where do i start. . .

“I don’t know… It’s flattering I guess. More flattering than troubling, to think that when you’re bleeding love, that bleeding’s for me…”

How did we meet? That’s not really the important bit. Well, I suppose it makes for better reading than the “where”. It was a bar mind you. Nothing classy, nothing fancy. Just a regular bar near home.

It was one of those evenings. You know. You’re at home with your mind made up. You won’t go out no matter what. You borrowed a movie earlier so your night is made.

For insurance you’ve bought yourself some vodka. It helps. There was a moment’s hesitance when you were making this purchase because a part of you knows what the vodka does. You wanted so badly to go with something else. Something like, Bond 7. But you didn’t because you remembered what happened the last time.

But that’s not important. What you want to know is how we met.

Like every other story, it involved a blackout. There was really no point in staying at home so I decided to take a walk. Not too far, coz you never do know what will happen lest you wander too far….

Or take things too far, as I did that night.

Asking my pal for the keys to his car because of her. Him handing them over with not a single care in the world.

And then getting screwed.

No, not that way…not in the way it was supposed to happen.

There we were, me and her. backseat of the car. About to get it on. Then a light was shone. Then we were asked to come out of the car.

The guy holding the torch held something else in his other hand.

A gun? A crow bar? It doesn’t matter. He hit me. Hit me hard. I blacked out.

When I came to, the car was gone. My friend was yelling at me.

It wasn’t his, he said… truth be told, this story ain’t mine either.


Random Instance Of Thought

I dropped a rhyme | Once upon a time,

Back in the day | Back in my prime,

I dropped a rhyme in a style lyrical,

The delivery with a precision kinda surgical,

But that was back then…


No one gave a shit about mice and men,


My mind wandered about on a solitary plane,


I pandered about on the brink of falling insane,


And then I broke the wall,

That which stood between you and I,

I called you boo,

You called me sweetypie,



That was then,

hi, my name is ivan, and I’ve got the flu. . .

The initial idea was to type out something about Nairobi, experimenting with different types of meat, meeting Idols and a dude at the airport with the tact of an undertaker, going around asking “what is final destination?”

That is, I was supposed to type out something about Thursday last week and the days that followed, but I kept putting it off, and now, I’ve been brought down by the blasted flu.

To a degree it’s really my fault. I kept ignoring it figuring it would go away of its own accord with time. It probably will, but I don’t have the time…and the pretty young thing in front of me at the cinema might be getting a little agitated with all the snorting and sneezing.

(*sneeze* eugh, gross…oh I beg your pardon, I’ll take that, thank you.)

The situation wasn’t improved by the cold shower this morning. Seriously, I can’t remember water being that cold. My follicles froze, fell off and a new batch of unsuspecting follicles sprung forth. They too fell off, because follicles are given to suicidal and carefree tendencies. I am keeping the new lot firmly tucked under warm clothing.

I’ve started taking medicine for it, some drug with the uninspired name; FluCold. I can’t help but wonder how they arrived at this.

(Boardroom at some pharmaceutical firm

“seems to me like a tie. We will adopt both Flu and Cold as the name for this drug; now let’s go shoot some hoops…”)

It goes without saying, I needed a handkerchief at some point during this ordeal. The lady at the shop went through the routine that usually comes with such purchases;

She: What?!

Me: Hanky!

She: Color?

Me: white…

She: Size?

Me: er, bed sheet.

She: Take

What I don’t get, during this whole thing, is the whole color thing. Why are hadkerchiefs made in any other color? Scratch that, why try to glamorize something we are going to wipe away snot or sweat with?

I’ll probably post about the Nairobi experience later, I’m done with this; mourning my morning.

For you, that you may find your feet.

When we return. . .

Cryptology 101

I’m not sure anymore-more
Who is knocking at my door-door
All the faces that I know
You make them sunny and new

I don’t wanna say goodbye to you
So I’ll just say good night to you
My people, no goodbyes to you
I’m just gonna say good night

Goodnight (Graduation- Kanye West)

slice & dice: Blame it on me – Akon

Artist: Akon
Album: Sorry, Blame It On Me
Title: Sorry, Blame It On Me

As life goes on I’m starting to learn more and more about responsibility
(responsibility? dude, you were supposed to be in Kenya 5 freakin times, and postponed your Ugandan performance, WTF are you going on about?)
I realize everything I do is affecting the people around me (no shit?!)
So I want to take this time out and apologize for things I have done (**** you! I could have spent that

money on other things and still had enough left over for a cab home!)
And things that have not occurred yet (pssssh, like what? your concert??)
And the things they don’t want to take responsibility for (I’m guessing this would be Celtel you’re talking

about, but that’s just me…)

I’m sorry for the times that I left you home (No worries, gave me a chance to watch my stash)
I was on the road and you were alone ( no i wasn’t. I had company…wink wink)
I’m sorry for the times that I had to go (seriously, no harm done)
I’m sorry for the fact that I did not know (ignorance is bliss, my friend)
That you were sitting home just wishing we (hang on, we??)
Could go back to when it was just you and me (fuck no! that’s not how i roll, I love Marsha Thomason)
I’m sorry for the times I would neglect (damn right, wait… no no, this is all wrong!)
I’m sorry for the times I disrespect ( nigger this whole verse is disrespect)

I’m sorry for the wrong things that I’ve done ( there’s no way in hell you’re talking about your concert)
I’m sorry I’m not always there for my son (well played, you know I can’t diss you for that)
I’m sorry for the fact that I’m not aware ( i’m picking up that vibe again)
That you can’t sleep at night when I am not there ( there it is again!)
Because I’m in the streets like everyday (Well someone has to bring the money home)
Sorry for the things that I did not say (I’m sorrier for the ones you did say!)
Like how you are the best thing in my world (uh, okay…)
And how I’m so proud to call you my girl (what the f***!!)
I understand that there are some problems (soaring food prices, no freedom of speech, bad roads, a

brother can’t get laid anymore unless its at a concert…yeah, we got problems)
And I am not too blind to know (Yes you are, otherwise you’d come for the friggin concert)
All the pain you kept inside you (I wouldn’t actually call “it” pain)
Even though you might not show (Oh I show! )
If I can apologize for being wrong (heh)
Then it’s just a shame on me (ya think?)
I’ll be the reason for your pain and you can put the blame on me (Ill fitting boxer shorts are to blame as well)

You can put the blame on me [4x] (I intend to)
Said you can put the blame on me [3x] ( I heard)
You can put the blame on me ( you know what, nuh, I’ll blame Celtel instead, I’m not falling for this reverse

psychology shit)

Sorry for the things that he put you through (yeah, retakes are a bitch, darn lecturers!)
And all the times you didn’t know what to do ( I knew, I just had no time)
Sorry that you had to go and sell those packs (snitch!)
Just trying to stay busy till you heard from Dad (It was for the money, fool!)
And you would rather be home with all your kids (SNITCH!)
As one big family with love and bliss (love and bliss won’t pay the rent)
And even though Pops treated us like kings (pops? what the hell?)

He got a second wife and you didn’t agree ( He did? Auntie “so and so” was his WIFE?)
He got up and left you there all alone (Its aiiight, i needed the sleep)
I’m sorry that you had to do it on your own (sometimes that’s the best way)
I’m sorry that I went and added to your grief (walking in on people generally does that)
I’m sorry that your son was once a thief (once? dude, you still don’t show up for concerts…)
I’m sorry that I grew up way too fast (It was cheaper that way, don’t apologise)
I wish I would’ve listened and not be so bad (I didn’t say that. That was auntie “so and so”)
I’m sorry your life turned out this way (writing in brackets is actually okay, don’t feel too bad)
I’m sorry the FEDS came and took me away ( I’m not…)


I’m sorry that it took so long to see
They were dead wrong trying to put it on me (why would they, you just cancelled your concerts)
I’m sorry that it took so long to speak (what? you had stuff in your mouth?)
But I was on tour with Gwen Stefani (oh, you had HER in your MOUTH)
I’m sorry for the hand that she was dealt (I won’t even go there. I’m a pervert, but this is beneath me)
For the embarrassment that she felt (these lines just write themselves dont they?)
Just a little young girl trying to have fun (Gwen Stefani is NOT little or young…some may even argue that

she is not a girl)
Her daddy should never let her out that young (I suspect we are no longer talking about Gwen)
I’m sorry for Club Zen getting shut down (Shit! I wish that had been Silk and their snobbish Lounge section)
I hope they manage better next time around (How do you manage something that is shut down, what

does this look like? Zimbabwe?)
How was I to know she was underage (Ask for ID before doing anything…)
Enter 21 you know the club they say (that is so wrong on so many levels)
Why doesn’t anybody wanna take blame (because dis is Africa where we all righteous broda!)
For rising back out disgracing my name (you’ve done a lot of that on your own)
I’m just a singer trying to entertain (yeah, from far far away… we were in Uganda, did you get lost?)
Because I love my fans I’ll take that blame (Keep that shit, don’t take the blame, take the next flight out of

Vegas and come perform)
Even though the blame’s on you [3x] ( how did this become about me?)
I’ll take that blame from you (It wasn’t my fault!!!)

And you can put that blame on me [2x]
You can put that blame on m
And you can put that blame on me ( messed up reverse psychology!)

Random Instance Of Thought _ soccer!

It’s come to this; I am going to find a soccer team to support. Everyone seems to be into soccer. I tried to console someone over her team’s loss saying, “You need to remember, that stuff doesn’t happen in real life.” The silly team went on to equalize in the 95th minute, but now we are not talking.

I figure I need a reason to justify my highs and my lows. I can’t keep being happy and grouchy “just for just”. That would just be weird.

The way I see it, I can be pissed off and miserable (yes. You can do both these things at the same time…with close to little or no practice) and if anyone asks me about it, I’ll say my team lost. We can’t rule out the possibility that I may be in a foul mood even after a stunning performance from team X. So stunning, in fact the pope and queen came down to watch them and fought over who should shake hands with the players after the game. (brrrr, nasty mental picture!) In which case, I will assume a self-righteous stance and say something like, “I hate how showy my team has gotten! What happened to playing for the love of the game?”

When I am on my natural high, even on a Monday, I can claim to be celebrating my team’s “awesome”. (the word is surrounded by “” , clearly I know it can’t be right.)

I haven’t figured out which team to support, but I am slowly leaning toward Chelsea. Express FC and SC Villa just bore me. And they don’t have the backing of a wealthy Russian. Shit, dude can buy the moon!

Back then I was all for supporting the underdog, but when you think about it, it as for all the wrong reasons. I’ll tell you why. I hated going to bars and stuff and being the guy that still had a full drink or a glass in one piece everytime a team scored. So I came up with a brilliant strategy, I’d support the “other” team. It was particularly messed up during games with the top dawgz (my word processor is bitchin over the spelling of that word, how does Cheri get away with these things?) coz then I’d feel like a total sell-out.

I haven’t figured out whose name I am going to get on my Jersey. Come on, you must have seen this coming from a mile away. Who doesn’t wear these things? In any case, that’s something you can wear anywhere… even weddings. I have considered getting a jersey with the coach’s name across the back coz he makes me laugh. He probably shouldn’t, but come on, dude looks like The Count from Sesame Street. Hell, he looks like any vampire. Everytime he bares his fangs in glee whenever his boys score, I am delighted.

The only foreseeable problem here is holding onto the Jersey knowing full well that The Count’s manager may tire of buying planets and decide to give him the sack.

We also have to consider an important truth. I am not growing any younger. The list of natural causes is fast running out. I have cut down on my drinking. Seriously. I don’t smoke. (I know what you’re thinking, shut up! THAT is NOT smoking!) I seem to have picked up a fear of experimenting with drugs. Partly due to the fact that Raymond told me Ecstasy leaves holes in your brain. Big, Nasty holes with no clearly defined shape. Just the thought makes me gag.

I realize there are other drugs that don’t need Techno music and mood lighting… (come to think of it, other drugs come with their own music and mood lighting. Ecstasy, you’re a freeloading wuss!) But nuh, I think I’ll pass.

The junk food in Uganda will not leave a layer of fat around my heart. If it does, I think we Ugandans are built to fight that. Our hearts must be lookin’ at that stuff and screaming, “What the **** do you think you’re doing here?”. In the western world, hearts be sayin, “Why hello there, make yourself at home. There’s room in here for the both of us. Care for an artery?” A few months later, the heart realizes its mistake. The fat is that guest that overstayed his/her welcome.

ANYWAY, by getting into soccer, I open myself up to a heart attack or some “accident” during a bar brawl.