Letter to Eric Lafforgue.

Below is a letter I wrote to Eric Lafforgue on his Flickr. I may write his name in full, exhuming a confidence that I am well acquainted in his works and persona, but I certainly had never heard of him, before I wrote him this letter. I am yet to google him. I soon will. I gather he is big on photography and internationally acclaimed. So he claims. But that didn't stop me from seeing what he was really trying to do. I landed on his photo blog via a friend who shared one of his photos on my Facebook.

-Begin-

Hello Eric,

You don't know me.  It's not tremendously important that you do know me, at this juncture, unless you wanna sponsor my flight from Europe to Africa, where I fancy living on a collective farm with people who hardly  wear clothes or experience civilization.  Before you click hastily away from this letter and back to your lifestyle, let me alert you to something you may not or may have noticed. AS much as you have breathtaking photographs, the message is non the clearer. You are an agent of propaganda, not entirely but generally. Sadly, this message you wish to convey has been done by people long before you and even after you are gone, others will. In that case you are not any special or different. Thing is, you will never succeed ( although you are really trying to), because those before you never did, and neither will those after. Albeit, I highly encourage the photos that portray the different cultures around the world and I find them exhilarating, that I appreciate. How extremely important is it to show a picture of a naked boy standing on a tree stump? I gather you think its 'beautiful'. No problem. Or, how about of your showing all the African kids 'made to look' like they are suffering from malnutrition? I am sure this is something that happens world over. I can bet on it that, that is definitely not unique or not  part of the culture. And even if I would give you the benefit of doubt that you we're taking the photo because it was 'beautiful', I am surprised at how you traversed the whole of Africa to not finding, not even one, 'beautiful' (as the lot of you bunch call it) child who is 'well dressed' and 'happy'. Certainly that wouldn't appeal well to your audience, would it? But as we all know the devil and his dealings, he squeezes in little proportions of lies in a basket full of truth. Nazi mbovu, harabu ya nzima.


-End-

I hope my message to Eric is clear. I salute him...with my middle finger.


How many men would want to marry this girl. I definately would. So precious. Makes me cringe.

Ps: Song of the week

Indifferent [Sneak preview]

It goes without saying how everyone wants to be special. well, let me let you in on a little secret, under this sun, we are all the same. We are indifferent. Of course being special comes with some perks. This is okay for the short run. If you get carried away, then the day you meet someone who dispels your fears (that you are actually not alone) you will either,one, come tumbling down faster than Monika Lewisnky's panties, or two, be happy for the both of you. The more you engage other people in deep-rooted conversations the more we learn all those little secrets, those tiny hopes, the small joys in them are also in us. Well this realization is awe striking. No really, it is. Sometimes my imagination goes a little haywire and I come up with illustrations to justify the world. I looked at it as a game. A very well crafted game. Beginning, god throws in man and woman as the key players. I'm sure he would have intended them to share the same capacity of responsibility, but as seems the case, that's not exactly how that dice rolled. Man is entitled to more power. Later you realize that the power is, in every sense, the woman herself. Well played. Man will need the woman to demonstrate his power, and the woman will need man so as to be demonstrated upon...All in all its a mutual relationship. every thing is. Equilibrium is established. That's the genius of it all, none is greater than the other. But all this would seem picture perfect. Every one would live happily ever after, right? Wrong! Throw in religion.

Join me next week.

Unnecessary day

I woke up with so much to achieve by the end of the day, full-stop. Sadly that sentence was to end there. I ended up having a very busy schedule of getting things NOT done. That is just plain sad. I feel today was completely unnecessary. Then it made me remember of a thought I once entertained. What if, out of the blue moon, you we're given a few extra hours for the day. Say three more hours. For those poor in Mathematics, that would add up to a twenty-seven hour day. What would you do with it. Ha! Trick question, think through it before you answer. I might have to add that, the answer to this question is a sort of prophesy for your life. Call me a magician. At least that's what the girl next door calls me [insert smile]. No really, call me a magician! Thanks. Ah stop it, its nothing really. I digress. This prophesy though, is not permanent in any sense, it might serve as a warning shot or encouragement. I am a strong believer that upon birth, each and every one has a few paths laid before him. The choices we make slowly lead us into those paths. They might end up splitting up into much smaller routes, they might end up joining up, heck, they might also end up forming one big-ass circle. I meant that last part as a joke but it strikes me with some sense of ambivalence. I refrain, I will hold onto that thought and come back at it later.

Things have gone through my life since I wrote Super Jack Rabbit. I am sure your life has also had its own piece of some action. I wouldn't mind hearing about it. Maybe we might learn something from each other. One of those events that featured heavily a.k.a break-up met me face to face, today. Three months down the line. Allow me to dramatize it, that way its less tiring,for my mind. 

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to tonight's duel. This promises to be the most riveting piece of entertainment since Adele tumbled down a flight of stairs. On the red corner weighing seventy-seven I love-you's, former single's champion, currently on an undefeated streak (which translates to mean his heart is still intact), give it up for...He. [boos are heard somewhere in one shady corner,probably some losers]. On the purple corner weighing two-or-three-I-am-not-sure-which I lorve you's, bla..bla..bla...moves like a butterfly, much alike Muhammad Ali(except the schizophrenia part), give it for Kay. 

I know what you are thinking. He is a desperate romantic. Well, I hate to break it down for you but you're plain wrong. That is as far from the truth as your arse hole is from your mouth. He is unknown. He even doesn't know his mere self. One very good thing about He is that, he always wins. His opposites also win, fair enough, but only its a Pyrrhic victory.

Funny thing happened on Tuesday. I am in for my usual rugby training. The flood lights are on, and a few ordinary people jogging around the pitch. Ordinary, because there was nothing that caught my attention. Aheem, apart from that fine lass who always draws the attention of the whole rugby team. I kid you not, she has the body of a vixen and a phoenix and and...she is perfect. Whenever she comes around, and jogs the whole team suddenly gets some adrenaline rush, for no apparent reason. They play much better trying to show they got IT. Normally the lads just engage into farting contests. Seriously, they do. But, when she jogs on the part of the pitch we are patched on, everybody stands astute, and moves their heads up and down rhythmically after her [your guess is as good as mine]. Except for me. I pretend she's not 'all that'. Inside, I was screaming.

I shifted positions. From a flanker, I am now a hooker. Please don't laugh. I don't despise the position, quite befitting, its a position of power and dominance in the game. Its just the name given to it. Just doesn't sound right. Now I guess my joke's on me, 'Rugby-the only game you enjoy the company of thirteen men and a hooker.' 

 I will sign off with my song of the week Cheers lads!

musings

Many are times we get mad at our father/mother/extended family, and for those from a polygamous background, please feel free to add an 's' where appropriate. Of course, with strict reference to thyself. If there is anything you pips should learn from me, is that I don't discriminate. Besides the point. I am sure we all have a barrage of emotions that we would sometimes want to spew out when we get worked up. Those words often go unsaid. And if they are said at all,then either, no one gives a shit, and please do pardon my french... Or you'll most definately end up facing the music. Chances are that you will regret having spoken back at your [insert name here].

Recently I got so worked up and noticeably angry at my male parent. Which isn't a recent development, it has been happening for the last two decades, and he's still going strong at it. Only that, instead of amicably telling him these words, I figured I would rather write them down. Of course I later resolved the withstanding issue as the gentleman I always am(clear throat). I was the bigger man. He had his way. The following is what I wrote on a memo and later ctrl+c ctrl+v'ed. Who knows, it might come in handy. Maybe one day my life will be at his mercy. Then I imagine he would say to me, what are your last three words? With a smile plastered on my face, I would respond,(1)Read (2)my (3)blog. Great plan, right? Who I'm I kidding. Au revoire.

Ps/ sorry if you might not comprehend some of my reasoning. Even I fail to sometimes. I never cease to amaze myself. I think I would need to be at that exact mindframe to really 'get it'. Unedited.


I will obey and respect what you will say, al though, not meaning, that I will agree with it. The bible is my reference point in this particular instance. The bible hmm. Often I have asked of myself, what makes you my parent? Is it the fact that you played a vital role into bringing me in this world? Because then, the nurse at that maternity at tumutumu deserves some unforthcoming parenthood. Wouldn't you agree? What becomes of that child who grew to no 'parents' in this sense. Would you still say he/she still has parents? Because obviously he didn't catapult himself onto planet earth. What of the child who was adopted to a family. Are they not his/her 'parents'. Shall he remain parentless. Then there was certainly no need for adopting, because it would be a futile attempt to perform the irreversible. It would not make no sense whatsoever...I would be much obliged to take on a bitch's thinking, in the strict reference to a female dog, than to try and argue to the passive.

Or does being a parent revolve around the fact that I am financially and maybe(underline) morally dependent on you. Hmmm. I know what your thinking. You're thinking yes. Do you know what I am thinking? Well, I will do you the pleasure. I think this adept 'proposal' would be shot down within hearing distance by anyone who claims to be a critical thinker. An analyser I hate to paraphrase cliches, I wouldn't even touch them with a ten foot pole. But, with all honesty, it would be much easier for the proverbial camel to make it through a needles eye than this defination to be considered gospel. Amen! Without much ado, may we agree not to disagree, this is definately not a prerequisite of being a parent. You don't believe me? Think of it this way, you might be my mother's parent. Glad to know that we agree.

Now that the terms of the next disagreement have been agreed upon, what makes one a parent? Forgive me but, have you ever heard of the quote that, friends are the family you choose? Can we start from there? By we, I hope you understand that I meant myself, me and I, in that strict order.  

-end-

I never finished because my thought pattern was interrupted by piss/urine, or as some of you say it, I had to shake hands with the president. On coming back, I had better things to do.