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?