P.J Register

I could feel the handgun, it was hot and lighter. Perhaps I was running out of bullets. It was not possible to eliminate the hostiles with few in the magazine. I slid the barrel and checked the chamber for any rounds. It was empty...one was left, not in the chamber but tied around the caliber diameter with a string to form a necklace and hanging from my neck. I remembered it was a souvenir from a luscious woman soldier sparking one of my lascivious moments from which ensued a quickie or a plethora of them. My dominant left hand reached out to hold it from where it hid in my chest behind my blood stained vest. I held it close to my face and noticed how beautiful it was. It was gold plated then a thought hit me that I was so drank the night before to appreciate its beauty. My mind waved away from my predicament to the events leading to acquisition of my last bullet. She came from the back door of the rather stuffy bar at the barracks in Eldoret. The mood set by slow country music. Th...

SHE held my left thigh, checked the hamstring, sides of my face behind my ears, my calf and said, "when will you ever learn how to apply jelly like your age mates?" I was seven years old who didn't understand the reason for applying jelly after all it was a matter of moments before I could return home with 3 kilograms of dirt especially in the regions mum insisted I had to apply jelly properly. I couldn't blame me: hyper, adventurous and kiherehere, she should have thought of an appropriate time to scooch me and wash me amidst protests and finely targeted pinches in my soft areas like the groin and buttocks.  Kenyan mum,  why wash a child at 4 O'clock then expect them to come home like you sent them out to go play, well put "aya sasa enda ukacheze nje" (okay, go play outside). Outside! Back when we were growing up in the suburbs, these fancy bricks streets never existed, it was all about dust, murram or mud...so when mum hands you the keys to the kingd...

What if? Rythim and Blues genre of music was in the millenium 2001 graced by Kenneth Brian Edmonds aka Baby Face hit song 'What If'. Well, in this song Baby Face speculates around lot's of rhetorics about what would be the situation had he held on to his ex girlfriend and vice versa. The song elucidates how men think after break up. He asks what would have become of their baby boy, what would have become of their house, their trash, their car...et al. This isn't about Baby Face's song at all, it's about how men think post script. Men are good at it. We see how beautiful our wives were when paying the alimony to our enstranged wives, when attending our exes weddings and when another man takes over, we become envious. I am sure the quote, "you never knew what you've got until it's gone away" was mostly inspired by a heartbroken son of somebody. I am determined to break this voodoo, but how? After all, I am just a man, probably the weakes...

When I am started writing this post, it was without a title. So unorthodox and unlike writing ethos. I knew what I wanted to write about or in line of what I wanted to write but I just couldn't come around the fact that I was left to wonder what to call it. I felt like it was because at that time a day before I did not know I would be a blogger or an amateur blogger for that matter...well, things happened randomly and I was left to wonder what would become of me the days to follow. I am guessing  whether the haphazard nature of emotions presenting to me different and hidden "talents" and abilities I never thought I had, would be the case when one day I randomly try to be vulnerable to someone I am besotted, intrigued, love or just invested in psychologically. I realized how good I could speak in French without any background, how fast I could read my novels, how long I could sustain a conversation with a tough woman and how low my love cells wer...