a strong influence over you right now and a woman who is born in November will contact you in the next month with an exciting offer. While you appear disciplined and controlled on the outside, you tend to be concerned and worried on the inside and at times you wonder whether or not you have made the right choice or decision.”

I apologize. I am sorry. Priceless words that connote Ubuntu.

Itchy fingers, toes clenched with excitement. Soles unable to support my frame, sores. I have to sit.

I have to purge. Idiocy check, procrastination check, self esteem issues check and sere ambition. General spectrum should burgeon. Flourish my dwindling chattels. My mind is a sea of knowledge.

No one gives you an initiative, you have to take it. First few hours, always frustrating. But you breaking into bits and you are good to go.

Rabbit’s Swahili Shakespeare, the lyrics “The Last King Of...

O.K

Bad times ziukuja na believe me bila warnings/

so najipanga for the weather, jua tua ya jioni/

wanashanga vile niko kaa mlevi anastagga but on a tight rope/

comments kwa wall mahali naperform wanadai mi nimDope/

wakizidi kuongea chafu waambie waswallow soap/

streets is talking, unabelieve in corridors?”

I can’t complete them lyrics. Poignant, real and I listened to it thrice.

Forgot to mention 2pac, Thugs Mansion, Hit em Up. No offence but I aint feeling Notorious. But biggie though was better in ciphers- freestyle. Ask me not why I love art.  It’s intrinsic. Out of the blues.

Scrabble. I pulled a stunt and made a douchebag out of my friend who had mastered the skill while I was a rookie. Debased was an understatement. Still he wanted a rematch. Please, my ken is out your league brother. Arrogance, egoistic. Call me anything but Karesa you will never match me. Not so soon. Swallow that na kiwaru.

“Collected Poems,” by Mark Strand. I want this book like yesterday. RIP Mark, Poet Laureate. Good mastery of surrealism. Nostalgic poems. Respect.

Sidney Sheldon, you read his novels written decades ago and still relate to them like they were written yesterday. His mastery of suspense, diction, you name it.

SITUONANE. 

[Photo Source: Google Images]

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Sports and Booze

Epl , booze and cheering go together. Chelsea, Manchester United and City, Arsenal, Real Madrid and Barcelona. Soccer makes me loose control. I loose myself when watching matches. I used to watch local matches till they became hazardous.They also lack the oomph and the quality showcased is below par.

Football just like any other career should be nurtured. You don't just pick up anybody because he knows how to dribble the ball and makes a some horrible challenges. You nee to make football exciting. It should capture the intrinsic desires of those watching.

My favourite league is English Premier League. A colonial relic will not go away soon. It stays with us like it is a magnetic force on some horse-show magnet constantly reinvigorated by electrical impulses.

English Premier League is a gem. It has resulted in many Kenyans being hooked to become literal fanatics. Die-hards. Some fight, commit suicide and others injure themselves because of the sport.

Even guys in my hamlet back in the shags have a penchant for football. They love the major tournaments. It makes them go gaga. They live loving it. And their numbers are ever growing.

A good sports fanatic watches the sport in a club or a joint where ale is served. If you are a soft drink chap, you are bound to find these crowd very gauche. Never mind that some of those in watching the game are elite. When cheering your favourite team, you become subservient to the footballers.

SITUONANE.

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Truth be told, I have never unboxed

My eyes flipped open at exactly six a.m. There was no avian fluttering of the lashes, not even a gentle blink toward consciousness. The awakening I had was quite mechanical and I felt like a ragged unfettered former delinquent. I rarely wake up at such rounded times for I am a man of jagged risings. 0455hrs, 0534hrs, 0354hrs. As I wallowed in bed scrunching my eyes, I saw the split of dawn. It had to do with the warm weather that had let its reflection inside the frail curtains of my unsettled bedroom. I was buoyed. Someone had wanted a box from me, but my thoughts were far off, I remembered later.

Yesterday was Boxing Day. It was just another day like any other. I was still reeling from Christmas hangover. Booze- Tuborg, Tanqueray, Absolute Apeach, Whyte and Mackay, Captain Morgan- (guys went GB), binge eating- nyama choma, chicken, fish, osuga, ugali and salsa (Kenyan kachumbari)- and live band music serenading the aura like opera. So social places in Nairobi become a bevy of activities during the festive season. Reservations were almost everywhere and packed with a sea of humanity. The middle class has an uncanny penchant for matching tastes and preferences. Same places are usually unoccupied just few weeks before celebration of Jesus’ birth. Oh and the prices of food. You guessed it right. Full kienyeji chicken goes for Sh. 2500 (It is not kienyeji though, broilers), a full goat goes for Sh. 20,000, chips is sold at Sh. 350 a plate (Barely half of what is served in fast food restaurants in town) and a slice of ugali sold at Sh. 200. And the place is full to the brim. You take a sneak peak and see a person with a bill of Sh. 80,000. You realize that you have not spent a dime.

Christmas is for children I realize. Bouncing castles, Horse riding, Merry-go round, boat-riding in makeshift pools that are for children. Those cars that children drive in an enclosed room. Artificial trains and horses for children to ride. There is a package that covers such stuff and and if you have a child, you have to spend.

When I think of Boxing Day, I think of a day full of lolling. Whoever thought of naming this day so was quite ingenious. There is however something lovely about Boxing day, misconstrued denotation. Like a child I have had illusions, I usually picture myself waking up in the morning and finding boxes ready for me to unspool the contents and sift through the presents sent to me by those who hold me dear in their heart. So far none has ever thought it worthy to bestow me a gift on Christmas that I unbox on Boxing Day.

Dreams, right. But dreamers are makers of the world. I still hold onto the dream of receiving the gifts.

What do these people think of me? The question I’ve asked most often during this very day, if not out loud, if not to the person who could answer. I suppose this question is one you have probably mulled over as an individual. It stormclouds over my mind every other time I think of Boxing Day.

As a child, I had a very parochial perspective as to what was the real reason behind Boxing Day. In my humble opine, this was a day you had to square it out with those whom you had vengeance. It was a day of retaliation. It was a day to show you had gallantry over those whom you thought were weaker than you in valor. It was retro-wrestling to determine the man who had the nerves. Nerves to beat a brother into admission. To show respect, that the victor is going to rule for the next year(s).

Most of my Christmas holidays were spent in the rural areas while growing up.

We had invented a some small sport among us. Wrestling it was. On Boxing Day.

Those whom we went to the wrestling ring with were my cousins and close relatives of the same age group. It was a covert lair in the middle of bushes situated away from the eyes of preying adults. It goes without saying that adults had authority over children.

If an adult found you wrestling, he had the right to discipline the two of you for misbehaving. Wrestling was fun. WWE then had brainwashed our minds. Shawn Michaels, Undertaker, Chris Benoit (RIP) among other stars we wanted to identify with. We aped them as such. Don't try this at home was a caveat then. Where we did it was not at home though. Then my role model was Stonecold Steve Austin. He was the reining champion before he broke his legs. He was brave and audacious. His signature entry beats still ring in my mind- glasses breaking.

Back then, there was a line drawn and whoever crossed it to the opponents side would be declared the winner if the opponent never reacted upon provocation. Provocation involved touching the head of the opponent or even slapping the person. There was also a referee whose only role was to incite the wrestlers into crossing the line. He knew how to chide us into crossing the imaginary line. Plus he was the oldest and neither of us could beat him fair and square.

The last fight I remember having was between me and a cousin. Mum told me he was two years old than me. I inquired later. The dude did beat the hell out of me like I was a bag of potatoes. I remember my cousins berating me that I had turned into a drum that was easily beaten like a stray wild dog. Hitherto, I had plunged, possibly it was due to my boyhood apprehensiveness that had let me succumb in the first bout.

Previously, before our fight, one of my younger uncles had given a close relation a dog beating and he had easily surrendered. Everyone thought I was in for the same fate.

Then things changed all of a sudden and took a different twist. Everyone was celebrating at my downfall. As a boy from town, the rural chaps thought that they were more hardened than I. I was from town (considered a softy) and since majority of those who were in the den were from the rural areas. Like the ubiquitous Man Kind, I never succumbed to the impulse of the beating. A man never lets the spoils take the better of him. You don't easily pin a man down. I had to come back and I did it so quick that none ever noticed it was me.

In primary school every other pupil knew I was the bravest (I used to call myself Hercules from the cartoon character). I could not let that title go away easily. Not in a setting where I thought I was better placed as I had access to wrestling on television. In the rurals, my cousins only saw wrestling when they went to town or that relative who had a great-wall TV with a car battery. Electricity was still a pipe dream. Thank God it became a reality.

The game had no rules as to the weapons to use. Mostly the hand and legs were used.

I became ingenuous and used the next available weapon that could aid me in ending the game once and for all. I was utterly consumed with bristling rage which was tearing into my lungs, plucking at my nerves till I wanted to twist my cousin's neck off. Since stones are freely available, I used one and hit my cousin on his forehead tearing into the skin and rupturing a vein. The cut was deep as the bludgeon was done using a sharp stone. Blood did gush out and I won the match as my cousin writhed in pain on the ground. That was the last wrestling match we had as none of those who intended to wrestle next decided not to out of fright. Luckily, the bruise was not that devastating.

My cousin still spots the scar to date. He took the pain as a man. Like the wrestlers in TNA, he took it at heart. He respected me henceforth. I deceased from fighting henceforth.

Boxing Day it was. Reminisces. With time we changed our approach. It became a day when the youth and the children mingled together to celebrate for having stayed far away from each other. 

What goes around comes around, Karma I tell you.

I am still longing to unbox. That day will surely come one day.  Am sure many in Kenya never unbox. A stark reminder that we have not yet internalized Boxing Day. My circle of friends and the people I know of rarely unbox. Yet it goes without saying that we have to celebrate Boxing Day. An addition to humanity, to save those who have a tasking itinerary that is overwhelming. SITONANE.

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I only date lesbians

Every man has his desires on the kind of a woman he wants. Men are visual creatures and will be attracted by any woman in skirt who is willing to listen to him (gay naught).

Modern men and women are, therefore, programmed to find specific biological and psychological traits attractive in the opposite sex.

I am attracted to lesbians. Yes, they excite the erotic hormones in my system. They make me go wild like a horse drugged with Viagra ready to race faster. I must confess they are the only beings that keep me going and aptly revere them. However, I have no continuum fetish for lezzerism and take no umbrage in my overt predilection.

Why lesbians you may ask? Lesbians have more money than straight women according to new study. That is something that I had to say tacitly. That they have more money is my main reason for dating a lesbian. 

The author of the report, Dr Nick Drydakis, gave some reasons as to why he thought this was the case. Here are some reasons:

1. Lesbians may realize early in life that they aren't going to marry into a traditional household. 

2. This means that they are willing to make a series of career choices, such as staying in school longer, choosing a degree that leads to a higher paying job, or working longer hours. 

3. He added that gay women might self-select into male-dominated professions- which offer higher salaries

Basically, according to the author of the report, women in same sex relationships aren't subjected as much to the same gender norms and stereotypes as straight women- which works out quite well in the workplace.

However I am not into butches. Short artfully mussed hair? Denim? Leather jacket? Nose piercings? Motorcycles? Suits and ties? Loud and aggressive? Low-maintenance appearance? Not me. 

I am into femmes. Often thought of as passive, dulcet, timid little things with long locks of hair; prissy dresses; great big fawn eyes; a high, baby-doll voice with a balanced mouth; the courage of a lamb; an exquisite waist to hip ratio with svelte little bodies and the intelligence of a gardenia.

But we're all human, so don't expect that stereotype of finding every femme to be submissive, faint-hearted little fairies.  As far as I am concerned an incognito one will be just fine for my rabid and cosset libido.

Many gay ladies usually think of lesbianism as a vacation from the pressures of heterosexuality. I’ve read about lesbian rites and rituals in women’s magazines. Yet I will be like an anthropologist without primary sources, thrown into the field to debunk a cultural deficit on our woman folk. Sex itself is self-explanatory, but to lesbians’, societal heterosexuality components destabilizes them. They feel caged and only absorb the straight culture from a distance.

A lesbian is sexually confident of what she wants. She has morphed into such an emphatic and honest person. She is crazy and more accepting of who someone is. She knows what to expect and is true to herself. She knows how to harness her courage and take apt responsibility. And yes, you might get that coveted ménage à trios. It is every man’s dream. Who aint interested in a woman who earns more money? Lesbians earn more than their straight counterparts. She is not interested in a long term thing or meeting my folks, but most of all I love being with round smart, successful and fun women all the time. Don’t all lesbians wish that they could swear off women especially after a break-up?

Straight women are however difficult to deal with. They are very insecure and jealous. You cannot look at another lady and flirt without her nagging (I hate the nagging bit) and getting mad. They usually play hard to get (some take months to ingia box). They have so many rules ranging from being marriage material, the recipes of authentic romance, a woman should never ask a man out, never jump to bed on the first date, the guy should always pay. Damn, sometimes it can be frustrating dating this lady. Coupled by the fact that she does not earn more than her lesbian counterpart and are moderately neurotic. 

Dealing with a lesbian is however very demanding and tricky. In their opine, guys can be selfish, crude, dirty, sneaky, cheats and even abusive at their worst. Heterosexual men are deeply fascinated and wildly confused by gay women. A lesbian comedian once said during a gig: "It's not that we dislike penises, we just don't like them on men." With a lesbian, you never ask, “Who is going to take charge tonight?” It comes automatic. Again there is a fallacy that lesbians hate men, which is just that- a fallacy. Their sexual orientation is women, but being bi is not an exclusion (I cannot advocate for bisexuality as the dumping ground though). Obviously there are lesbians who have sexual fantasies involving men. 

Our world has common misconceptions about lesbianism (not as bad as homosexuality in men). According to Kali Munro, “ lesbian relationships are a fad, a phase, less significant than straight relationships, don’t last, are unhappy, unstable, and lacking because there is no male involvement, and that all we need is a ‘good fuck,’ it can be hard to feel open to lesbians or bisexual women who want, or do have sex with men.” 

However there is no clear demarcation on who really is a lesbian. Some lesbians also sleep with men and at some point in time strive to be straight but cling on to lesbianism; suffice to say that we are yet to clearly define the boundaries. Of course those “mistakes with boys” never last. What we need to do is to understand their feelings as human beings, their inhibitions and desires and to take them as who they are. We can only gain by acknowledging and respecting the sexual diversity of our community; in doing that, we gain a richer and more varied community.

SITUONANE.

[Photo Source: Google Images]

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