Maybe I should rent a purple suit. A pimp stick would go well with a Dalmatian mink scarf and gold teeth to seal the deal. A pair of gators, white, and a fedora complete with a feather. Next I’ll go to a recording house, a chilled out one not one of these yappy record labels that add a beat to Avril’s an annoying teenage deprived adult’s shrieks, then call it a club banger. A label seemingly nondescript, but knows that the difference between Quincy Jones and Indiana Jones, somewhere like Madafu Records. A few days worth of recording time then a few more for a video shoot and bam! My hit comeback single titled Welcome Back would rock the charts and soon the whole world will notice my coming back to the scene and soon I’ll be in breakfast shows and…. Wait, this sounds a bit too familiar, like it’s happened before, only to someone else…
Anyway, I am back.
It’s been almost three months and boy have I missed you. I am compelled to speak to the whole lot of you who regularly tweeted me asking what happened to the blog, some asking if I am alive (ignoring the fact that their timeline is filled with my mundane tweets) while some texting me, all seeking their dose of well, whatever you people get off this blog. But since I graduated (yes, a lot has happened since I last wrote) with a degree in communication, the radio presenter in me knows that I should speak to you, yes you dear reader and not be a presumptuous ass and assume that you and your whole office are reading this. Never mind that I graduated in Print Media and English, I know you like the attention.
So yes, dear reader; first, I am sorry. See there are plenty of reasons as to why I never wrote. They vary from being kidnapped by zombies, to escaping this concrete, life sucking me-wanting-to-push-a-pencil-through-my-eyeball city life and the realization that this city owns me and thus I needed to get back and face my worst fear…not zombies, you. Dear reader you have to understand that I too have voices in my head and while you may have developed the skill of controlling these voices, I am under their every whim. Every time these voices become too much, I run and well, this kind of running isn’t really effective; it’s like being handcuffed to a bouncer, think Izzo of Q’s, then poking him in the eye and running.
You, dear reader, have to understand that in this analogy, you are Izzo, all burly and killer-fisted. I, on the other hand, am just plain me (and have you seen me, I weigh the same as a bag of cement, a small goat and a packet of maize flour. Izzo weighs the same as a medium size cow, a small house and three packets of maize flour). While your fists are packed with expectation and choice, I only have my pen. Don’t get me wrong, I do not suffer from low self esteem, heck I almost have an ego problem but even the toughest writers have their weaknesses and you, dear reader, are mine. So two months ago I wrote something about my favorite things and a thought crossed my mind: maybe I should start a site, gather all my writings together and kind of run it like my personal site and portfolio.
It was a good idea, at first; then my lack of skill in web design left me confused, lost and with about 5 new blogs that I wanted nothing to do with. I had created a blog making monster who could not control himself…and all he wanted was to have a site where you, dear reader would come, enjoy, maybe even bring a friend. So I gave up and decided to re-launch the blog, maybe change the banner and background color, then I wondered what you would think and I stopped in my tracks. Then another thought, you liked the post on the kids from Burundi, should I focus my writing on people or should I just keep writing about spiders, zombies and powder flavored drinks. Then another thought, and another and soon, I was so confused, I couldn’t even remember the blog’s URL.
So I had to stay away, hidden from you before another thought on how to impress you came up. You dear reader, are like that girl I liked back when I was doing my diploma. I was fresh out of high school and girls ‘in the real world’ were something else. So all my attempts to impress her including the time I followed Philo’s advice and ended up freaking her out by my incessant staring while attempting to do what he called ‘Eye Contact’, ended up with me looking like an idiot and not impressing her at all. Am pretty sure she would have blocked my calls, that is if she would have given me her number, probably under the influence of some banned substance.
But that is who you have become, that girl. So I went away, grew a pair and came back and this is all I have to say: Let me be. Let me write whatever comes to mind. Let my background be dark because that is the only way I can keep the voices hidden. Let me hide in my analogies, let me run away from the zombies, heck let me write about zombies and when you get tired, let me know. In fact, let me know how I can do this and still stay me, you know that guy who still thinks Izzo of Q’s is one of the biggest asses Nairobi has ever experienced but is still kind enough to feature him on his blog…he he he….
Yap, I am back.
Okay before I go, I have been listening to Ghetto Radio, something I am not exactly proud of and well, there is this guy, Mbusi, I won’t even go there…but you know the part of his show where he whips people who misbehave in society (Nyahunyo Nhyahu Nyahu…) well, just this one time I will use this blog to whip someone I think has been misbehaving… dear reader, grab a whip… Nairobi City Council officers, especially you who harass women, touch your toes…
Oh, Madafu Records does exist and goodness do they know what music is all about!
