2 hours to BHH!

So here it the moment we've all been waiting for. Sorry lemme rephrase. That moment I've been waiting for. Losing that BHH virginity.

Can't say much though but I get nervous around new people. True story. Those who know me will disagree but that's it. Plus I made a solemn promise 30 days ago to Solomon King and Normzo to show my face today...which I plan to honour.

So I've dragged along Carsozy who like me hasn't blogged in ages (he worse, he's forgotten the name of his blog), to give me a softer landing

I know I'm not meeting cannibals but hey, wish me luck!

Posts After Smoking A Joint: Illusions Of Happiness

Too many people put off something that brings them joy just because they haven't thought about it, don't have it on their schedule, didn't know it was coming, don't care its going to end in a certain way or are too rigid to depart from their routine. 

That's kinda my story for my prolonged absence here but this is not the right time to go there...I'll engage you in something else.

I badly want to believe that sanity is just an illusion to make those who are boring feel better about not being interesting. Errrrm sorry, but I prefer insanity.

Lately, I've been feeling funny. I've been having a bad feeling that lately makes my heart hurt but only just a little. My head aches too like it usually does. I've had this bad feeling before. I felt this same way when I was depressed for a big part of all those years gone by.

I've only been honestly happy for just a little more than 4 years now so I'm not ready to go back yet. There's still so much I have to do and so many things I have to try so I can't go back. It's hard though. I can feel it dragging me back into that imaginary place. Maybe it's missed me since I've been gone. It's falling apart and that's why it wants me back; maybe.

Because I once lived in a town. That's the kind of place I lived in. There used to be an imaginary town mixed right in with the real world and it all blended together. I used to live in a town where I could see everyone from a movie screen and my breath was the only thing that was consistent. 

The town was black and white with small shades of grey and everyone's voices were always so far away because I was the only one with a permanent residence. I didn't love it there but that's precisely where I used to live. 

I'm not ready to go back, not yet at least. I don't think I ever will be either but do I really have a choice? I'm not good at making these kinds of decisions. It's making me sick and smiling can be tiring too. 

It was fun while it lasted. Is that really something I should say? I mean, it's not like I'm back in that town yet, right? Is it not like that yet? Feels like I have something trying to climb back on my shoulders after falling off.

Perhaps it’s my nerves acting up. After all, I haven't been getting much sleep. Maybe I need to get back on my medications for a while. I wonder if there's anything wrong with that.

PS: Don't try to understand this post because you wont

The One About Blondes

Your Prodigal Son

This is supposed to be my lame attempt to reviving my glory days as a blogger but hey, I'm not going to waste time explaining myself. But still we'll talk 'me' and my twisted relationship with Hypnos, the god of sleep.
See I suffer severe insomnia, so much I've joined the legendary Insomniacs UNITE! But what is insomnia?

Insomnia according The International Dictionary of Excuses a compilation by yours truly, is "payment for napping in the day". Payment with interest as Sophocles' Creon would say in Antigone. Less than forty minutes after lunch and for the entire night I haven't even blinked, eh! I'll never do it again! 

That's what I always say but the drowsiness that comes with the afternoon heat... What if sleep was in our control? We'd reckon it whenever we wanted it and send it away when we didn't. Insomnia and Sleeping sickness would never have been. But placing sleep in the hands of 'a potentially lazy man' would only make him more unproductive. 

If sleep was for sale though, lazy people would be the most hardworking. They'd work day and night to buy as much of it as they could. Government would levy a Sleep Tax-cut a few hours from the rich and give to the poor. Would the homeless accept the government's generosity?

They'd complain, "why do you give us all these hours of sleep yet you know we don't have where to spend them? Build us homes and we'll get our own sleep." And the government would be afraid to reply,"We give you sleep and you ask us for a place to spend it!" 

So the government would build homeless people homes and their worst nightmare would be over. Nightmares, one of sleep's most scary creatures! If sleep was on sale, no one would buy the one with nightmares. It would probably be expired or made in China. 

Customer: "Hey, you sold me sleep that was expired."

Sleep Merchant: "No way! It said best before 2012."

Customer: "The nightmares were so bad I peed on the bed." 

If sleep was for sale, girls would probably say to boys, "send me some airtime and a few hours of sleep" That would be nice, wouldn't it? What about those who would buy sleep and hoard it? What about those who are broke? 

Imagine somebody telling you, "Am so broke, I cant even afford to sleep." Then those that make noise when you're trying to sleep, you'd tell them "Hey, can't you see am trying to sleep. This sleep cost me a lot of money and I won't let you spoil it for me." And those very bold guys (and girls) who would ask "Will you sleep with me?" "No way. I wouldn't sleep with you if you owned the last minutes of sleep! Go get your own sleep" they'd be told off (sometimes). Then they'd go and buy, not alcohol to drown their sorrows, but sleep- to sleep away the pain.

The sun is out and I haven't slept! 'O sleep. Oh sweet sleep. Nature's gentle touch. How have I frightened thee That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down...' If it happened to Shakespeare, who am I? But what book was that...

PS: Please allow me back...your prodigal son.

Read Only If You Will Finish (sic)

 The epidemic that is blogger 'blogcks' seems to have spared a select few and I'm only saying this because I wasn't left out of the 'fun'. My brain is constipated but thanks to the inventor of shame and remorse I still come here, comment where I can, then try to compose something and while at it, look out of the window from where I admire the generous behind that was planted on the Multiplex lady and before I know it I want to display my God-given gluttony at lunch.

Well today I'm already done with lunch and the Multiplex lady has taken refuge from this melting sun under the huge umbrella from where I cant gawk at her. Doesn't mean I have my brains back yet, they must be vacationing themselves silly some where in the Caribbean sun, getting drunk on coloured cocktails and hurling obscenities at Puerto Rican babes in gomesis!

Hence this;

THE ONLY PROM RULE:

Enjoy dancing in the daylight heat, eat so little for once in your school life so as not to scare your date away, only IF you must, don't get a hard-on while dancing, and please make the most of the darkness and the walls. The walls especially: LEAVE THEM DIRTY!

UNWRITTEN RULE: Don't wipe your date's sweat with your palms...she will smell like the plate you used at lunch!! If you manage not to do that, then don't spoil all your good work by handing her her your dad's phone number if you don't have one. Posta still works and now they have express delivery so get smart.

RULE PENDING APPROVAL: Don't watch E! if you have a week left to prom. I will laugh at you and the rest of Uganda will think you hail from the north. I didn't even invent that stereotype, it is a general consensus in this country!

My brain. It cant be this bad, can it?

Let me ride on and see how far it will take this post.

I believe we guys never pay much attention to any blemish on our physicality until maybe when you are consistently teased about it. But still you smile about it before with the help of evil thinking, you tactfully turn your guns on that guy who has also been haranguing you about anything small yet he is blessed with a bean-shaped head and probably looks like he was a prop in Babylon 5. It is a mean strategy, that much I know but if you live in that world, your life is bound to get a lot messier than not if you choose not to employ evil!

So the jokes have been flowing of late about the size of these two rounded mounds of flesh that God gave me to sit with, take quinine injections and endure kiboko from teachers...what they universally call an arse these days.
See my 70s hangover mom is still obsessed with the Pepe Kale style of wearing trousers so much that it reduces her to near tears that I can’t wear trousers halfway up my chest. But you know what, I'm not going to blame almost senile her! While she grew up in an era where made-up Congolese men were idolized, I'm dreaming of ways to be as cool as Ozzie Osbourne minus the drugs.

Now to get this ancient trouser style going, you need a sizable chunk of arse which I'm not exactly blessed with and frankly don’t mind having. Actually I'm rather happy not to have, not with all these strange Kampala men offering to buy you a drink if you arent in the company of a lady while at the bar.

Its simple. You are a guy and your boxers don't slide down your arse unless tugged at, be happy. You don't want to lose the only virginity you have left.
I mean no offense to the menfolk with anthills on the backsides!
The rest of us meanwhile will be out there looking for women like her to mate with and give the future better arses where they don't have to endure taunts.

And I'm now gone. Off to bait my brains to return home before they contract a Caribbean STD!

Untitled

I have no joy, I have no gladness.
The earth does not fill me.
Once a brave soul and pure heart,
Now raw scars,
From desperation of sorrows.
Memoirs of bright yesterdays
and haunting, tomorrows.


Seemingly so far gone, but yet so close.
Realities, the bad neighborhood conquers,
A clueless mind,
Are all that now remains,
Of pulsing hearts in frozen chests.
Of a mind that now lies slain.


Of a death imprisoned soul.
Sadness still clouds my face,
Lobes twinge,
Muscles flinch.
At the drop of a pin


Fear of letting go,
The lost song of the breeze
Of sorrows suffered in the world,
Many untold sorrows.
Forget that day, I try
But memories wont let me!

He Places Paragraphs In No Particular Order / Courting Controversy

Imagine a world full of sterile herbivores.
No predators, no reproduction! Some are better at running, some are better at calculus, and some are better at gathering food. OK that sounds silly but wait a minute this brain is allowed to wander at times...at all times.
Like right now when it wants to murder all the living environmentalists.

Dearest environmental dimwits; you make me feel guilty about using tissue paper (for wiping nose). Why then do you guys who have sworn to protect mother nature still use the same tissue paper (for wiping God knows what) huh? Why not use spoons? They can be washed and re-used plus they scoop pretty well so I'm told.

I need a distraction, I need to find another way to make money. I need to drive a fast car. I need to start selling drugs to make ends meet. I need to get to Kisementi quick and suck the life out of Alex Ndawula, live on air after he apologizes for wasting his 'taxi-park' talents on radio. I need to drop a bomb on this city. I wish I was God!

Who else?
The engineers who work our roads are, in my opinion as useless to mankind as all the kids that are getting out of school with a welding degree(is there such a thing?!). Sorry kids but there is only so much pipe to weld. Maybe some of those sell out engineers can whip up something for you kids to glue together with metal. If not why don't all you welders weld us up some jail cells so we have a place to throw all the sellout Pro-Gay supporters. Because we all know that in the future, I mean I hope all the pigs that supported them will be punished; forced to drink gallons of elephant bile!
We need more babies to eat all the Matooke, maize and yams in this country.
Olara Otunnu needs a wife!!!
We need babies!!!



There you go. I cant disguise it any longer. It eats me inside but now you should know the what & the why. Plainly put I miss you 2009, if I was a musician you were my breakout year, my ticket to stardom, my ticket to drugs, groupies, VIP treatment, a fling with Liza Minnelli, a house on the Hawaiian coast and every thing in between.
This year it feels like I have to start building all over again; handpick one mud brick after the other, pick the finest wild grass and select the finest cow-dung from deep in Lira to replicate that haven that 09 offered me. A beautiful mud and wattle hut, the whiff of damp dung hanging in the air, waiting for me to leap in joy as my enemies fall off their lofty perches.
I think I just made a New Year's wish!

2010, are you listening? Be good to me!