i will attempt, in my language, to tell the story of the pursuit of today. i say my language because the key to any tongue is the construction of a subject, and the way i speak, fluids are containers. follow?! aah, the difficulty of storytelling. how can one articulate the mind of a heart?! i am writing to string together the minds that feel with every beat and think with every act. isolate those that feel with every act and think of beats. what's the difference?! i give the subconscious an audience since the first has forced itself one. so i in turn hear myself clearest while offering an ear to those eager to speak first. tomorrow, is a conscious today so the construction of my subject is simply deducing yesterday's confrontation of this day. the thread needling three days. ishmael, the bantu knot.
today, 3 30 15, in random thoughts of highness....
'evolution: monkeys teaching humans step by step'
6 26 15
'in the end, i know, the day i became, i began.'
12 16 15
at the sink inside the men's toilet? "ah! si hii ni Kenya." and the most abnormal thing becomes a tradition. a simple act such as allowing one person to finish washing their hands before reaching over them, and rinsing your urine-filled hands onto the almost clean ones, was absent on the day i decided to wash my hands in public. the feeling of relief is an understatement to describe the difference in my bladder at that time. on my mind was how unclean my hands must have been since i had neglected a conscious touch. i had touched staircase rails, rearranged my privates, carried some lagguage, rearranged my privates, shaken a stranger's hand, rearranged my privates, and finally used the bathroom. put mildly, my hands needed to be cleaned before enjoying kuku ya kienyeji. now at the sink, there was surprisingly great water flow given Nairobi city council's unreliabile service.
deep in the world of cleaning my hands, i almost jumped when someone nudged me. looking to my left, i saw an older gentleman in a suit trying to wash his hands onto mine - unable to wait for me to finish washing my hands. this stranger had to finish everything first or in a hurry, though there were only two of us in the bathroom. shikushika nare kama kawaida. i simply laughed. laughed out loud and just stepped to the side to let the well-dressed man wash his hands. he obviously was a busy man.
from others yelling their orders to the shopkeeper while another was being served to the airport staff offering anger with their service, i was beginning to be fed up with the seemingly accepted Kenyan attitude towards the virtues of order; 'fcuk you, me first'. this is the attitude that saturates Kenyan roads, thus the endless traffic at all times of the day. an average Kenyan will cut in front of other orderly moving drivers simply because they lack the spirit of social decency. this is the same person that lacks character in the toilet and will never be ashamed at the image they draw of themselves. and oftentimes, it is those that are supposed to be the mature persons of society, i.e. older. but you know, si hii ni Kenya.'
12 25 15 in random thoughts of highness
'complete then compete. the opposite makes for conflict.'
from the green poem
'if money is the root of all evil, then i'm a saint. so the green paint in my hands is just a placebo for wrongdoing.'