I distance myself from my feelings so I never know what I want to say when I want to say something. I mean, I know I need to say something but I don’t know what because I don’t know why. It’s important for me to know why because I need a reason for things. I need to know structure so I can deduce meaning and then understand what it is that must be communicated. It’s hard to do that when you aren’t close to your subject matter. To understand it you must become it. Lol, I avoid that. I avoid association with that icky yucky, sticky cesspool that is human emotion. Whenever I feel it coming on (much too frequently these days for my peace of mind), I actively ignore it. It’s there, and that’s frustrating enough, but I make sure I don’t give it a voice. It mustn’t take hold. I never allow it to take hold.
As I stood at the edge of the somewhat enormous crater, bent over, hands on knees, looking out over the open landscape, the orange light illuminating everything to minute detail I thought, good God I’m going to feel this in the morning. And I did.
We might have stopped perhaps twice before we left the town proper, but I can’t tell you with certainty. I was largely oblivious between us leaving the house and us branching on to the bypass that flew across the Naivasha – Nairobi highway. The scenery was nothing to write home about. You had dry savannah land from before you left the Nakuru town centre, all the way into Naivasha….and… also out of it. The Mt. Long’onot National park (where we were going), was situated to the right on the outskirts of town coming from Nakuru; the highway outside to the left. You could skirt the town on your way to it. But anyway, as you head towards our destination, a quiet kind of green, a silent green shimmering against the silvery background of the Lake named for the town, sorta sneaks up on you. Continue reading “Parallel to the Ground; An Experience.”
I was sitting in the back of a car, wondering how I’d gotten there. My friend at the time was riding shotgun and our driver could be described as wearing a black turban with his white hair peeking out beneath it; a Sikh. I don’t know how they’d met each other but she’d asked me along, now that I think about it, to bring life to their party. Not a well thought out move on her part. He was very quiet, sure, but I can’t say I’m much better.
Friday the tenth, twelve thirteen pm. Employees are walking around whispering in the corridors. And from the window on one side of the wall of their office, the manager can be seen repeatedly loosening his tie and scratching at his bald spot. He’s taken to coming to work without a coat. The office he shares with the co-director seems cramped and cluttered with chairs and used tea cups. The air inside is hot and the ceiling fan has been running non-stop since Monday. Footsteps echo along the laminate flooring outside their door. It’s been nine days since the end of the month and no one’s been paid.
She’d been in the toilet for three hours now. Three hours of horrifying, gut-wrenching, noises that came from the back of the house where Saika had disappeared since they got home. Georgy, thinking she’d gone to throw up, had gathered her things and gone in after her to help. But after hearing the door to the bathroom slam shut and the sound of the tap coming on under an empty bucket, she paused mid-step. Oh no. Oh, God.
Razor’s was pumping. Which was not to say that it wasn’t usually. But tonight seemed way too intense to pass off as a regular Saturday. The air was electric, the bitches eclectic, and in all likelihood, you could swipe alcohol from a table and nobody would look at you twice. Continue reading “Zookeepers Are Perverts – Allegedly.”