My System

People tell me they have had an epiphany and I never bothered to ask what they mean since they all seem to think I should know, being the writer I am. I never bothered to check the meaning because I’m sure I never had an epiphany , in my head I assume that when I feel it, it will sound something like that song- bitter sweet symphony by The Verve. And I’d get this re-birth, feeling and from that moment on my life would be transformed.
Anyhow, I had my epiphany the other day and even though I haven’t checked the meaning, I was so sure that was it. I woke up in meditative state, sat up-ok,don’t hold your breath,I’m not about to say something deep-
I felt an understanding of who I am. Just looking at one thing, full time employment, from childhood, I’ve known that my dream was not to report to an office every morning and be told what to do the whole day. Before I just wanted to live in a farm with many animals but that has to wait now. I realized that the reason why I’m no exactly what people expect of me is because I try to play on a pitch I haven’t trained on, and not being confident enough with what I got.
So the few times I’ve taken jobs, after three weeks I just want out, quitting or getting fired either way suits me. Another thing, I hate Mondays. I only begin to function about 3.30 p.m Monday and then it’s already too late to count that as a day. I am active at night, yeah, if I had to study a book on criminal law at 2a.m, I’d pass the bar exam. But give me a 500 article on how to make home made wine at 9 a.m and I will still think red grape wine is made from red plums and straw berries. I realized too that for that reason I have a system only I don’t follow it. Let me watch something in the morning, let me take pictures at noon, leave me to write at 5, I can make an attempt to cook at 9, then sew things at 10, but at midnight, ask me to write about the credit crunch, I’ll get it.

So I’ll try respond to the epiphany not try to do things I cannot do like one dollar articles. Just , stitch bags, learn to make movies and write articles of self- grandiose.






(pics credit to-it.coe.uga.edu and another one I can't rem)

AAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrh!

Your sister graduated? Send my condolences.
Well, I have been learning Malay, it is part of my survival strategy. It hasn’t been going all well since I have been learning for all sources, from the Indonesia workers who clean our Condo, from the Vietnamese guy who always takes the bus the same time as me, from Chinese and Indian Malays, and from a Kamus Bestari I bought and sometimes online. So the pronunciations don’t necessarily agree.
I haven’t tried to tell anyone congratulations because the word for that is similar to the word for condolences, that is tahniah and takziah and I can’t tell the difference.
After almost a year, or like mama says(almost more than a year) I’m finally falling into a pace I can cope with.
A few days ago I bought some shampoo. My friend said anything with Tea-tree in it wouldn’t make my hair fall out. So I went did a round in all the beauty shops and I got it. Shokubutsu, a Japanese wash . I came home and tried it, then after two days I remembered, my friend had said Tea-tree not green tea, but what to do I already bought it I might as well, and I don’t really mind the smell and since not much hair fell out Shokubutsu is the way forward I should think. I also managed to find some lotion called the fruit of the earth Aloe Vera, and remembered reading on some site that aloe vera is good for African skin, but maybe it might have been olive oil, I’m not sure, anyway I liked nice blue of the lid on the bottle and the smell is tasty somehow.
Shamara said I should use baby oil on my face, and I have used it for a week now, no complains. It seems I might not get melonama after all.
The semester was my worst. Not in terms of the classes and all, most of my classes were interesting - we watched a load of movies or debated. I had trouble with one class though-The Film Class, man that was out of this world. It was to be a fave, at first, and I spent a lot of time reading and reviewing and just getting familiar but when they marked the story board and my movie journals. It came to me, I was not made for this. I tell a good story, but doesn’t mean I know w here to place the camera,,,and that’s why I always liked still pictures, which I still do, it’s just that my camera charger blew, and the camera caught a virus and I have taken the worst pictures in my history of picture taking these last months I don’t even want to look at them. My computer crushed on me, month ago, I lost my home pictures and some of my writings. Clearly, this school year was not a good start, I was distracted, tried to sleep it off, tried to stare it out, sit it out, learnt to eat noodles for supper...….it persisted.

But I can’t keep quiet about the fact that THAT, was the best class ever.
p.s
It was also amazing how everyone assisted everyone when we had to make the story board? In 5 minutes I had a whole cast ready to go with props and site, a director, cameraman and everyone else.

end of an anchor

If you have watched BOLT . You know that part where Bold is hanging Mittens from a fly-over and he says :

‘You just can’t stop lying , can you cat? It’s in the genes. You’re just gross,’ and Mittens replies

‘I know, I’m disgusting, I disgust myself.’

It’s one of my favourite part, I can relate to it. Well, I don’t disgust myself all the time but sometimes I’m concerned. Well, today I rejoined facebook, after deactivating my account coz it was taking too much of time, blah blah, but my camera’s charger blew so I can’t take pictures to post on flickr, and icanhascheezburger.com doesn’t jazz me much me these days , my friends no longer reply to e-mails, yeah, they want to write on my wall… and with school closed, I need an addiction, seriously, otherwise I’ll burn my eyes with the pile of books I have been meaning to read or rot my eyes with animations.

So after canceling a trip with my friends to watch The Transformers, I just couldn’t peel myself off my chair. I have this bag I’m making and it’s the most complicated thing I’ve made in a long time and the thought of taking 3 buses and a monorail to (KL)Kuala Lumpur didn’t sit well with me so I canceled, and my friends called me and expressed sadness for my absence. I went and watched a basketball match but couldn’t concentrate because they were wearing too much red. I was hoping to catch my favourite team which plays like mad squakes. I donno what than means but I mean to say the play so quickly it gives you a rush. They are mostly short and one team wears brown the other blue. It’s a mix of Chinese and one Indian, one African guy. I love that game it goes like an advert for NBA. The Indian guy scores everytime.

Yesterday I was to meet some of my friends for a swim and half an hour before leaving the house I changed my mind, yeah, the bus thing again. I hate the buses, it should take me 20 minutes but it takes me 3 hours t get to Puchong. I got a room in Puchong last week but before I couldn’t move in the owner’s daughter decided she wasn’t in favour and I was so bombed I slept until 8 a.m, East African time. My fault, Cyberia is land's end.

So I will try to be more systematic, and learn to appreciate things like facebook and sociality, and maybe my insomnia will reduce.

Nothing Said

It’ s true we don’t see each other any more.
It’s obvious I’m out of site.
But don’t you feel it? Don’t you feel?
Will you deny the pulsations of your heart when;
My name’s mentioned, when someone wears my perfume-
Don’t you call me ‘ my friend’ to your friends?

It’s understandable, I left without much ado,
It’s true I paid Lewinsky more attention
We laughed and shook hands for long.
Didn’t you see my body language?
My shoulder turned towards you,
I played with a curl behind my ear.
When you see Lewinsky. Don’t you remember me?
Do you fix a smile when someone mentions me?

It’s no secret I am awkward and unfiltered.
Feigning confidence a little girl’s ways , a little girl’s manner;
Spilling drink on my shirt and calling
A Chair ,a share, well,
Didn’t you smile politely every time?
Did you perhaps wish I was refined or did you secretly like my raw quirks?
Do you wish I may not change?

It’s true I have a past, yeah, so much history
Would you be hesitant to explore
Or should it recede and be ignored so that,
We might make our own?
Did it hold you back?
Would you rather start on fresh fields?
Do the stories you hear make sense?
Do you wish to ask me? Talk to me?
What is it you searched in my eyes.

It’s true I don’t hide it anymore.
Do you wonder what’s my prob?
Do you wish I’d slow down?
Do you know how it all started out?
When we became aware of each other?
Are there memories engraved within you like in me?
Are there cherished moments I’ve overlooked?
Like when our hands touched and our eyes,,,,, we looked away.

But I have never felt such a staring.
Do you wonder if that’s all?



1>(No, I’m not writing love poems again. This one is dated 28th October 2009. Guess it must have had something to do with me leaving my old surroundings. But I assure you this is not about my cat-pushkin alias kinyau alias pusspuss alias we alias(can’t rem the Spanish name mother calls her)
2>(I’ve used this pic coz It has the most views on flickr, kinda sets the mood if anyone is interested in what I have to say.)

Ngahika Ndeenda

I knew all my friends would get married before me, except one, but she recently told me she thinks she might have met –the one- so anytime I should be hearing wedding bells, and out of the crowd, I’ll be the last woman standing.

My other friend is getting married in November, and I feel terrible that I might not attend the wedding. See, we talked about it long and wide,, I was going to be a maid, and we would not wear all those fake silk lilac dresses, we would go full kitenge all the way to the evening party. I imagined taking pictures in her wedding, maybe packing her bags for the honey moon. I couldn’t sleep when she sent the text, I thought in all directions; should I get a job, do the Nigerian connection, marry some rich dude quick so that he can buy me a flight to attend the wedding. , then I thought maybe I should do a refresher course for my sewing skills and design and stitch her wedding gown, send it as a surprise. Then I thought maybe I should just keep saving(yeah yeah) and maybe by November I might be able to send her a cheque for her cake if not a one night stay at a hotel for the honey moon, then I narrowed it down to knock off earings at Petaling street.

It’s funny, So far, my age mates have kids in upper primary, most of them are married, but I keep running if I could call it that, telling myself I still can’t cook chapatti and Iron shirt corners so, why even look at a guy. Today, my other friend really entertained me. She has met – the one-

‘Man! You should meet him. When I met him, I tell you Cecilia, I bowed.’

‘And when he passed by and checked me out I tell you Cecilia, he bowed, believe me’

Ok, I was laughing too much before I got her point. So she explained. The guy stands out in a crowd, he is respectable, he knows how to dress properly, and he carries himself around like he owns the place.’ I tell you Cecilia, if you don’t respect the guy you marry, that’s trouble and if you don’t click’{showing me , if you don’t click right away…aa ..there’s nothing there}

Lew; yet another friend, his last single friend married last December, and two of his close friends are raising 3 month olds. He told me the other day he’s going out of his mind, and I joked maybe we should just marry each other, since our crowd paired out and we are the two left standing, though it would be like marrying a cousin.

So I’ve been thinking that maybe I should bring my age limit down a bit, from the number that the bowing friend says- ati what age Cecilia, who’ll look at you ?’

But I was thinking about it seriously again my friend-told me the other day-You know, you loose 5000 brain cells each day when you reach twenty. And I thought,well, multiply that by 12 years and see, when I 'm 32, there will be no point in marrying another fool.

(not sure how many thousands,All numbers sound the same to me so, she might have meant 10,000 or a hundred)

(the title is adopted from Ngugi wa Thiongo's title- in Kikuyu and English- I will marry when I want-)

This is my house, No it's mine, no no this is my house

Don't Worry About A Thing

Who is –AThing?

Some guy.

Dresses very badly, don’t mind him

Sweaters and cowboy boots

A big hat like a fisherman’s

And he likes to eat boiled carrots

Oh yeah, carries them in a small polythene bag in his pocket

And when you touch they feel like worms

If I were you, I’d never worry about AThing, not worth it.

(20th Jan 09)

I'm an embarrassment. Well,just 88% of the time

In standard two, when we went out for PE{Physical Exercise} we’d sing game songs and most of them must have been composed by a mad teacher. Some were about saluting the teacher, and another about an old black petticoat that got torn cha.
One day we were singing one song ,girls on one side, boys one the other, and whichever name was called first, if a boy, he’d go to the girl’s side and pick the girl he liked and brought her back to his side. This was a lot of stress in our young minds because the person you chose was free to reject you and then the entire class would laugh at you and swing you from side to side on your back.
My turn came, and when I stepped forward to choose one boy , he bolted, took off, and I was hot on his heels after him, got hold of him and brought him back.{I’m not getting a swinging today} I never lived that down, even now when I meet my old classmates, they remind me of that, even though later, when we were adolescents the boy bought me a few chocolates and said he loved me like chapati and karanga, {I actually have never found out what karanga is}.This went on for about a term , then he told my deskmate the same and that marked my second dumping.

I always take the bus, even when I’m late for class, the taxi culture hasn’t really got me, and anyway if I took the cab, It’d throw my budget of course seriously. Sometimes, when I go to the supermarket, I will wait one hour, one and half hours for the bus and I will be so dehydrated form the sun, I ‘ll collapse into a seat and only wake up at the next station, to wait for another bus. As I wait, often, I make friends and we’ll be talking and chatting and bemoaning the hard life of a commuter, or how hot the sun is, even at 6p.m, how they should make air conditioned bus stops …
So you can picture how excited the other day when my friend drove close to the bus stop and waved me to get into the car{I should say my friend’s friend, I don’t have that many friends who drive around} In a second I was at the door with the biggest grin, and frantically waving goodbye to my classmate, and he was saying hey you left your notes, and I was saying you can keep them. So the driving friend asks, hey your friend going the same way? He beckons my classmate to come in too and the latter comes at the proper pace and we drive off.{All the while, I’m thinking ok, what's wrong with me now?}
I was looking through my old pictures and I saw this picture from my aunt’s wedding. It was after high-school and I had just moved into the city, we’ve already covered the issue of dressing, so it’s agreed that it’s not that I can’t dress properly, I got my own style.Looking at that picture, there isn’t much difference from what I’d chose now for a wedding. Even though my aunt commented how that shade of blue and purple could never go together.
I have a few dishes I can order all by myself now, and When we go out to eat with my friends, the Chinese counter wins most of the time. I find no inspiration battling a plate of fire down my throat. So regardless of the place or setting, I will order plain rice and roast pork, and eat all of it, then finish before everyone else, and you’d think with such a diet I’d have some hip.
Last week, me and my two nurse friends were in a meeting and before it began, one of them was explaining to me how she was vomiting at the hospital the previous day for many reasons, and the other one was saying- that’s nothing I had to watch a pipe being passed through the backside of a patient, man it’s painful, she didn't say backside, she used the medical term anus and the people in-front of us turned, reminded me of the first time I heard my friend say bitch in a conversation- that bitch needs some training, she was explaining to her cousin, a man of about 40. She works at a veterinary so she was talking about some female dog. So to some extent, iwould it be fair to say that it's the crowd I hang out that has to blame for the way sometimes my mouth goes off by itself?

SHORT STORY {CONTINUATION............}



Let’s paint her. Angelica is one of those women who take on the stature of a wife immediately they turn fifteen. They know how to dress up in fitting pencil skirts and are not afraid to wear see through blouses, sometimes in yellow, sometimes in bright pink. They can cook a proper meal, iron shirt corners and black pants without leaving a ridiculous shine, and later in life will have well watered house plants
She has, among her contacts, a plumber, an electrician, a wash lady and another who comes in when the first can’t come because she has to attend a parents’ meeting or has period cramps. Angelica does not spend her money on Sydney Sheldon novels or second hand magazines at Mfangano street. She buys cook books , new from MPH.
In her house the curtains match the carpet, she bought two sets from IKEA, and even in the bedroom, you will not catch an artsy secondhand cotton hand stitched curtain.
There is always a fresh supply of towels in the house; stripped, quite formal and appropriately so.She doesn’t want to cause anyone pain by issuing a plain towel, or white, which after use might have dark spots here and there and the user will wonder whether to wash it, wash the dark spots, soak it or pretend that’s the normal order of things, while in their heart they swear never to sleep over again. For her nieces, she will provide sleeping shirts and flip-flops , extra panties, and a toothbrush for a nephew.
She has two friends. Mary is single, well, not exactly, she has been dating Farshid for the past 5 years and even though she is 27 years old her parents will not let her marry him. So they just hang out and hope situations will change. Angelica thinks Mary is giving her parents too much leeway. Then there is Alice Tee. Married and well settled. She’s a wife, raising Chung and Ji Wen. ‘Too strict with the children, pushing them too much, piano lessons, volleyball, French,’ Angelica once mentioned it and Alice shrug and said- they need to know all they can-

short story

It struck him the same way some people are stricken by madness, deeply, slowly, deniably. Until your thoughts betray your thoughts until your perception changes, you become wiser, and everyone around you becomes a blithering fool.
It came like the first symptoms of polio in your legs. The un-reachable itchiness in the bone, the periodical numbness that denies the existence of living cells..When your pace eventually falls, and despite the repeated attempts and fervent kicks that do no more than sprain your hip and do not contribute in any way to your forward motion.
His wife, Angelica thought the sleepless nights had to do with something he had done and was having trouble confessing to her, or even the power to deal with it. But this soon changed when he started to come home late, tired, falling beside her with just a goodnight honey. While his dinner grew colder in the microwave.


(I started this some weeks ago, today one of classmates gave me his assignment to read, it was really good, like Moby Dick. It gave me the vroom I needed to continue with this story}

Slam poetry

Why, like still waters do you,

Palm under chin sit silent?

Why does your face carry the reflection of indifference,

Even as my love I openly display

Why? Do you pass this expression of my honest feeling

You, are like green leaves covered in dew,

River pebbles dark, smooth round

Your smile, makes me feel as if the world is alright

For no reason, I look for you, follow you

For no reason at all, I feel happy when you’re around

For no reason, I, am invisible to my friends

I’m running away but getting closer,

I’m cursing you but loving you

For loving you, but restraining myself,

Wet green cider leaves,

Dark blue and orange sunsets,

Children’s laughter

A puppy licking his owner’s face

I’m thinking of that every day.

So lift up you face, look at me

Listen to the words my eyes say

Respond to the request of my touch

Let me give it a shot.

pic(http://i142.photobucket.com)

I am the independent self reliant all round woman.
I think with my mind, not my heart, I feel nothing
Strutting about aware of my surroundings,
High fives and swinging hips, I know what I want,
And I want it to remain-this way

Shhh
But here he comes, all sure of himself
A man, with a man’s gait, man’s sure ways
He, takes his time speak, to look, to touch
Yeah, his look, he,
With one glance makes my inner woman
Break into a dance, bending and twisting
And I stutter and,
This feeling,
This cottony, weighty, feeling rises from within
My heart beat,
My brain,
My independence
My self reliant heart,
My unfeeling me, begins to feel in ways I never imagined
I, follow his every desire, his every blink,
I, am ready to say yes to everything he says
When I see him, music plays and my mouth curves into a smile
His smile, makes me trace all the small joys I’ve known
All the feelings of love I know
All the nerves that support love awake .

And when I look at his eyes
I’m no longer the independent self reliant all round woman.
I think with my mind, and my heart too, feel a lot of things
Strutting about aware of my surroundings, and of him,
And I want it to remain-this way, his left or right hand, I don’t care,
As long as I’m with him
Close to him
Loving him, with every last bit of love remaining inside
With every last bit of feeling un-accessed.
Loving.

Slam Poetry.


pic{pro.corbis.com}

After 72 hours or something close, ok, lets just say about 3 and a half days, I never cared much about numbers, I managed to understand half the story they gave us to interpret and make a film out of.I created my own story, and showed it to the teacher who said ok fine, I guess there are many ways to interpret it. When I gave him my sketches from last weekend, he looked at them, sat down and explained to me what he was looking for from us, and in his head I’m sure he was thinking{huyu manzi ni chizi} he is Kenyan.
I can’t say I’m getting ahead with my new interpretation, and since I decided it’s easier to just take pictures, the next big problem is how to bring all my characters together. So I put the story board aside and had a look at my other assignments. I did about 200 words of each of my journals{Hero, Singin in The rain, Goddess of 1967}.Then gave up and decided to write a love poem{Slam poetry}
When we had our weekly Open Mic poetry, I was explaining to my friend how deep I got involved writing a certain poem. I was sobbing all through. He asked was it about a guy, and I say, yeah, my fiancé, he left me for a younger woman. So sorry he said. I said no problem I’m over him anyway. After the poetry session, he came up to me asking- are you serious about your fiancé? I had a good laugh. I guess he was curious to find out hold I must be talking like that. It’s more fun to just say whatever comes to your mind first. He is an interesting guy, has about 1000 poems, but what I admire is his quick wit. Like one day explaining to his friend, no you cannot say someone is ugly, you say- they are not easy on your eyes. He started the poetry group, now we poets can share our pieces with others.
I need someone to interview for my broadcasting assignment. Someone working in the media. Production, VJ, Presenter, recording. I’m facing the sad truth that all the people in my circles are either frustrated writers or struggling artists, and accountants.

POEM

We were Meant to Live





Do you remember
The soft, white, papery flowers strewn across the desert fields
How they shone at dawn
When the sun rays
Upon their dewy petals fell?

Do you remember, the fragrant Jasmine
Growing on mother's farm
The green bush that made darkness fragrant-
And the other that smelt like cooked food
The different smells, textures and colors
We know?

Do you remember, water sipping into your dam made of porcelain,
Next to the sugar Cane bush
Do you remember, sunset dividing the fields into two
And the wheat giving the wind a bow
Getting lost in the long grass
Itchy legs when we washed?

Do you remember, the black and white bird
The call of the black and white monkey
The laughter the hyenas shared
Do you remember
Or do you the sounds of the city clog your ears,
And the smells overtaken your nose
Have the bright lights blinded you from color?

I guess,the only exciting thing that has happened to me in a long time is when my friend’s friend got a job in this new Arabic dish café in our Condo, they were having an open house so my friend says-hey want some free food, and I asked when and where. It’s the first time I have tasted pilau in a long time. , when I came back I made a play list of all my jazz music, put my legs up the wall, and said to myself- this is the life- thanks Kim.
So I have been trying to finish off my assignments to avoid the rush, and partly to avoid anxiety. For my Film class, we were supposed to make a story board for this story{blow-up} about some photographer. I asked one of the young guys I hang out with school if he could pose for me and he said okay, then he changed his mind when he couldn't understand the story and asked why don’t I just sketch for you. I gave him paper and pencil, half an hour later he was still drawing a tree with a ruler and pencil. So I thought this is a waste of time and said to him Never mind Lah, we do this another time. I slept at 3a’m with strained fingers from sketching scenes, but was pretty satisfied, until today my desk mate looked at my work and laughed for the entire lesson. She draws very well, . I told her laugh on, at least mine is off the ground.

I am one of those people who stick to the same thing. Like, since my brushing history, I’ve always used aquafresh. When I cam here I couldn’t find it and have bought three different types but still not satisfied, I miss my aquafresh.Especially since brushing is not a very pleasant experience for me, ad when I have to taste tooth paste in my mouth after the ordeal, not nice.
Same with perfume. I used Fa, blue mist for too long, since I was eligible to use it, in form one. Coming here there’s no Fa, no Fa soap. I went to the shop the other day to buy perfume and the only one that didn’t make me retch makes me smell like a clean toilet. Not the bad musty smell when your housemate leaves her stuff in the bathroom. The one you smell after you clean the toilet, take out the mop and come back to close the door. It smells, bluish, and has a sinky tone to it. Ignore me ,I’m mad. When I tried it out, well, Malaysia no Malaysia. It’s like air freshener. Just goes away after 3 minutes, and I’m thinking I should just place it in the toilet to use as a freshener.

Digital Film and Tv


I have two favourite classes, Broadcasting and Digital film. The two are taught by the same teacher. I’d never miss any of them, not because the lecturer knows each one of us by name but these classes are not just some boring 3 hour lecture. It’s the whole experience. The teacher makes it very easy and he is an easy going person who doesn’t get offended when my we start to ask questions we assume he’s supposed to know. The class is made of some characters you won’t forget. There is the guy who talks like a robot and types in the same manner,and Chaiwalla,a Jamal look a like of the main character in Who wants to be a Millionaire, the 2 guys who wont stop laughing and making fun of everyone including the lecturer, actually, everyone in that class is a character.{ok this sounds boring}
Today during our broadcasting lesson , we expected a movie as usual but we instead had slides about history of Radio, which the lecturer had to stop in the middle because some people kept asking strange questions like- When are we gonna visit Astro?{DSTV, GTV}, can we go visit Radio Limkokwing. He went to check if we’d be allowed in the studio, but no one was in studio, so that started another topic on how much the school radio needs a change.
All this time the light were off, coz we were in the screening room and when he switched on, he looks around and there was a new girl at the back, we know her but the lecturer doesn’t. So he asks are you a new student, and everyone starts to laugh, so he asks her a question about movies and pick up lines. She says- I only came here coz I thought you were showing a film. Her boyfriend brought her to class for a free movie- nice cheap date.
We ended up watching RocknRolla the date didn’t go to waste. We had a good laugh , the guy isn’t much of a talker but he is in the school basket ball team, so for him to plan for a class date seemed ingenious.
In the next class, different teacher. Those two boys calling some girl- hey, you girl with a big bum, she turns and one of them says-pull up your trousers. And when we look at him like-man are you crazy? He says- What.., I’m considerate. I don’t want people peeping. Then this girl answers a question and the two of them go like- iiiiiiiiiiii. The lecture asks what? They are like- she so cute. I get amused, I guess coz I’m older than most of them and the stuff me and my buddies did 5 years ago, they are experiencing now, I can’t stop laughing, I feel so old.
Then this guy gets so worked up coz some Arabs called him black, almost starting a revolution-poor guy, get used to it.
I guess this year is going to be fun, last year, I had supermodels in my class who didn't care much about spanning camera's to the left or right, just posing.

Cecilia Gathoni


‘If you loose your imagination you get bullied. It starts with a dream. You build the world you are in.’

This a quote from the Def Jam poetry Presenter, HBO, Russell Simons, which does more than explain the inspiration behind spoke word poetry. It’s all about imagination, and making something out of what you have.
Spoken word poetry is a form of poetry whose lyrics, whether read or performed, are meant to inspire, make a statement, or simply decry a form of injustice.
It evolved from a form of poetry called beat poetry, which involved people shouting and cursing the bad things in the world. Today, spoken word poetry tries to speak out these wrongs, but in a spirit of hope and courage.
When a poem is written and published in a book, unless the reader is quite imaginative, the poem might not have an impact on him the same way it would was it performed. There are three stages of writing a poem. The first one is brewing the idea on your mind, the second is writing it down, the third is publishing.
When poetry is performed, it is taken a further step, which adds more life to it . The impact it will have n the audience can easily be assessed depending on the clapping, a standing ovation, whistling or even requests to perform the poem all over again.
Unlike poetry published in books and other literature, spoken word poetry which in often times will require certain structuring and themes, spoken word poetry gives the poet room to experiment. The topics are varied and the themes keep being re-invented every time....
(My assignment in progress, Communicative Writing skills)

Poem

TAKE ME BACK

Come back and burst me out
From this town and it’s constant drag
Take me back
Lead me back to the place we both knew
The place we both treasured and swore
Forever we’d stick it.

They came,they left
They never looked back and we said,
We said,we’d never get out
But we left it
We got out and took leave
From the hills and forest breeze
And settled in the city
Where it’s hot but cold
Where time is plenty but little
I wanna get out.

Come back and take me back
To the little town with one market
I’m a small town girl you know
The city is not my home.
My heart yearn,for the glorious days,
When life was that small town.

I wanna go back,
But not alone,with you
Let’s go back
To the trees,the green,the dew
Let’s return and never look aside.



{this poem is very relevant right now}

Cape Town International Jazz Festival

Al Foster, Mos Def, Incognito, Dianne Reeves and 29 more

www.capetownjazzfest.com

Cape Town International Convention Centre
Cape Town
South Africa

'The Cape Town International Jazz Festival has grown into a hugely successful international event since its inception in the year 2000. Attendance figures have increased from the initial 14 000 to 32 000 in the last nine years.'

(One day, someday. I will attend this, yeah, and get an auto from Peter White, and other top Jazz artists . ! Mos def is gonna be there too!{def Jam Poetry})

5.African Woman

She sings as she cooks your food
And smiles when she serves
Do you see her as a wafer-
Pale and sparsely sweetened
Or like a good bar of dairy milk?
Rich to sink teeth into?

Is it her mouth?
When she says she’s sorry; and calls you baby?
Is it her submissive stance?
When you visit friends?
Is her beauty in her expressive gestures?
When she explains a scenery?
Which you don’t understand?

Beautiful, a part of you inside her grows
Amazing, when you begin to look alike

Or is it because she always comes home,
And washes her hair and body with lux,
And wears that silk slip you bought her
Is it because she can color her hair red?
Or because hr skin conceals ecstasy,
Absorbing light, shinning, not reflecting.

Her long skirts give your imagination the reigns
Is it the way she neatly wriggles and fits into your arms?
Or the warm breath in your neck?
Or way she finds your hands and warms them in her waist?

Is beauty only visual?
Is it in laughter?
‘Substance,’ you say and whisper
I’m no pervert, but I just like from waist downwards.’
Stretch marks? What are stretch marks?

Does beauty ooze?
Is it hidden?
Can it be touched?
Are curves divine, do hips intoxicate?

Why do you turn when she walks past?
Why do you love her.

Is it the eyes that shine,
The lashes that flatter,
Or the moist lips.

{Sublime Innocence, the poems. Cecilia Gathoni}

love, art and relativity

Now, ignore my pale views
Teach yourself to feel, to see, to touch
If dirt is beauty to you, then let it be
Don’t be constricted to this sole view
After all, I love my way
You love your way
And most things are relative.

Look at t he setting sun once again
I simply can’t teach you art
Coz art, is the beginning of life
As with light and flowers
Reflections of beauty
Reflections and interpretations of beauty

See the dew, watch the rain strokes rush
Diagonally like fleeting romantism
Learn art, learn beauty
As with patient contemplations
Sight and feelings exude love
That’s when you begin to love

My mind is stunned and crowded
Your actions disagree with
The constant pleading in my mind-your heart of stone and eyes of glass
Have got no depth and I’m weeping
I’ve lost my past, my future is uncertain.

So, will you let me explain my view, partner,
See, with our heart we are free but our minds keep pulling us apart.
Why with shadows of old past and mismatched tunes do you let this go on,
While it was decided we would let it go?

We held hands
We held hands and touched heads.You,
Uttered words you shouldn’t have now,
These words will haunt us
The constant ringing in my mind
Of words you said, but denied by actions
Your forgetting mind.
Is like a rock with no feeling, your, sacred heart denies me the sweet scent of rough old loving.
Your new ways
You, have learnt new ways to torture me,
You, forever will be inventing rules and standards
I, cannot help feeling that maybe,
That some how,
We’ve lost it

So why do you gaze at me so,
See, this life we lead directs our steps
If I should give the wrong sign,
Please reconfirm?

Your heart is a rock,as I said your body is an ice block, your actions are a big, intimidating boulder
Unless you learn to live, to love, to be,
Partner, you’ll turn into one of those.

Friend

I’ve seen the way you talk to me these days
I’ve seen how fast your eyes shift
And how quick your hand slips out of mine-
I’ve seen, how you’ll only ‘do your part’,
It’s not like before when, we chatted and you, playfully flickered my collar
I’ve seen how, you have him at hand every time you come around ,
That only formalities may be exchanged
I’ve seen, the way your glance doesn’t go past my forehead—have I done wrong?
Need I know?
I’ve seen, the way you no longer appreciate my poor man’s gift,
I’ve seen, I’m no longer crucial
I’ve seen, you no longer acknowledge even, my presence
I’ve seen, friend, something went wrong.

Three puppies,a Red shoe and a Granny

I always had a dog. In most of my pictures while I was young, I’d be holding a dog, most of them I called –chui- apart from one, Bosco, whom I really loved but he got poisoned by a mischievous neighbor when I went to boarding school. Mama{my uncle} had got him for me when he was just a little thing that fit into my cupped palms and when I held him he at once disappeared into my shirt and mama said-you are a very silly girl you know-as I squealed.
The chui’s also had a bad end, poisoning by the same hater. To this day I wonder why no one ever did anything about it. But I guess he got repaid when his dog ate some poisoned food set for the nieghbours' dogs and chicken. After hanging out with some vets, I have come to learn that poisoning a pet is as bad as feeding broken glass to your neighbour’s child. Next time your pet gets poisoned, don’t just fume inside. Take action.
One time, we had three puffy puppies. I loved them.
My grandmother loves color red. If you want to give a gift to her, please let it be red. She will be peeping at it all the way home. Her shoes are mostly red, her favourite dresses too. Her red shoes get a special place under her bed, and she rinses them out one more time separately. SO you can imagine the chaos that broke out when one morning as she prepared to go for her women’s group, she went to pick her red pair of shoes behind the tank, and one of them was missing!

Gathoni! Iratu ciakwa ciiku?{ Gathoni! Where are my shoes?}

I had laid out the shoes the day before behind the water tank where the sun set last. I had forgotten to lay them out, when I remembered, I realized I’d have to either iron them, stuff papers into them or look for the sun. The last option was most suitable, until, I saw the three puppies fighting over the shoe that was missing that morning.

We niwathira,{you are finished} Mama had said.

I got a nice reprove. I swore I’d buy cucu some red shoes when I got my first job. I haven’t, the way I see it, she has enough shoes for now. Her shoes, compared to my collection, she’d lend me 10 pairs and still wear a decent pair every day for about two weeks, last time I checked. But women love their shoes, so, I might just keep the oath now that I have some money to spare.

Ordinary Extra-ordinary Things

I guess,being away from home will always have its advantages,its disadvantages,, and the things that make you want to pack up and make a detour. But again I think, what makes one not pack up and leave it’s the small strange things that happen and make you think-Nowhere in the world but right here-. Like today, I was at the bus stop, the hot Eastern scorching every decent bit of skin on me. There was a woman smiling at me and I was trying hard to ignore it, but I got curious, because,hear it from me, it’s very rare to encounter a smiling woman where I am currently. And as I supposed, she is from a neighbouring country.
Hello-Africa?,She asked,running a hand over my back.
I said -yeah- and sat beside her.
-Do you have boyfriend?- She asked grinning
-No I don’t-.
-Good, I have boyfriend, Africa man. His friend, all single-.
Then she said I must visit her, so that me and her boyfriend’s friend can meet and talk- African-
The conversation got weirder and weirder .I was nodding and saying no thank you but she would say the same thing again.
-Have boyfriend-?
-No-
-Why not ? I show you African boys, you choose-.
She went on to tell me details about her boyfriend, how much money he has, how much he weighs, how long they have been together but recently he has been chatting a lot on the internet and she feels threatened..
Did I mention this woman is in her 40’s? Yeah.
I was saved by some friends on their way home too and we started to talk,when the bus came the woman gave me her contacts and repeated I must go to her house.
Up to that point, I was amused but I am sure if it had continued,I may have had to walk away.
Small ordinary things out of the ordinary.