i was born. (in a golden casket) dead > alive.
a child in lucky summer tries to wake his brother up he’s been dead for three minutes and a second! “mayoooo” is our cover for “haki iwe ngao na…” the only mlinzi here is your ability to hold your breath. [;] hold up: they check the number of […]
what does a body look like after suffering four years of death? does it fold itself like overcooked spaghetti or stand straight like a sisal heart in kitulani? 12.01.2014 today, my aunt died and: i no longer have tears for death should i tell her this when, if, she […]
at five: we need to talk when you asked me if i had a wife i hushedly said no; afraid they’d hear & rolled another chapati for penina (i wonder what happened to the dough you washed down the sink at ngakuyaa‘s!) last night, in ngong, i came to […]
Very slowly, this blog is moving to a new domain, http://www.feministloft.com. Please find us (yes, me and all my other selves) there. Remember to stay stubborn, questioning and irrespectable. Desire a revolution of some sort. Even a tiny, little one. Till later. Neo.
egoli swallows, we claim but die. he vomits us into seas that swallow & vomit us into distant lands. lands that unfreed our ancestors and shackle their descendants. lands that demand that we speak imperial. englishness swelling up, taking up spaces that our souls occupied. before. a year and […]
what happens to souls that die lonely? do they wrap themselves up in brokenness; soar into the skies; like contrails left by passing planes mix with clouds, unnoticed? what becomes of the soles of feet that have walked miles of lonely; thirsted for waters of unwanted love and lust? […]
I have been carrying you on my mind for a few days now so I thought I’d check on you. Tell me, how are you doing since your first tweet? Did your mother get well or is she still in hospital? In what ward is she so we may […]
what shall we call the wall we erect to defend ourselves? & how high shall it be? & under whose phallus shall the wall fall? whose shame will this wall carry when ten times, ten & forty seven souls can no longer be appeased by thoughts sent between a collective blaming […]
tell me what about yourself you hate so i may know what not to love, tomorrow.