this, lust for life…

this,

not from a Irving Stone novel. Not even slightly close.
this,
not from a Vincent van Gogh tarradiddle.
this, just is.

They say only the good die young. And I’m young, then I’m good. Then I’m worried.
So, I on that trek I embark to find sense in this, that we call life.

To find meaning, to seek the light, of what is, what should be and what might be.
To find oneself in the haystack that is life.

One:
To love, to give; to care, about the others more than you care about self!!!
It is sweet in the present, and painful in the past.
Like, nearly all that get, don’t deserve, don’t appreciate or don’t take a moment to let you know they do.
It wounds, you heal, but the diseased stay diseased. If it is a disease it is one that rarely heals.
They’ll ask again, you’ll realize a NO was appropriate YES moments later. You can’t take it back, you can’t escape from it.

Two:
You want it, you badly want it. Butt when you get it, you don’t need it.
You leave work early, money in your wallet, on full slayage.
You want to have it. Soon as you leave the gates, you’re clueless. What bar now? A movie perhaps?
But with whom will I be? A few meters from the bar, you stop, pause and ponder on the next step.
6-pm beer needs company. Who do I call?

This one, no. This, not at all. The other, perhaps; oh shit they are abroad. What next. It’s 15 minutes and you’ve been standing on the veranda of a fancy eatery.

Perhaps food. But the menu is like written in indelible ink. You’ve eaten this, and that and the other. This other one tastes best on a rainy day. And the last on on the menu is a meal for two. Arghh, you move on. Grab a bike and move to the Hill to see the sunset. You want it, you want life, but you’re lusting for it.

To the Hill, to breathe in life, you need that. To think through things, it’s about time. It’s a beautiful out there, you love it and take one or two, perhaps many shots. You love the shots, they make you almost complete. Then you think it’d been sweeter if you had at least one or any of those you love to feel, with you.
To share with you.

You start thinking of whom to share with but can’t quite figure out whom. Arghhh, this one just doesn’t love sunsets, whatever they like, you’ll never know. The other is a but, she took your headsets and never returned them.
The whole phone book is full of would have beens but isn’ts.


To be continued… but first Nora is presenting at Kigambo Hub. Got to look for that pot of gold.

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I will

“I have a headache so I won’t write.” I have thoughts. That yearn to be let out. And they’ll be.
I have a lot that I’m sleeping on. The sleep is sweet. I want more.
I’l write something so nice. It’ll have tongues wagging. When I wake up, I will.
Oh here comes the rain. Soon as it dries up i’ll write. I love the rain. I love the sleep. I live for sleep in the rain.
I’ll wake up. I’ll write. My friend, she wants a Billet-doux written. She longs for it. I’ll write. She’ll smile.
I bought her a flower. It dried up. she smiled. She didn’t sneeze this time. It was dry. She loved it, but she didn’t say.
The chocolate. It didn’t melt. It was melted. Words were written. In it. “Write me something, anything.” What was left. It was smudged. On her favorite seat. My face.
“I can’t say i love you. I can say I love ink, this ink, you and paper.”
I’ll write. Anything. It’ll be short, it’ll be from the heart and it’ll be about us.
When i wake up. I’ll write.


From this dream. When I wake up… to be continued.

Ayyy

Little Pretty Woman
Blessed with a bosom capped with twin peaks
Adorned with dark thick tipped nipples
Lance them by the edges of my mouth
Let it joustle with the thrust of my tongue

Take me deep into it
That little place they call sin
The enclave hushed by desire
Major Arcana cards held aloft
Where you’re High Priestess and I obey

Let me touch your thin veil of awareness
Where touch is forever more
Envelop me with your nether lips
Warm embraces the hedonist never forgets
Engulf me in swatches of sodden covers
Palpitating with a certain accord to the pink

Little curvy woman
Blessed with a derriere so bountiful
Juggled by the sway of your hips
Lay me on your altar of euphoria
Pierce me with the dagger of your eyes
Cleanse me with the taste of your lips

Even as the furnance that is my loins burns
Erecting the tower that is this meat
Babel reaching for the stars inside the slit
Veins filling the shaft with venom
Don’t cool it down for no remonstrance

Despite the flush of my cheeks
Teach me the ways of your castle
That I may lay my life down to defend
Be my Delilah, this strength I give away
This hair, eat away

Daughter of gods
Let me adjusting the bra that contours your bust
Let me take you from behind
Not like the dog I am, but a god
Let me into your infinite wetness
Across the waves of your ocean
Animate my desire in your well of creation

Impale me with your long sharp one
Bruises deep burgundy like fine wine
The colors you place onto my body
Soothen it with your warm wet tongue
And the littl whispers down my ear

Allow me to abseil those twin peaks
So I embrace their dark tipped cupolas
Grinding and winding down like an funambulist
Let me overturn your mound
Tending the sweet spot. Of pleasure
Tendrils convulsing the cradle that is your body
Hold on tight, this is us.No names, just pleasure

lovulets- Love and rivulets…

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I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be
In the desert, where love wasn’t supposed to grow
Pinch sleep out of me

I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be
Underneath the peeble by the river
Talk some sense to me

I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be
As the bra and the panties hit the bedroom floor
Won’t you just pray for me

I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be
Under the moonlight as she lit up to make clouds
And then she passed to me

I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be
One knock on her one room door
And the eyes locked it up

I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be
Stood up
She picked the flower and gave to me

I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be
At the hostel sinks
She sprinkled water at me

I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be
It was handed to me
Mean guy shouldn’t have left her with me

I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be
A jacket away
And she was truly the one for me

I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be
Right in front of me
Remind me where it was supposed to be

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Bambi Nyanzi

Stella Nyanzi is still held. Much as i don’t condone her utterances, i abhor her incarceration.
She has rights, and her rights should be respected.
In a country like Uganda where everything has been gazetted for a select few, rights should be all that we have left but, do we?


Well, what to do!

Plug in ear phones and… Renegades ~ X Ambassadors


Run away-ay with me
Lost souls in revelry
Running wild and running free
Two of us, you and me
All it takes to make one last stand.

And I say
Hey, hey hey hey
See us living like we’re renegades

Long live the pioneers
Rebels and mutineers
Go forth and have no fear
Come close and lend an ear
#FreeNyanzi #FreeUsAll

All hail the underdogs
All hail the peasants
All hail the outlaws
The proletariat and the ‘less than thats’.

It’s our time to make a move
It’s our time to make amends
It’s our time to break the rules
Let’s begin…

And I say
Hey, hey hey hey
To hell with living like we’re renegades.


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trash.

I say it’s a bit narrow for a Trish to call all Men, trash. I’m like, don’t you see it! It’s all clear. In the medieval times, from the Anglo-Frisian dialects came the word ‘trash’ as a past tense of trish. I won’t say what ‘trish’ meant then, for you can guess; as I can, that you know what I mean already, just kidding.

But I’m kidding less about all Men being trash, all men are. It’s so true. It’s written in the sky, on the land; and in the sea, it’s everywhere, you just have to look closely to see the inscribing.
Some have it all written all over them like Mayan tattoos, others; like that mark on Cain’s forehead and others have it latent. You need to put them in a dark room, do the Infra Red; extra X-ray on them, and bang, “Oh my God there it is, the mark.” The Trash Mark. The ‘I thought you were different’ mark. The mark that conquered all.The one mark to rule them all.

See, like an item on a conveyor belt in a big mechanized factory, you get stamped with that mark soon as you pass via the conveyor belt. Dang, there it is. It’s not the birth mark. It’s that little worm attached to a little sack between those two little thighs.
From the day you pass through those big pretty thighs to when you enter some other big pretty thighs, your destiny is well written, it’s clear. You’re trash. Don’t even argue about it. No one is assuming anything Caitlyn, no one.

It’s not something you ask for. It’s something you are born with. It’s not something you can avoid be. It is something you’ll be as long as anyone says you are. After all Trish thinks so. You’re trash. What?

So, don’t let it get to you, it’s who you are. Just be the best You, you can be.
Be the best trash you can be. Be that good that you’ll enter the mall and everyone turns their heads and is like “Oh, there goes. That big ol’ Trash.”

Don’t play girls’ hearts, I’ll buy you beer or balloons play with those.
Because still, whether you play or don’t play, or play it safe, somehow you’ll yo-yo. You’ll hurt someone, justifiably or not. Intentionally or not. Or they’ll hurt just because you play it uncomfortably nice.

It’s like being in a chemistry laboratory, titrating chemicals and all. Any drop has an effect, it’ll make it an acid or a base. You don’t stop the drop just because you’re uncertain of what’s to come, do you? And still you won’t know what’ll come. If it’s an acid, you’re trash. If it’s a base, still you are trash. That won’t save you. Blue pill or red pill, you’re trash.

But still, don’t be an ass. that will make you dirty trash. And you needn’t be. That’s stinky trash. Not Cool. Don’t be that one who lies, who fights, who beats. That’s pathetic. Lucifer hates competition. Be a nice, awesome, stupendous piece of trash.

Much as they say Good Trash finish last. Just be the trash that finishes first. Finish first just don’t finish quick. For you know, it’s never about you, it’s about they that safely dispose of you. They own you and you gots to be in check. They say, any trash is as good as the disposer.Be that good.

Cling on to that, accept that sometimes you do stuff that makes you trash. Well sometimes you hide it and other times no one sees it. But you know it. So own it.

But it’s the way of the world. It’s what you do that makes you some typa trash. For Women are trash too. That’s it. That’s life.


 

 “Please don’t judge me for selling my body at 5000 UGX.” #SexWorkerDiaries

I think I’ve become too emotional. But when haven’t I been. Stories of Poverty, Suffering break my heart and my tear ducts as well.
One thing that I always think about as I pass by the ladies of the night on my late nights from work, all comfortable in the Company Cab is; no job as hard as Sex Trade. May it be legalised someday. You can’t say you care for the woman if you can’t protect her.

Pru's Notebook

Out of curiosity, last Saturday, I called a friend, a community mobliser, who had worked  in Bwaise Kimombasa for years rehabilitating sex workers, connecting them health care services and education programmes for their children. He had shared their stories with me but I wanted to hear and see for myself. I wanted treat my curiosity, I wanted to know what would force anyone to go into this “World Oldest Profession”. With an open notebook, a curious mind and loads of questions I was in Kimombasa in Bwaise.

Sheila was the first person we met. This is the story of Sheila a 29-year-old sex worker.

“My father worked at the ministry of internal affairs. Our home was at Old Kampala Block 20A5BS New park. My mum was a business woman that would go to Dubai for months to do business. I don’t know what business she was doing. While she was away…

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Take me Home

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The Kampala skyline comes along, time and again.
Your picture that I hold, that keeps you around.
It’s been two days, it’s been too long.

I’m finally out of my room, where we know.
I’ve made one step out the door, the other a missed step.
I want to go back in, but i wan’t to move on.

The food is tasty, and I see the waitress.
I never saw her before, I only saw you.
This place is the same without you, but I’m not.

Without you isn’t a place I thought I’d go.
Withought you isn’t a thought, I’d harbour.

The sounds around me resonate you.
The whispers and the giggles too.
I hear you in the steps of those climbing up.
In the taps and slides on the gym floor.
I feel you in the music that is playing.

It’s a raft I want to escape from.
But where do I fall, the tide is strong.
I feel you all around, circling in my thoughts.
I close my eyes, I want to escape.

I see our footprints in the sand, i see the shore.
I feel hairs raise down my back, and I want more.
But do you have more, something left to give.

I feel like you’re long gone.
And I feel like something’s wrong.
I feel like you’re all alone.
Like I wasn’t there all along.

I know you feel like I won’t long.
You think I feel something inside so strong
Well, I feel like I’m at peace alone
Till I’m alone

So, take me back
Take me in your arms, back to home
Back to you, back to us, where we know.