IT IS NOT A CONCRETE JUNGLE-ASANTE

If you held a gun to my head,I'd laugh at you..
Ok,I am kidding,

I'd be scared shit,my knees would gnarl,my teeth would gnash,I'd shake,

Jeez,I'd pee..No that I wouldn't do-even to save my life.

Honestly I've never quite understood the connection between the two(fear and piss)

I'd say a prayer for Jane(my bed)

My bed is called Jane.Stop giving me those eyes.
I wanted to call her Mitchelle when I bought her,but who would ever take me seriously?

Would you?

When was the last time you took a man whose bed is called Mitchelle seriously?
hands up....

So Jane was the it.

I'd pray that she gets a good caretaker,a man who would spread clean sheets on her(white)Jane hates green bed sheets by the way,there was this time I had a green pair, boy I wish you'd see her face,she was sad for the two or three days she endured this macabre-ish treatment.
Green bed sheets are for ugly beds called Mitchelle.Beds that resigned to the fate of dust mites along time ago,beds whose owners have smelly feet and drool and snore with their moths wide open.

If you know a bed called Mitchelle,save it from its owner will you?

But what would scare me the most is not a gun on my scalp.No! not even losing Jane,ok that would touch me I promise.

She's the forever and ever type.

She is loyal.

What would wet my loins,what would make me beg for dear life,heck what would make me think twice about my relationship with Jane-which is currently at a critical stage of amazing,is silence!

A man makes some choices some time,and I'd gaudily give her away,I love her I promise,but I just cannot stand the idea of silence,I'd choose to send her letters in her new home and proclaim how  much I love her..

But if you took me to place where,people didn't talk to me,I'd crumble.my heart would bleed,I'd get brain haemorrhage,or hernia or massive Schizophrenia.I'd start monologues that would soon be heard 25 Kilometres away,

I'd imagine I have a gathering and each time I'd give speeches,because I'd never shut up.I keep talking,yes I'd do.
I talk when it is unnecessary, to strangers,to people I know.

I am made of the type of clay that manufactures speakers,wait,are speakers made of clay?

Insight Please?

I'd write my eulogy once I arrive at a bizzarely silent place,In that eulogy I'd remember you people that think

I am funny,you that think I am a writer,You that religiously follow my musings online and offline,people who spend dog hours reading useless post on this space.

I'd dedicated Frank Sinatra's "my way" to all my loyal readers.I'd also pen down a moving piece about Jane-who wouldn't?I'd say how I'd miss her and the times etc..

Then I'd proceed to bottle up the message in an Afia Mango juice bottle and let it to the sea,to forage to a coastline in Kenya(from Serbia), maybe there,one of you fam,would find it,open it, and read the contents.And then I'd wait the next a thousand years for Jane to respond.

You'd then find how moving the part about Jane was,You'd take photos of my letter(poor letter-the Lord will intervene) and post them with a barrage of hashtags on Instagram,and probably a line or two from Amos & Josh's Baadae..and just like that Jane and I would be separated,

She would maybe get a bad owner,something,a character  between Moses Kuria and Adan Duale.

That bad....

I'd turn in my grave at this sacreligious undoing.

Poor Jane.I love you I promise.

The thing is,we all love conversations,all of us.
Even the type that keeps updating on whatsApp that they are nolonger interested in conversations.

Those are always nursing a dificiency,a lack of sorts.
I have pleanty of monologues,but they sound as crazy as they sound(you didn't see that right?)
But what warms my heart, what takes the crown,is to know that even in my supposed monologues,I am not talking to myself especially here on the internet.

I need that assurance,I need to know that I am talking to people..real people that read and write affidavits.
I need to learn that the message I convey even if at times it sounds damn,has been recieved.

And so every once in a while,when I meet you on the road or in church or in coffee shops and you tell me you read my articles,my heart skips a bit,when you follow the blog

www.muigai-wambui.blogspot.com

I know I am not a crazy young man with internet and plenty of time to waste.

When google analytics tells me I have readers in Polland(23 last I checked),I know I am not as crazy as some of you think.
When you like and comment on posts here,such shit warms my heart-and that of Jane.And we love that

We are squad

Keep reading

keep being awesome

So a big thankyou to you for reading,In a way these monologues remind me that this IS NOT A CONCRETE JUNGLE and that I am not in Serbia and I don't have to look for an Afia Mango juice bottle and a feather and a piece of paper to write and send you my message.

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