THE BEAT HATH CHANGED TOO MUCH

Now, in all fairness, a company has all the right to change whatever they deem necessary within their product line up, right? I’m talking about East African Magazines. These guys revived this mag called ‘Drum’. Drum was a social magazine from them days which petered out and was forgotten for a while until EAM got in the mix and started Drum out as a social magazine targeted at the B1 demographic downward. The magazine came out twice a month, giving a run down of the happenings that would interest these people, some gossip and some profiles on local ‘celebs’ (and I use this term very loosely). And it cost 100 bob.

And then this lady called Jackie Thom got in the mix.

Jackie Thom is a bab. Like seriously. I’m talking polo, poncy teatime, golf, country clubs, expensive crap fashion etc. she comes and takes over as the editor and turns Drum into this super ‘come-with-me-my-balling-friends-and-let’s-appear-on-the-pages
-of-this-publication-that-I
-now-run-as-my-own-personal-social-diary’ crap.
The whole demographic of the magazine changed overnight. From events that the majority of Kenyans can relate to, to some socialite nonsense like who had afternoon tea at some jungu’s digz in uko Karen or some shit. Or who was seen at the Nairobi Polo Grounds. Polo! It’s not that I hate Polo (OK, fine, I think hockey on horses is bloody stupid), but the magazine was for the mwananchi for crying out loud. And the mag is now 200 bob. Bitch!

I like the original Drum. It was interesting, easy to read and informative. Now its boring, stuck up and full of shit 90% of Kenyans cannot relate to. At all.

I wonder how long the beat can last. The current drummer will probably not want to break a sweat and stain their (poncy African married to some odiero) designer dress before dinner.

RELIENT K FALLING OUT

I’m falling out of grace with the world
They say I’ve lost my Midas touch what turned to gold now turns to rust
I’m falling out of line with all the stars
That flood my dreams with their guitars and magazines

Face down
This carpet tastes like coffee grounds ground into my face now
And every angle's covered with just another

I’m falling out of style with the current way things are
The things that make conforming hard
I’m falling out of control and you just can't stop me now
I’ll fight as long as time allows

Face down
This carpet tastes like coffee grounds ground into my face now
And every angle's covered with just another band-aid

I’m out here way beyond
A shadow of a doubt
And I know I’m never falling out
Of favour with you

I’m out here way beyond
A shadow of a doubt
And I know I’m never falling out
Of favour with you

I won't think twice or even three times
About taking a gamble with you
‘Cause with my life you have been so kind
I take all my comfort from you

Face down
This carpet tastes like coffee grounds ground into my face now
And every angle's covered with just another band-aid
I’m out here way beyond
A shadow of a doubt
And I know I’m never falling out
Of favour with you

I’m out here way beyond
A shadow of a doubt
And I know I’m never falling out
Of favour with you

I tried to upload the link to the track itself but my connection is shite. Just deadly. No preachiness, no outright gospel in your face. Just nice simple metaphor and a great sound. Tis the shit.

UWONGO YA GITHONGO

Now, I have a question to pose for the world: If one places themselves as a crusader of justice, is persecuted (or is thus threatened) and flees to the land of tea and crumpets, shouldn’t one hold steadfastly to that conviction if one chooses to return to his homeland?

Just a thought. But in summation, I think that John Githongo is a piece of shit. A fat one at that. Why the harsh words? This motherfucker ran away from here to hide in the distinguished halls of Oxford University, claiming that his life had been declared null and void by the powers that be thanks to his sleuthing against corruption. Githongo had the evidence, the position and the will to bring these fat cats to book. But as fate had it, he figured it wasn’t worth losing his life and so he bailed to unsunny England where he kept his fat head down for like two years.

Now the fat man is back. And what are the first words out of his mouth? Amnesty. Amnesty? Mr Githongo, sir, I am appalled and wholly dismayed by this. You sold out, didn’t ya, you fat punk bitch? And here is the irony: this guy hepad the gava coz he thought they were out to get him, right? Then he comes back and is issued a security detail comprising of armed bagas who work for the same government. The lion protecting the lamb? I don’t think so. There are calls for him to rejoin the government coz ati he can fight the rot better from the inside. BULLSHIT! We all know that nobody in the Kenyan government fights for shit. If he goes back in, he has sold out. Period.

Go back to England you fat headed cow, we didn’t miss you then, we won’t miss you now. Unless you are gonna put a hole in each one of this idiot politician heads, you can eat a dick.

Fat bastard.

REFLECTIONS IN THE EYE OF THE MIND

There is a prolonged battle of wits going on in my head. The good versus the bad. The bad has been suppressed for a while. But it keeps popping up. I try to beat it down, sometimes I succeed and then it pops up again. What am I gonna do? Or do I have a split personality, as much as I think schizophrenia is a load of white people bunk?

When am I gonna realise what’s what? I feel like there is a block in my thought process that I need to get the hell out of there. You know like when a ditch gets blocked and the nasty smelly water dams up behind the obstruction and stinks up the place? That’s my head. I need to get the debris out.

Anyway, I have decided I will give The Edge one more try. Just one. Nothing ati seriiiiious, just a last ditch effort to see if there really is nothing out there that no human has ever deigned to seek. If it works, it works. If not, well, at least I can say I tried.

I surely do hope.

WHO SAYS THERE’S NOTHING FOR FREE?

There once was a poetry slam at the Ethiopian restaurant of Daas. In this restaurant there was a waiter who served a bunch of drinks to a bunch of people and then set the bill in front of these people in a small glass tumbler and then waited for them to pay. These people weren’t bad; they were your average young Kenyans who had come to Daas to enjoy the skills of the spoken word artists courtesy of a petite Hawaiian hustler and a lanky wannabe hippity hop advocator.

So, the young bunch of Kenyans proceeded to imbibe EABL products which totalled up to about Ksh. 1,800 and had a fun time listening to the spoken word pieces, several of which were very, very good.

When the slam ended and it was time to leave, one of the young Kenyans was about to pay the waiter but he noticed that there was a profound opportunity to make off without doing so. Why? The restaurant was trés crowded and there was no one checking the people who were leaving to see if they’d paid their tab or not. So the bunch of young Kenyans nonchalantly walked out of Daas and dashed down the narrow stairs and out into the street, not believing what they had achieved.

And then they laughed about it and lived happily ever after.

I R INFURIATED

I am reading up on the difference between the Left and the Right in politics. This has been instigated by the need to establish just where the politicians that we have in this country stand. Who is conservative, who is radical?

And I hit a dead end.

Our politicians are the most spineless, irreverent, shifty motherfuckers that the process of human reproduction has ever spawned. None, out of 210 men and women have a stand that they can stake a claim to. They are like flags on a pole, flapping every which way depending on the type of political wind that is blowing at the given time. Nobody stands for anything. Anything at all.

As a Kenyan I am deeply pained by the complete lack of interest in anything except the MP’s pocket. Their thought process goes something like this:

• I need to get re-elected.

• I need to be re-elected so I can go back and make Ksh. 800,000 (plus benefits) for the next five years.

• I need to perpetuate a large amount of hate against those from ‘other tribes’ who are out to ruin ‘my tribe’.

• I need to occasionally raise a ludicrous motion in parliament (Alvaro has alcohol, School kids need to be caned, Nairobi needs to expand, VIPs need special lanes on public roads etc.) so that I can get the press. And maybe join the parliamentary committee established to investigate it so I can supplement my Ksh. 800,000 (plus benefits).

• I need to get re-elected.

• And so on

This is the kind of thought process in the mind of the Kenyan politician. If the people we have supposedly elected to take us forward in our lives are only geared towards the above, what chance does the average Kenyan living on a small holding (more than 80% of the population) surviving on subsistence in the bundus have?

THE DISCOVERY OF THE MAN

What is enlightenment? It is the realisation of the fact that the only person who can help you is yourself. There is no one else. People look at successful people and wonder, ‘how did they do that?’ there’s no secret, it called application. Once you apply yourself then possibilities open up. Like magic.

There are no tricks, no gimmicks and no shortcuts. A cousin of mine had a maxim I wholly endorse now: short cut = wrong cut. This has to be the truest shit ever said. Unless, of course, you are running a marathon.

The thing is, I have been in a loop of self deception, thinking there is an easy way out, that I don’t have to apply myself. But I had an epiphany on Thursday night. It is all about application. Application of energies to the most viable propositions that arise in daily life (jeez, maybe I should write a self help book).
Anyway, that’s that.

Oh, and one more thing, Jehovah’s Witnesses are FULL OF SHIT!!

What? You were expecting more depth?

I HAVE THE RIGHT TO GO UP IN A CLOUD OF SMOKE! I DO!

Hey there world. Now, I went to the coast on holiday and I had a blast. No question. But there was one little niggling thing that hit me while I was down there; the Tobacco Bill is a crock of shite. Lemme explain:
• The Bill says you cannot smoke in public areas i.e. schools, offices, hospitals, government buildings, factories etc. except in designated ‘smoking areas’, right?

• The Bill also states that any designated ‘smoking area’ in a bar or restaurant should be at least 50 yards away from the non smoking areas.

Now, the bullshit is, I was at a resort where the bar is on the beach. There is a constant stiff breeze blowing, the gaff smoke goes poof. It will not affect anyone else. But I’m not allowed to smoke there. I have to go down to the actual beach to light up. The beach is all of 10 feet away. See my point?

The penalties are stiff! Fines range from Ksh. 50,000 to Ksh. 3 million. I’m thinking, ‘WHAT?!’ getting busted with a stash of weed (illegal) will cost me a G for the cop and I still keep the reefer, why am I paying 50K for a gaff (legal, supposedly) and stand the chance to go to jail for ati 5 years? I mean what the fuck?

And Dr. James Nyikal, you are a punk ass bitch. Go eat a dick. Why do I say this? Because this guy has a personal vendetta against ciggies. What did they ever do to you? Kill a friend/relative of yours? This motherfucker is out to get us! He is behind all this crap we now have to take. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for banning public smoking in streets and places like that, but not in pubs, man. Come on! I need a gaff and a beer. This Bill needs to be relooked at with a fine toothed comb and perused with a microscope. Wait, that’s backwards.

Dr. Nyikal, be good to me, or you just might find that CIGARETTE SMOKERS ARE HARMFUL TO YOUR HEALTH.