It’s Valentine’s

And with the obviousness set forth, I say I’m actually excited for the season. I’m thinking of doing it the way I did way back in 2010, and there’ll even be cake and sweets. It will be a sweet one, I hope.

I don’t do Valentine’s in a big, blatant manner though I wish I did. I wish I was the type to buy manila paper, and art craft equipment. To search online for do it yourself videos, and sit down to make cards, and banners; decorations to put up in my space; and give to people I know for the season.

I wish I was the type to have a device in which I can set up playlists for every day leading up to the end of the season, which is the end of February for me. Have themes like current hits with Beyonce, and Ellie Goulding, and Paramore. Old school hits with Stevie Wonder, and Charlie Pride, Aretha Franklin, and Chaka Khan. Erotic with The Weeknd, Tinashe, and Michael Jackson, and Nicki Minaj, Nickelback, too. Cuteness with Ed Sheeran, and Kelly Clarkson. Sexy with Aaliyah, Toni Braxton, Xcape, and Ciara. Enough to keep a smile, and the mood alive for weeks.

I’d like to be the kind to cook spicy, savoury finger foods; and wear lace, and satin, silk, and velvet.

I am not. I do t-shirts and slacks, slippers, and tea in the evening. It isn’t inspiring, but it doesn’t deter me. I’ve been making playlists featuring Sam Smith, Beyonce, Aaliyah, Ciara, Alicia Keys, Michael Jackson (cause the man had sexy tracks like give in to me, whoo!). I have a bunch of romantic movies to watch like Something New, Beyond the Lights, Jason’s Lyric, Rent, and Twilight. And I’ll make my favourite treats, read romantic novels like Jude Deveraux’s Velvet series, and maybe an erotica if I can find a good one. In between all this, I’ll be writing.

Valentine’s should be good, in the least. So far, it has had good moments.

Happy Valentine’s.

sKenyans, shame on you. Dishonour on you, your family, your children’s children, and your cow

Ah, some Kenyans (sKenyans) on twitter, and facebook; aren’t you lot just a terrible example of humanity? Not a reason have you to be terrible, but there you go sharing what has been unsolicited, and is harmful. I don’t know why these 4chan-esque posters are allowed online, but I have this deep desire to see them no longer. And for the most part, I have managed to avoid them; but with the ability for people to have multiple accounts at a time, and that thing called manual reposting, it’s not an entire success. Hence how I found myself reading tweets by unnecessary bigots regarding a kiss.

This kiss is heterosexual, and boring which in itself isn’t worth much furore if any attention. However, because sKenyans on twitter, and facebook apparently have to fill some quota on being harmful negatives, they pervade the kenya-twitter-sphere with their misogynistic slut labelling of the woman involved in the kiss.

If their problem was the man involved, I’d probably be less moved to comment on it. It’s not, however. It’s not that the man is a liar, a sexist, misogynistic, sycophant government official, who spends more time making the government look irrational than communicating effectively enough to manipulate people into seeing the government in a positive, or non-negative light. Because there’s no one working for a government’s communication department that isn’t manipulating people with their messages. Their problem is that the woman was pictured with a man who isn’t the man she was pictured with prior. Their problem is that she’s a female. And that’s misogynistic.

sKenyans are a shame; repugnant excuses of humanity. Exaggerating a kiss to sexual acts, and then slandering a woman as being irresponsible with her sexual life is revolting, and undeserving of any consideration that doesn’t lead to rebuking of their behaviour. Equating a promiscuous lifestyle to deserving of rape in the case of a woman is violent. Expecting them to learn different, to be good is a pipe dream. There’s more chance public money stashed in Switzerland will be returned with all the interest gained than the likes of @masaku will stop being hateful, spiteful persons committing violence against women for the sole reason that they are not him.

trigger warning, depression

It’s a day in which waking up is an inevitability, but unwanted. I can’t sleep for more than two hours this week, and getting to sleep is a struggle, although I am sleepy all the time. I want to hate it, but the effort is too great. So, I’m in this limbo where nothing is happening, and I’m whining because there are options I should take, but I won’t because I’m too tired, or apathetic, or watching a series and unwilling to turn it off for a few minutes to deal with the insomnia.

It’s a day in which the ground is firm, the sun is hot, the air is dry, and my hair is glossy because the sunshine warms the lotion in my hair, and makes it work the way putting my hair under a drier for a few minutes would if I tried to go near a hair dryer. My skin is dry, my nose bleeds, and my eyes water a lot because of the air. So, when I feel like crying, I have an excuse.

The world is going on with their plans around me. There’s a pregnancy, a loan, a renovation. People are getting jobs, and promotions. Income. People are doing things they want, or as close to it as they can get.

My world remains the same: try to sleep, try not to wake up and fail. Write the story, and keep writing no matter how much I hate it. Listen to music that doesn’t make me cry, or curl up in myself. Listen, and watch shows that will keep my mind from thinking that it’s a good time to google what types of drugs I can overdose on that won’t destroy my organs. I figure contaminated blood is a loss worth the rest of my organs being viable for donation. Or run away from home. Leave and say nothing to anyone. And never return.

It’s been a day; the kind that I will put down as one I found at its end with me still in existence.

Tying my lesso

Originally posted on chanyado:

What I remember about that night were the sounds. The scraping of the bed being dragged across the floor. The insistent pounding of fists at the door. The thudding of my heart echoing in my ears. The muttering of prayer tumbling out of my mouth in a stream of whispering.

They had come after me.

Earlier that evening the driver of the matatu I was travelling in kicked us out slurring, ‘nimechoka. Tokeni.’ Though we tried to protest, his erratic swerving had left us jittery and we felt we were safer walking than being at the mercy of this drunken driver. So several hundred metres away from Oyugis, we started walking. I was on my way to a funeral and was carrying a huge white box overflowing with flowers, stuffed with the wreaths I had been asked to bring from Kisumu.

The walk is a blur to me, but I…

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Been trying to write something, anything to keep up with my intention of publishing more than once in a long while. The past fortnight has been of sadness for me, so it’s been difficult for me to keep motivation to write up. Especially to write something that isn’t frivolous. Then I read a reminder, that writing involves anything, no reason to be embarrassed; and even if you are, no reason not to just write until you can’t anymore. Hopefully, this doesn’t end up being unfinished.

And what is this?

This is me realising that I haven’t written a wedding scene in all but one of my stories since high school. And that’s saying something cause it’s been twelve years since the last wedding scene I remember writing. Then again, I haven’t written a barrage of books since then. It’s difficult to have a collection of titles when you find everything you write subpar when you’re halfway through. But, for someone who writes romance; isn’t that off?

I think it’s partly because I have a fear of weddings.

It’s not a phobia; no. I attend weddings with thrill, most of the time. I mean, I fear having to craft a wedding. Thinking up of things that best suit the characters, that is sweet, and encompassing of passion, love, and commitment. I dislike doing that. The best scene(according to friends who’ve read my work) I’ve ever written for a wedding was one between people who got married for money. It was cold, procedural; and hinted at malice. I don’t feel comfortable writing happy go lucky weddings, which is probably reflective of personal revulsion to commitment. That, I am phobic of.

Also, finding things to do with weddings that would appeal to me. There are too many dresses, so many great spaces; and even better types of cakes, and themes; I would derail myself from the story, and spend thousands of words on something that would in essence be of small significance to the story. I don’t how wedding planners do it; or maybe they do it cause they love the frustration, and chaos that comes with choosing things for a wedding.

Anyway this realisation is making me want to change that. I don’t know which story to write it on; or maybe I should do outtakes of presently written stories. But I want to be able to tell myself that I once wrote a fabulous wedding scene, and it was great for me.

TIME Person of the Year Reader’s Poll — Updating Results

Jaz is I:

Time for TIME’s person of the year. The list leaves much, much to be desired. For example, anyone but the white Americans, the Brazilian President, the Arab authority heads, and the Europeans. At this rate, Al Shabaab, and Boko Haram will feature next year. Yeesh.

Originally posted on TIME:

Read about our methodology here.

[pinnion-poll src=”http://time.pinnion.com/pepl/webWidgetVoteTotals.php?id=12836&key=NWI0MzRlZDEyYmEwNjhlOWVmZDBkYjk1NWNmMGYxMWI.&addlId=12833&filter=YES&logBase=0&round=10″ width=”838″ height=”2600″ title=”2014 POY Results”]

Vote Now: Who Should Be TIME’s Person of the Year?

Face-Off: Who Should Be TIME’s Person of the Year?

[time-brightcove videoid= 2866699201001]

[newsletter-the-brief]

Read next: Who Should Be TIME’s Person of the Year in 2014?

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Comfort zones

Jaz is I:

Very apt things. Good, and apt.

Originally posted on Cristian Mihai:

“Change isn’t easy… changing the way you live means changing what you believe about life. That’s hard… When we make our own misery, we sometimes cling to it even when we want so bad to change because the misery is something we know. The misery is comfortable.”Dean Koontz

A lot has happened in the past year. Good and bad. I laughed, cried, got my heart broken. I thought things couldn’t get worse, then they did. Then I thought things couldn’t get any better, and… lo and behold, they did.

And I changed. As a person. I began to see myself in a different light. I began to see the world around me differently.

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I have tried to avoid hot topics such as my dress my choice, and my body my home cause it always has unnecessary contributions which detract from the conversation, and put in harmful opinions much like nudity is not my choice. Good for you, nudity is not your choice. However, why does it seem as if decency is based not on one’s mentality, but someone else’s outfit in this case; and especially how appealing, or comfortable it is to you? Such detraction makes me angry, and I end up taking out on my family, which is bad of me, and for them. It also leads to a lot of opinions, and ideas that I hold. Does it make me right? I don’t know, and I don’t care. What I care is that what I put out as good, and acceptable isn’t harmful, but beneficial to people. Respectful to more than those who are moralistic when it suits them.

As such, I say decency is in the mind of the beholder.

If you figure that a naked body is repulsive, that’s on you, because a naked body is nothing salacious. That idea comes from ridiculously repressed people in the medieval times, all the way to the Victorian Era.

Yes, some old nations in the continent had thing against naked bodies, but it was specific. For example, an old woman’s naked body was used as a weapon against men, and the younger ones. It was used to curse, or shame them when something was done that was wrong in the woman’s eyes. A woman in some cultures, stood naked to protest a husband’s mistreatment of her. Not because it was offensive, but because it was respected enough to be used as a weapon.

Know who decided bodies were repulsive, and hence deemed to be covered at all times in the continent? Europeans, and Arabs.They brutally enforced their standards in the places they colonised; and changed a body from being a vessel carrying a soul, and sometimes a work of art, to something that is repulsive, and should be hidden from sight, lest it offend God, and good people, because it’s so carnal; so base.

Why should a naked body offend an omniscient, omnipresent entity? And why should that entity make its own creation repulsive to itself. That’s irony, and foolishness, especially if that entity supposedly loves its creations. Idiocy. And some psychopathy, cause why create something to be repulsed by it, and then claim highest order of logic, and superhuman intelligence? Somewhere, someone’s contribution to their design of their understanding of the Almighty was greatly flawed. The body isn’t repulsive to a logical God. Therefore, the argument of God is ridiculous, and voids itself.

Nakedness being repulsive, or sensational is designed by humans. Europeans who peaked in the Victorian Era in our case. These eurocentric, Victorian era standards need to stay where they were made. As do Arabic standards that are oppressive, and inhuman. A body’s a body til it’s a work of art. Making it any other way is indecent.

Stop making people’s bodies a thing of contention. If you can’t explain what a naked body is, then don’t have one. If you can’t tolerate naked bodies, stop having one. If your biggest definition of decency is qualified by certain lengths in dressing, stop having a definition. Because your/that definition is harmful, and derisive. It concentrates on an unnecessary qualifier.

Length doesn’t determine character. Not long hair, nails, limbs, tongue, ears, sleeves, tops, or bottoms.Determining that the length of anyone’s clothes directly correlates with their character is a qualifier for one’s character. A bad one. Unless someone says their dressing is a reflection of themselves, and explains how, there’s no reason to assume, or believe a skirt defines someone. Define decency differently. Based on anything else that isn’t the length of someone’s clothes. Cause then, aren’t overlong clothes-indecent? Aren’t ill-fitting jackets, and colours that are ghastly against people’s skin tone indecent? Aren’t those qualifiers ridiculous?

We have to stop holding harmful eurocentric standards as definitions of decency. Decency means acceptable behaviour to set standards of morality, respect? How does it benefit us to still uphold mentality that was entrenched brutally in our ancestors? It’s a failing that of all things to keep from our colonisers, we choose the negative, harmful things. Change the standards.

Decency involves mentality; it should involve people not being offended by thighs, and buttocks, or ankle, and elbows. It involves accepting the norms of a human body; and rejecting harmful things like uncleanliness from here on out. It involves rejecting lack of water supply so severe that people can’t bathe or wash their clothes for days on end. Decency is provision of shelters for homeless people, and donations of viable clothes to those who can’t afford them.Indecent dressing isn’t about a chest, or ankle seen, but about wearing the same clothes in public for five days straight. It’s about wearing 20k suits while people are starving in North, and NorthWest Kenya. How about a 5k suit, and the 15k buy people food, aye?

Rich people dare to imply that short skirts and sagging pants are a problem while wearing clothes that could feed a family for a month. Oh, yeah, a micro mini is indecent, but not people starving while others spend a month’s worth of food on booze in a weekend. I scoff at them.

Indecency is the repulsion people have to natural bodies; to the display of body parts instead of the violence routinely meted upon bodies in the name of discipline. Why are people repulsed by them? What is going on that you think they are bad? Why can’t you explain to child that an average naked body is nothing to write home about? Why sensationalise nakedness to such an extent that a stranger’s nakedness humiliates you? Especially if that person isn’t cursing you. That’s misplaced, and unnecessary.

Teach that a body is that in which a life is carried. Teach the respect of bodies; naked or not. Teach that unless someone is sharing their body with you, or using it against you; it’s not a concern to you. Unless it’s in danger, or having suffered trauma, starving, sleeping in the open, suffering dehydration, anything compromising it’s physical health, being violent towards you, it’s not a concern to you.

Redefine indecency, and make it such that it involves violence upon positive native aesthetics like locks, and copper neck-braces. Make it indecent that schools can refuse people admission, and attendance for wearing jeans, and locks; and work places refuse to hire people based on their non-eurocentric attire. Make that an issue. Leave unnecessary problems aside. Short skirts, sagging pants; exposed thighs, buttocks, or foreheads are not serious. Violence, and violent policing against women, and men who don’t make others feel comfortable according to harmful standards of social acceptance is the indecency problem rife in this country.

I Inherited My Brother’s Laptop After His Suicide, What I Found On It Made Me Glad He Did It

Originally posted on Thought Catalog:

Andreas MøllerAndreas Møller

I lived most of my life never having to deal with a delicate situation, or any momentary thing that tried to bounce my life off track. Not only that but I spent most of my life happily with a happy family who did happy normal family things together like camping, going to fairs, vacations to the beach; one of those picture perfect families that appeared with genuine smiles in photo albums. Now that I look back, I guess my brother, Shawn, and I were spoiled with love in ways that many children weren’t and it just makes me thankful for the way that we grew up. Close.

That’s why, originally, it didn’t make sense to me at all the day that my world got shattered. I guess I could have said that I saw it coming the day I saw my brother leave his room after about a…

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