EMOTIONAL DISCOURSE

I'm trapped in a glass case of emotion.
My mind is a vine of confusion and muse distortion. Maybe I'm a little psychotic but I know that despite the despair I exude, I 'm  optimistic, a roving feline, or as Romeo and Juliet, I believe in destiny. Sure they both die at the end but who said a babboon can't enjoy some wind beating against the red anus even when it's red and ugly as fuck.

In the never ending quest to make it, I realised damn it! I'm too serious. Hell, I even make the name serious frown at me like 'seriously?' (He he that's my laughable attempt at modern day lingua). Also, its raining, our houses are flooding. Better wake up with a smile as we scoop these waters in our plates, cups and spoons as we break into a unanimous 'Count your blessings' chorus, washing the water down to a farmer who truth be told looks out of place in Nairobi. He already has enough blessings, but who said you can't stock 'em? Then, go to work where my boss will probably shout at me with some vibes and rhymes that will make Eminem sound silly and uneducated and make Kanye's philosophical rants sound like gibberish a madman would say before disappearing down a hallway into their rooms in a mental institution. Also I think Kanye and Eminem are the best rappers ever, alongside Khaligraph and Kalamashaka crew (Johnny Vigeti, Roba and that third guy whose name I can't remember to recall), and Zaka na Kah and every single member of Ukoo Flani Mau Mau. If you are not here its not personal, its professional.

I bet insanity is taking over me slowly, like how a malignant cancer just fucks you up one Monday morning when you are singing 'Singing in the shower' in the shower. But atleast I get to experience the descent to insanity instead of having it bludgeon me down to the dregs of normalcy one Sunday afternoon as I listen to Esther Wahome on my Hi-Fi, or to Bahati lament in each of his tracks (No hate).

It takes a lot to look at life, and not stare at the harsh reality. No seriously. Fuck reality! I want to live in this blissful world of my dreams, where I am a caveman with intellect and a prisoner with no dilemma. A world where I am the most important cog holding humanity together. A world whereby I'm the go-to guy, without whom the world would be using spoons to fetch water and...wait, we actually do that. I mean, who wants to know that they are insignificant and their presence in the world is only mildly consequential? Not useless, just not entirely as useful as we believe. Seriously, to hell with that. I am the man of men. The reason I was born is because humanity needs me, needs me like a Jay needs a Beyonce, or a Beyonce needs a lemonade (sorry I could not control myself. Just had to use it). Without me, guys would just be stumbling around, being insignificant and shit. Me, I'm the shit... I carry my own tissue paper to wipe other shits* with.

So I woke up today and thought 'Wait a minute. Sitting around and staring at the cold hard facts just depresses me.' So I decided I'm going to avert my eyes from reality and flutter my eyelids at fantasy and daydream. I had a connection with them once but we lost touch (poor them. They must have been so lost without me). My primary school Math teacher was harsh, but my crush was not. She was hot. So I stared at her during Math lessons to lessen the discomfiture of sitting through two whole hours of pure numerical grinds and nothing else. Also I thought she smiled at me once but I'm not sure. It looked like a cross between a grimace and an oh-God-get-me-out-of-here-sneer. But who said a man can't dream. She probably thought she was still a virgin but I took it away from her in my wet dreams. Also I know she liked me she just didn't want to show it. Well keep playing hardball girl, me and my significant self won't be hanging around forever. Take advantage of me while the offer lasts, otherwise you lose me, you lose a very key part of humanity. What is that you say? That I ain't that important? Please refer to previous paragraph because you are reading too hard. As you do that, I will be on my way to Bahamas, or Mathare, depending on how much I'm willing to save.

Anyway, the path to insanity isn't that bad at all, trust me. Despite what movies tell you, there is no axe-murdering. Insane people don't Jason Vorhees the hell out of people. I don't even own an axe to begin with. And a mask, I don't have that too. And also I don't have the name Jason, much as I would wish to. The transition is just a smooth segue. One minute you are er-okay. The next minute, you are flipping birds to everyone. When you are not flipping those birds, then you are holding them captive when someone flips you some. Also, you begin to think you are flying when you are just high, forgetting that being high is different from flying. Also, if I said high, and you thought 'drugs', you are the insane one.
Seriously, being delusional is healthy. Science backs up on me pretty hard. Wait, what? That didn't sound right. I meant to say, Science backs me up pretty hard. Phewks.

From The Confused Musings of Kiraka D. Mugatsia: Thought Chronicles