Of shaky hands …

Why not shake other body parts? Like the bum. That people just meet, stick their palms together and move the hands up and down in pendular cycles, only to detach them unexpectedly and go on as if the other species in the world don’t deserve an explanation. … More Of shaky hands …

Organ donation … and broken hearts

I’ve just eavesdropped a dialogue from the kitchen between Kelly and a visitor who’s left green crocs at the doormat. I’m not making this up. Fashion sense. Why green, though? Because green is the color of money, grass, oak leaves, and alien bombs. How the hell would I know why it was green? Anyway, she’s sobbing uncontrollably. She’s told Kelly, amid her spasms, that she’d given her heart to someone. The whole of it. And as if I haven’t heard enough, this dude broke it.

What? Heart. So people do that? Yes. Organ donation. … More Organ donation … and broken hearts

Barberic tales …

Lying helplessly a few yards from my estate’s gate in the path of car exhaust fumes and every other stuff that the crisp Nairobi air nurses is Tanu’s den. His base, as he commonly calls it, is simply a complicated relationship between iron-sheets, nails and wood. The three-some affair though houses many a tale to … More Barberic tales …