YOU GUY!!

Its 3 in the morning and I am writing this with the fastest speed I have ever managed just to make sure I shall not miss even a thought but tell this story as I saw it in my mind an hour ago. I shall try keep it in chronological order to ensure my head gets at least half if this shit right.

Oh yes! I am fucking cursing the shit outta this write-up--- or what ever you will end up being. I, meaning Immah Reid (lesbian, mother, friend, smoker, drunk, writer, blogger, daughter, student, researcher, poet, psychologist, philosophical minded woman, dancer, stoner…ok more of a lesbian stoner if we were to summarize all that) got outta work a few hour ago after what I have come to consider a good days work which for the moment in time is showing up. I wore my headphones and headed to the stage by roughly 5. I found a lot of jam and I kept having heat rashes till I got to town at 1730hrs. I entered another matatu that led me in the direction that my mother leaves instead of mines. Got to her presence at 2030hrs and gave my hugs to everyone except her…do not react yet you shall get it later.

There you go shaking your head silly, thinking it’s a mummy-issues post, worry not you are safe, maybe. So I sat to gossip and chitchat and got to my agenda for sleeping in her house for the first time in 8months. Made jokes and play with everyone to be the usual awesome person I am. That much I shall give me.

With a mission not to let me win she touches on a few of my very memorable flaws mainly, smoking. There you have my reason for distancing myself from my bearer. Which I calm down with my ever unprepared perfect lies that spoke deep to my disgust for smoke and how weakness of a person who gives power to a dead plant over their lives repel me.

Once more Immah fails me not. So she gets to see everyone off to sleep and I get to going through a hip of my old notebooks, letter, cards and calenders. It’s all memories flowing back as I tried to remember who some of the names are in success cards and tried to decipher shorts code I wrote 7years ago. Definitely enjoying the fuck off my night and wishing I had more eyes. Then I pick one book that cannot see me standing for too long and I take it to the sofa (say that in a vintage sexy voice and you might make you smile).

Then I turn on the laptop for no fucking reason whatsoever and I play Ali Kiba's –Na run dunia song and fuck the ma’fucker killed it with that big G lyric. So am bound to take a stroll down good-feeling-lane, which went kinda ok and within  no time I was using all newly found tricks to take care of all I was feeling and have been going through lately.

So I pick the comp and am about to blog. Write you some hard ass shit about this world and emotions and feelings and justice and growth….you get what the fuck am trying to say. So I write and the first one is about letting go of pain to grow, second is about the books and the notes I found mostly from the first girlfriend and baby daddy, in it all words on the past and how writing was much easier then. I get rid of both.

The third was about to start when I decided to fuck it. If I am going to get my ass up and get to work tomorrow considering all the jam and laze, I should sleep. At that point I cannot even remember the taste of my last cigarette.

I think deeply……hard. I conclude=I really cannot remember the taste of my last cigarette. Guess what…yea! I do not have a cigarette. Just in case I did how exactly would I go about getting it in my fucking head? But wait a minute, I do have a blunt. So I formulated a plan that would have me smoking my blunt and not getting caught.

1^st I remove my jacket, 2^nd I tie my hanky on my head so that the dreads do not keep some smoke to themselves-they are naughty like that (British accent) and 3^rd I tip toed. I try to climb up to an area they cannot smell it, she actually has a super nose. I cannot coz the place is steep and my fast brain has already got to the part of how they will say I broke my leg tryna smoke a blunt and all the cousin laugh about it when they come see me in jail after she sends me there. So I go the other way, which if I wanna avoid her window is the shamba next to the path.

But why not the path first since I am falling on every direction and I was really serious when I was thinking I have balls and it’s about time I stopped lying to myself. I light that shit like a gangsta (see Wiz kinda shit), am pacing on one spot as if I am about to drop a rhyme. Each puff does more than it signed in for and I appreciate its efforts by being as responsive as I can sanely manage.

Then just to let me know it has hit home, it gives me crazy paranoia that has me heading to the shamba. Surrounded by banana trees all around me, I feel something touching me. My tears are about to flow as I beg the universe that that is not a slug. 

Lemme put it like this: if I was born without a tongue and one day the world is something different and everyone has to stand in front of a supreme court dressed in yellow tights for a declaration, in which you either picked to be skinned alive or have contact with a slug and I keep making sounds that ya’ll cannot comprehend, and you are standing in the crowd, please tell the fucking court to skin the shit outta me.

Moving on, it’s the neighbors’ fucking dog. Licking my hand! You would fucking think there is enough licking in my life. Btw do not let this undermine how I like dogs at all.

Then am thinking to myself as I smell the sensual night air “what the fuck is wrong with you bitch? You can’t even write shit!” coz in every line am back to the thought of the reader, back to seeing it in their eyes. Thinking what does John want to read about, OMG if they read this they will know too much about my life? what appeals more to the Asian readers, what is it that would create more awareness on my work and passions? Julie said she reads my blog, she will think am not a responsible person. Isn’t that personal? So is a fucking blog! Fuck anonymous blogs, anonymous readers would be the shit.

If I would use this platform to just speak of the things that give positivity to the reader, it would be prudent of me.

Let’s not get to what is more messed up in this life, let me be a dignified, responsible, cautious human being. Please spank the bitch that made you think I am. Let me disbosom something to you. I am Immah Reid, I am a lesbian stoner. Coz fucking and smoking seem to be the only things I never fuck up, ironically. The rest is what I hope and try to be!

I should go slaughter that dog. .