Friday, 29 April 2016

Crossroad Blues

It’s been a Purple Rain sort of day; I think I listened to that song like twenty eight times.+Drake released his Views from the 6 finally today; on Apple Music. I haven’t listened to it, but the lyrics landed in my inbox via Genius so I did read it. Wasn’t really telling me anything I didn’t know. Him and Riri have a friends with benefits thing going on…they sing about it on every record they do. She booty calls him late at night. He wants their relationship to be more than that. She doesn’t have time for a relationship. He’ll wait. It’s practically been a mantra since 2014.
What else?
Oh yeah, the judge sealed Prince’s autopsy investigation so they don’t have to tell us so people are making up their own shit as to why he died. It annoys me because Prince doesn’t deserve that shit. Let him die as he lived.
Meanwhile speculation on who Becky with the Good Hair is, is still in high gear. Does she exist? Is she just one girl? Are Jay and Bey getting divorced? Usual story that circulates about once every before album launch. I don’t care. Though Karrine Steffans did write a starkly vulnerable article about how she’s Becky and Beyonce which impressed me with its honesty. You don’t usually get that level of bare chested, unfiltered information these days. Also why did it make me think Jay-Z is selfish in bed. I don’t know. Maybe because people who’ve had sex with him are always talking/singing about giving him blowjobs. No mention of returning the favor. And he’s not even that cute…
Well anyway, why I was writing is because I’m listening to all my sad songs today; I haven’t been able to since my daddy shuffled off the mortal coil. It’s been too hard; see I’m one of those people who run away from pain? I’m a consummate coward about it. If I think it’ll be too hard I deflect, I distract, I prevaricate, I fill that space with other things, till I feel like the danger is passed. So apparently Prince dying and me listening to Purple Rain on a loop means the danger is passed. I can now sit down and listen to my sad songs play list and let myself feel it. Feel loss, feel pain, feel angry and sad and wistful and nostalgic. And feel like I’ll come out the other side without it killing me. I always feel like I might not survive emotional pain when it’s too fresh. But now, I can bask in it, while Purple Rain plays in the background and fully appreciate Prince’s prowess on a guitar, sing it out loud; and get through this valley of the shadow of death…

It feels very appropriate that it’s rainy as fuck.

Becky With The Good Hair: An Adaptation

DISCLAIMER: The characters depicted in this story do not belong to me. They are real people who belong to themselves. I am not making any money from this story. It's written purely for enjoyment.

Beyonce glided into the breakfast room in her peach lingerie and rabbit slippers, stopping momentarily as she saw that Shawn was already there.
“Good morning honey in the sunshine”, he said without looking up from his iPad.
“Good morning my sun and stars”, she replied, her voice low and throaty like honey over oatmeal, “And how did you sleep?”
Shawn smiled, “Very well”, he said, “This new memory foam is the best idea you’ve ever had.”
Beyonce smiled, “Better than the weed inhalers?” she asked with a lift of one brow.
Shawn’s smile widened, “Okay, it’s in the top five good ideas. And you my honey in the sunshine? Did you sleep well?”
“No oga”, she replied with a sigh.
Shawn put his iPad aside, “Why?” he asked as he leaned forward, all his attention on her.
“I consulted the loa”, she said her voice low and heavy.
“You did? why?”
Beyonce gave him a look like he should absolutely know, “What was the last award I received?” she asked.
Shawn leaned back in his throne, nodding in understanding, “So? What did the loa tell you?”
“Well first thing, it has been a while since you offered libation. Do not forget to offer some honey rum and chocolate”, she said with an inclination of her head toward Papa Legba’s altar.

“I’ll do it right after breakfast.”
“You better, otherwise he might require blood sacrifice the next time you need something.”
“Okay but tell me what the loa told you that caused you to lose sleep.”
Beyonce sighed, “It’s about my next album”, she said reluctantly.
“Oh? What about it?”
“Something gonna have to happen before I can release it.”
“And what is that honey in the sunshine?”
“You go have to cheat on me oga”, she said.
“I beg pardon?”
“Yes. You have to cheat on me Shawn. Otherwise I won’t be able to make my next album.”

“But…Bee. The baby? What will she think if she find out later? What will everybody think?”
“Mschew! Oga you question the loa?” she demanded, half standing from her throne.
“No of course not. The loa is always right. But who will I cheat with?”
“Shawn I am very sure you have at least five hundred numbers in a little black book somewhere you can call.”
“Honey in the sunshine, I burnt that book the day you agreed to be mine.”
Beyonce let out a peal of laughter that echoed off the high ceilings. Her thin unlipsticked lips were stretched in a wide smile showing her small perfect white even teeth.
“You are funny my sun and stars. Dig out your black book. Pick a number.”
The smile disappeared from her face, and her expression was serious and uncompromising. Before Shawn could say anything else, the clear loud crystalline voice of their daughter rent the air, singing one of her favorite songs; whip my hurr.
Blue ran into the breakfast room and straight into her father’s arms.
“Hi daddy. Can we go to the zoo today?”

“Not today honey. Uncle Kanye and I are going to a boring boring meeting. After that, daddy will come get you from school and we can go get ice cream. How about that?”
Blue Ivy’s face fell, “Okay. Though auntie Gwyneth said ice cream is bad for you.”
Shawn and Beyonce exchanged glances and Shawn barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes, “Do you not want ice cream then?” he asked.
“No! I want ice cream.”
“Good. Then we’ll go get some. And we’ll keep it secret from Auntie Gwyneth.”
“Okay papa. Love you.”
“Love you too Code Blue.”
Beyonce lifted up the juice jug, condensation forming where it widened from the narrow mouth, “Lemonade anyone?” she asked.

Wednesday, 27 April 2016

Deeply Wailing; Deeply Waaaiiiilliingg

The grim reaper has been busy as fuck this week. It's not okay anymore. The Angel of Death has to be stopped. Like seriously, someone get him. Sam? Dean? Where are you when we need you?
My Brother's Keeper: Supernatural season 10 finale

First of all, I was taking a break from my phone, deciding to read a story and not religiously check my messages and such when +Prince Rogers Nelson died.

Prince is dead.
Now if you had asked me last week how I would feel if Prince died I would have said, "Eh, it would be a loss; like Michael you know? In that abstract way that the maker of great music is gone. A tragedy but at least we'll always have the music."
It wasn't like that.

It was more like an elephant sat on my chest and refused to leave. My heart was heavy and I watched CNN until 3am and cried. All these days later, it's still not okay in spite of all the other people who have died as well. What makes it worse is that living with a sixteen year old; he doesn't really appreciate the enormity of my loss. He's so okay with Prince being dead that I want to smack him upside the head. I'm still in mourning. I am not responsible for my words.
Prince Nelson Rogers

For me, that was the big loss of the week, but the very next day, my brother in law lost his cousin to leukaemia. He was a nice guy; the nicest. The morning after my dad's death, he was right there with us in the hospital. He was very supportive of his family, and by extension, of us and I know that wherever he's gone, it's a good place. Because he was good people.
The next day after that, guess who died, while on stage. Yes. +PAPA WEMBA. I liked that man and his techno soukous. So danceable. My sister reminded me of a concert we went to when he was here in Kenya too many years ago to count. He just collapsed on stage and died. In umm that movie where +Brad Pitt was one of three brothers who slept with his brother's wife while he was away at war...can't remember what it was called but it was horrible; it left me with a bad taste in my mouth. (the story that is). well anyway, at the end, Brad Pitt's character died in the wilderness while fighting with a bear (but not like Leo did) and the narrator who was a native American said 'It was a good death' and that's how it ended. Ever since then, I've been using that expression in my mind if a death doesn't feel so traumatic or tragic. Like my dad's death was a 'good death' because he died on his terms, said goodbye to almost all his family, he was ready. I think Papa Wemba's death too, was a good death. He died doing what he loved. He was happy. Then he lay down and died.
Papa Wemba

Also shuffling off this mortal coil this week was former first lady of Kenya Lucy Kibaki. Now all I can really remember about lady was her tendency to be mad as the hatter. However since all the best people are bonkers anyway, that's a good thing right? I see people really trying to come up with words to describe her on twitter and it really makes me tired. Why can't we just be real about who people were just because they're dead? I was just having this argument today with my son about eulogising me (way way way in the future) as perfect when we both know I'm far from that.
Lucy Kibaki

You didn't think I was gonna just go without talking about #Lemonade did you? I mean I'm no fan of +BeyoncĂ© but I do enjoy the occasional non-shrill song from her. I'm not anti (no pun intended) just her whole Ms. Perfect thing turns me off. Well anyway, so Lemonade...while people were freaking out about Jay-Z maybe possibly cheating on his wife, I'm wondering what 'good hair' looks like to someone like Beyonce. 

I mean obviously it's some caucasian looking shit or something like that judging by the light skin worship that seems to permeate any hint of praise given to her or any celebrity really. "Good Hair" was supposed to be something that gave black people an advantage over their darker skinned, nappy haired counterparts. But that was supposed to be during slavery. Two hundred years ago. How are still here? And by 'we' I mean 'you' because I've never really been indoctrinated into the good hair-bad hair paradigm. Have I? Someone who's known me since I was young should say, not me. The other thing that bothered me is the response by various men to this album. 
The anger.
Men were taking it all extremely personally. You'd think Beyonce was singing to them. And I had to ask myself, 'Self? Why are they so angry?' And I replied to myself, 'Because...I got nothin'
Why are you so mad anyway? Do you even have a reason?

Well anyway, seeing as I'm still in mourning, I'll let you guys opine your opinions if you wish. Goodnight.

Friday, 15 April 2016

Why Do You Love Who You Love?

So I'm working; let's be clear about that. But when I'm working at home I like to watch +Supernatural in the background. I don't really have to pay attention since it's the like eight trillionth watch but also sometimes I catch something new I'd missed in all those other watchings. So this time, the thought occurs to me because it's been discussed in the media recently, that what if the final episode of the series consists of Sam and Dean dying and going to like Valhalla or wherever and all the people they helped are waiting in different rooms. Kind of like that cop out ending in the +Stephen King Dark Tower Series which left me SEVERELY disappointed. Only they'd find like, that ghost they helped to move on, and Madison the werewolf, and the chick who probably died of heart disease coz they killed that preacher's reaper? Charlie, Benny (his original soul rather than the vampire one) Kevin, Gadreel, everyone. And then in the top rooms would be Bobby and Mary Winchester and John Winchester and...ugh, Jess. And they're all waiting around a dinner table for Sam and Dean to join them. So then they have their first family dinner in like...ever. Then it ends. That's in like after the twentieth season mind.

Well anyway I was watching the Madison episode and wondering if +Jared Padalecki has a type...Like brown hair, strong personality and if he was attracted to Madison irl. So I decided to google Sandy McCoy who Jared was engaged to before his marriage to +Genevieve Cortese. And she's like Gen Cort 1.0. Right up to the same height, the same hairstyle, the same age. Jared said in one of his recent cons that he knew she was the one on the first date. Which begs the question; why? Is it because she fulfilled his physical criteria and also whatever gaps in synchronicity Sandy didn't fill? Or did Jared just have a type from way back? (we can't really say from just two women. We'd need at least four to do an accurate correlation. 
Can you even tell who is who?
It's just so interesting. Raises so many questions about the idea of 'The One' and how we fall in love. 
Take Ashton Kutcher for another example. He was in That Seventies Show with Mila, where allegedly there was kissing. He meets Demi, marries Demi, divorces Demi. Suddenly Mila is the love of his life. Does it have anything to do with her being very close to being Demi 2.0 in terms of looks at least? (I don't know their personalities enough to say). Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Was it meeting Mila that got him into the slim chick with defined jaw and long brown/black hair school of women or was it falling in love with Demi yet wanting to have a family that led him back to look for Demi 2.0 who was younger, fertile and someone he already knew?

Wow, this theory really takes the romance out of life don't it?
You know who else has a Demi 2.0? +Bruce Willis. The girl needs to teach a masterclass together with +Rihanna and +Erykah Badu .
+Katy Perry's men, all dark haired, troubled (okay I don't know if +Orlando Bloom  is troubled but I'd bet he has some issues), unhappy blokes. Wait, she said she was through trying to save people so maybe Orlando doesn't need saving but he fits the correct physical description?
Eonline coincidentally wrote an article about how we're all just attracted to ourselves according to 'science'. If that's so, what about mixed race couples? Are Mya and Leo not in fact, destined then?
What do you think?

Thursday, 14 April 2016

It's Complicated

I had this whole post written out in my head but then I got into conversations with my seez and my son about more or less the same thing ironically, independent of each other; and now I forgot...sigh.
First, an update on my 'betrayed a confidence' situation. I realised that it wasn't about me at all; I was just the convenient scapegoat to vent on. I don't mind. better me than someone who would be hurt by all the accusations flying left and right. I was just sitting there like I was Forrest Gump in the midst of a hurricane. Just watching.

It was crazy because on one hand I'm texting with 'you're the worst human in existence' on the other, I get these other texts from a fan/friend and she's screaming because she just figured out the connection between The Swamp is Full of Mystery (which you can download free if you click on the blue sign up tab over there in the corner), Between Death and Heaven and Child of Destiny. Now when you're writing shit, you kinda think that connections between books are glaringly obvious because clearly in your head, they are. But I'm finding that no, it's not so obvious to the reader and they actually need to be paying attention to get it. I'm trying to decide if this is a good thing or bad thing, but so far I'm leaning toward good thing. The stories are good enough on their own to be enjoyed for the casual reader; but if you're avid and you make the connections that is GREAT. I can't even tell you what a thrill it gives me.

Relationships are funny complicated things and both Mya and Leo and Phil and Lillian embody that. They can't beat some real life shit I've been seeing lately. A few days ago, I read this post on a buy/sell group on facebook where this woman was looking for a man. See even if slavery is abolished, we do still buy and sell ourselves daily. Sometimes we even pay for the privilege. And I'm not talking about human trafficking - which is of course bad, very bad - I'm talking about old fashioned treating people like property because we paid for their time and/or work. So this girl, she was searching for a man to be her boy toy/boyfriend. she had listed her assets, ass, boobs, blow job giving was the saddest thing I'd read in a while. What she wanted was a man to spend time with in exchange for all this assets AND setting the guy up in business and sugar mummying him. She'd even put a picture. Nice looking girl, her assets looked real...she was rich, divorced and felt like her self worth equaled this. the same day I think, some little girl is liking my pics on instagram of my son and writing comments like 'cute'...I'm not +Rihanna. I don't get three thousand comments under my pics. I am going to notice. So I ask my son who the little girl is stalking my instagram. And he says she's some chick he broke up with in December.
Something has happened to women recently. We don't seem to understand that it's not us to do the begging and the stalking and the paying. In the words of the great poet +Megan Fox , women have the vagina. Therefore, we win. When did we stop understanding that?

Not, of course, that I am one to talk when it comes to relationships. I tend to run the other way if a guy tries to come too close. It's not that I'm severely virginal or anything; I'm just wary. Very wary. It's funny that I was just thinking about this, this phenomenon this morning and then my sister calls me this afternoon with what SOUNDS like a classic case of the same. I could be wrong. 
What I'm talking about is the Madonna/Whore complex. A few years ago, when I was on again with my on again, off again; I asked him why he 'said' he wanted to marry me. And he said it was because I could take good care of him. 

I'm that person. I'll admit it. I take care of people. If someone needs me, I'm there. It's a hair trigger reaction; I can't help it. So I'm not really looking for someone else to take care of in the husband department. I want someone who wants to take care of me. Not that I even know what that looks like. I mean I have sisters, and I think we take care of each other. But just to be in a situation where I can sit back and give up all responsibility and know that the other person has got this? Nope. Never had that. Doesn't mean I don't want it. It's one of the reasons why I love +Outlander  so much (the books not the series). Claire is this strong woman who is always 'on'. But when she's with Jamie, she can switch that off and just...relax. Jamie's honesty is refreshing too. +Diana Gabaldon and a few other participants on Books and Writers on Compuserv told me that such men do exist and that they were married to such unicorns themselves. +Jensen Ackles also gives the IMPRESSION that he might have that type of relationship. But I haven't really come across such a specimen irl.

 Everyone seems to see me as the perfect Madonna/Whore. I've had friends for twenty years who have told me that 'Now that your son is grown, you and I know.' And my internal eyebrows have practically fallen off my hypothetical face in shock because here was I thinking we were doing the friendship thing and here he was waiting for the right time to 'pounce'. 

Fresh meat. 
I can suck her boobies and she'll give me a blow job and then she'll make me a sandwich and rock me to sleep. 
And here I thought we were friends.
It's okay. I have reached a 'jacob zuma' on that one. Thanks +Slim Therapy for that one. It means reaching a stage where you don't care about anything.

Should I label this post NSFW?
This is the second image I'm considering in changing my book cover. Thoughts?
Meanwhile, buy my book. 

Tuesday, 5 April 2016


Sigh....trying to get my kid to read a book is like...pulling teeth in like 1786 when Claire Fraser was trying to do it in a newspaper shop (spoiler alert! for Echo in the Bone). I tried to download comics to his kindle and he's still looking at me like I'm trying to steal his childhood. (He's sixteen...note). He hasn't even read my books in full. And when I was writing Between Death and Heaven he helped me out with a few plot bunnies...

Anywho...I digress. Today I wanna speak on marriage. That said; I hear that the epic battle between #WhiteChyna +Kylie Jenner and +Blacc Chyna has been summarily won by the latter and she's about to become something Kylie will never be....A Kardashian. Congrats to her and +Robert Kardashian. Hopefully it lasts. 
Strippers out here winning
Speaking of people 'undeserving' to be wed, our very own Bob Collymore CEO of +Safaricom who practically run Kenya got married again...Now I'm not sure what the problem with his bride is, but people are apparently upset. I've seen posts referencing her tribe (Kikuyu) or the fact that she's a divorcee with two kids. Not sure which is worse in the eyes of detractors but people are very upset. It always bemuses me when people are upset about other people's shit like they're at all relevant to what these other people do or do not do. Like bitch, why you care so much? How is it any of your business who Bob Collymore marries? How does it change the price of sugar in +Nakumatt Supermarket? I mean seriously, thee level of idleness is mind boggling.
She pretty, he did good for himself. Keep it moving. Nothing to see here.
Speaking of mind boggling, I'm in a matatu this morning with the seed when this girl child calls the radio station playing to say that her hubby told her to get pregnant so she did, now he says he doesn't want the baby so she wants to get an abortion and she wants the listeners to help her.

Which reminded me of another caller I heard probably on the same radio station calling in to ask for help because she got a D plain in fourth form, repeated the class and got D- and now her dad isn't getting her a college or anything so she wants to get married.
Man I am telling you there are people out there masquerading as adults but they're really plant life and should not be allowed to make their own decisions let alone be in charge of other human beings. That poor child who was conceived on some man's whim...and now he or she is to be killed because the man changed his mind. I don't know whether to be glad or relieved for it. Who needs those people as parents? On the other hand, dead.

 Fuck, I'm looking at my child right now and imagining if by some cruel twist of fate, he was that child whose life has been left to the vagaries of fate because the owner of the womb he is currently occupying is more concerned with doing what some man wants rather than cognizant of the responsibility she holds. 
I can hardly bear to think about it. 
Anyway, here's an excerpt from a book with very grown up seventeen year olds who make good decisions...eventually.