"Woishe pole... am not gonna ask if you are eating but how well you are tolerating the pain when you eat love ;-p" That was one of my closest friend's response to my "i have bloody tonsillitis plea" Shows how well she knows me and forgive me (the very medically informed) for using the term "bloody" to describe tonsillitis but that is the term i found most appropriate. (If I may: Re-read the darn opening statement!!! Thankyou!) Moving on.
So this bloody tonsillitis got me chewing stake to powdery state after which it no longer tastes like meat (now I know how farm animals feel bloody powdered fish) Oh my! Wrong use of the term bloody again. Must be the bloody tonsillitis. As y'all might have noticed, I love food and yesterday.. having to sleep on an empty belly na ah! Not my particular cup of tea. So i am gonna fight this bloody tonsillitis (Sorry will not happen again) with all my being, lest i turn anorexic.
Over and out.
P.S: This article was inspired by one Essie Nduta who noted that this is a milestone in my life and i needed to write about it. She suggested a book but the medical world would sue me for the bloody messes I have made.
Have a tonsillitis free day
Friday 24 August 2012
Friday 17 August 2012
IRONIC IRONY
This painful yet endearing expedition
filled with such relative tradition
that regardless of the contradiction
with what is truth still gains such massive audition
let me break it down a little bit
before the dj breaks the beat
and the ladies bend over backwards to bendover forward
before the tot turns to a liquor brewing pot
and the drunk lot
who when sober such perfect strangers
indulge in sex
this is not in truth yet today makes such perfect sense
you see you cannot kill a man when he is dead
as the body does not feel anymore
you can not take the spirit from itself
but they do not know this
they do not know the truth yet it is so alive
they do not know or refuse to know that these bodies are only lent to them
that they are Merely
stewards
caretakers
to them this mass entrusted to have and to hold
in such tenderness that their mission
they so become bold
boldened up for
The very purpose they were created for
thus they indulge in all body wasting scenes
in this expedition
in this adventure
such evildeals they venture
in
they cannot easily get out of
you cannot call it quits with
the author of double deals
the author of backstabbing and counterfeit wills
you cannot because
you are no longer whole
not when you have sold him your soul
but we preach goodnews
news that have had such countless reviews
News of a truth
truth that does not
depend on time
or whoever is speaking at that time
truth that is truly alive
we preach of the son of man
we preach that it has been done
that we have won
no such good deeds
will ever break this immortal war
because the holy lamb was slain
and the immortal stain
cleansed
This news that you only have to receive and wholly confess
that your life has been in a sinly mess
then to true love and purity you will attest.
filled with such relative tradition
that regardless of the contradiction
with what is truth still gains such massive audition
let me break it down a little bit
before the dj breaks the beat
and the ladies bend over backwards to bendover forward
before the tot turns to a liquor brewing pot
and the drunk lot
who when sober such perfect strangers
indulge in sex
this is not in truth yet today makes such perfect sense
you see you cannot kill a man when he is dead
as the body does not feel anymore
you can not take the spirit from itself
but they do not know this
they do not know the truth yet it is so alive
they do not know or refuse to know that these bodies are only lent to them
that they are Merely
stewards
caretakers
to them this mass entrusted to have and to hold
in such tenderness that their mission
they so become bold
boldened up for
The very purpose they were created for
thus they indulge in all body wasting scenes
in this expedition
in this adventure
such evildeals they venture
in
they cannot easily get out of
you cannot call it quits with
the author of double deals
the author of backstabbing and counterfeit wills
you cannot because
you are no longer whole
not when you have sold him your soul
but we preach goodnews
news that have had such countless reviews
News of a truth
truth that does not
depend on time
or whoever is speaking at that time
truth that is truly alive
we preach of the son of man
we preach that it has been done
that we have won
no such good deeds
will ever break this immortal war
because the holy lamb was slain
and the immortal stain
cleansed
This news that you only have to receive and wholly confess
that your life has been in a sinly mess
then to true love and purity you will attest.
Wednesday 15 August 2012
This battle I fear...
He asked how i was doing,
I said fine.
I said life was beginning to seem like wine.
- Better by the day
I said all is in line,
and fate seemed not my fortune - wish decline.
I said i was fabulous,
of life's bringing omnious.
I said i was gracious,
- graciously dealing with all in my way.
But i lied;
I wanted to say i was terrified,
that maybe i wasn't as good as i always thought i was.
That i felt as though my brain and heart were in constant battle,
the brain said that its a dead end ,
but my head differed vehemently,
with so much vigour and passion that i considered a calmer they call liquor,
the heart insisted that i keep dreaming,
but the brain breaks my heart,
brain keeps mirroring the reflection on the mirror
- that a person that mirrored in that manner couldn't possibly be as great,
and my heart broke because even if heart dreams,
heart rarely wins,
not when brain speaks such human truth.
and the heart keeps breaking,
that is why i am terrified because i feel its pieces
- they keep disintegrating i fear i will lose heart;
I fear the dreamy side will hurt;
so much that it will see no light at the end of that tunnel;
so much that even when that chubby lady belts out that melody,
the heart's ears will be blocked - deaf to the end of turmoil
I fear i will die on the inside and never come back...
I said fine.
I said life was beginning to seem like wine.
- Better by the day
I said all is in line,
and fate seemed not my fortune - wish decline.
I said i was fabulous,
of life's bringing omnious.
I said i was gracious,
- graciously dealing with all in my way.
But i lied;
I wanted to say i was terrified,
that maybe i wasn't as good as i always thought i was.
That i felt as though my brain and heart were in constant battle,
the brain said that its a dead end ,
but my head differed vehemently,
with so much vigour and passion that i considered a calmer they call liquor,
the heart insisted that i keep dreaming,
but the brain breaks my heart,
brain keeps mirroring the reflection on the mirror
- that a person that mirrored in that manner couldn't possibly be as great,
and my heart broke because even if heart dreams,
heart rarely wins,
not when brain speaks such human truth.
and the heart keeps breaking,
that is why i am terrified because i feel its pieces
- they keep disintegrating i fear i will lose heart;
I fear the dreamy side will hurt;
so much that it will see no light at the end of that tunnel;
so much that even when that chubby lady belts out that melody,
the heart's ears will be blocked - deaf to the end of turmoil
I fear i will die on the inside and never come back...
Monday 13 August 2012
Before dusk turns to dawn...
What is the opposite of being paranoid?
At the other end of this pathological extreme lies having the vilest and most inhuman plan drawn up against you yet not have a clue.
What is the antonym for joy?
At the other end of this emotion lies the feeling when you watch your world crumble, when everything you hold dear before your eyes crumbles and you can't so much as tremble as you are numbed, numbed by the fear that it could be worse. Watching frantic effort go to waste, watching an empire you built with such struggle in ashes, watching your loved ones waste away with incurables, watching your self turn into a zombie, watching all go yet you can't cry because they will start to pry and it takes all of you to try, try and laugh because they say your time it adds away.
You want more time, more time in a world that's given you nothing worth a dime, yet you still hope that there will be better days and how so if not with more time? Because you heard of Mandela, once ruler of the land of diamond and gold, imprisoned for being so bold, spent years in the cold yet he saw good. You have heard of Mr. King who only saw hatred, disparity yet preached love, equality. You have heard of Job, once such a nob, everything he owned robbed yet he endured amidst the bitter and the sob. They preached about the son of God. The Roman's road say it has been done that all you have to do is believe and Grace you shall receive, so you shun all thoughts of taking refuge in brown bottles or tots, in witchcraft or sorcerer's pots that it will be well and you can tell that it will take a while and you say to your self "death is no merciful release from this pain" As these great stories say, endurance is not in vain thus with the pouring rain in the scorching sun I will wait. Joy will find me not with my heart slain!
At the other end of this pathological extreme lies having the vilest and most inhuman plan drawn up against you yet not have a clue.
What is the antonym for joy?
At the other end of this emotion lies the feeling when you watch your world crumble, when everything you hold dear before your eyes crumbles and you can't so much as tremble as you are numbed, numbed by the fear that it could be worse. Watching frantic effort go to waste, watching an empire you built with such struggle in ashes, watching your loved ones waste away with incurables, watching your self turn into a zombie, watching all go yet you can't cry because they will start to pry and it takes all of you to try, try and laugh because they say your time it adds away.
You want more time, more time in a world that's given you nothing worth a dime, yet you still hope that there will be better days and how so if not with more time? Because you heard of Mandela, once ruler of the land of diamond and gold, imprisoned for being so bold, spent years in the cold yet he saw good. You have heard of Mr. King who only saw hatred, disparity yet preached love, equality. You have heard of Job, once such a nob, everything he owned robbed yet he endured amidst the bitter and the sob. They preached about the son of God. The Roman's road say it has been done that all you have to do is believe and Grace you shall receive, so you shun all thoughts of taking refuge in brown bottles or tots, in witchcraft or sorcerer's pots that it will be well and you can tell that it will take a while and you say to your self "death is no merciful release from this pain" As these great stories say, endurance is not in vain thus with the pouring rain in the scorching sun I will wait. Joy will find me not with my heart slain!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)