Thursday, November 24

Maybe we are wrong about God.


''You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you, he never wanted you, in all probability he hates you. It's not the worst that could happen to you'' ~ Tyler Durden.

I was born in a Christian family, which technically makes me a Christian. Technically because except for my Christian name nothing else makes me feel like a Christian, and my hair makes people think I subscribe to Islam, not that I get it, the hair and religion stereotype but there are a lot of things in this world that I don't understand.


The name:

My Christian name is Peter.
According to the dictionery, the meaning copied from the online dictionery is as below.

pe·ter
Verb: Decrease or fade gradually before
coming to an end: "the storm had petered
out".

Noun: A man's penis.

However, that is not the Peter my mum had in mind. She was thinking more on the lines of Jesus' apostle, his right hand man who walked on water, argued with Jesus, betrayed Jesus, and most importantly became the leader of the Apostles after Jesus' ascession to the right hand side of his father in heaven. This is a name that should make me feel important especially because of how deep in religion all the women around me have been.

I don't feel it. I don't feel like Jesus' right hand man.

When growing up, I didn't question much or rather didn't think much about God, the Bible wasn't bookmarked on my phone as it didn't form much of literal material I felt like I needed to read. I rarely went to Church, which to an extent is advantageous since I wasn't really indoctrinated into anything fully. I can think outside the confines of religious dogma because I don't view God as a religious man would, am more on the side of God at the end of our imagination.

Reading the Holy Books can be confusing. The proverbial thin line between love and hate is extremely thin. Okay, not hate per se, but some of the extremes the religious God went to make his people toe the line, the punishments prescribed for those who put their hand on the cookie jar scaringly border on hate. Sigh.

Sexual activities (not mine).

Some of the sexual perversions the Men of God are straight up immoral. Lot and his daughters, David and a soldiers wife, Mohammed and a 12 year old wife.

The laws, the discrimination against others in his creation, favorism of certain people, et al.

You got to understand that, me and God aren't the best of friends. Am not sure how to relate to the guy.

Free will is apparently not free, it causes us to sin, and that happens to be a direct ticket to hell. Maybe this is a truth that we are running away from. I don't know if am the only one who wonders the role of God in the evils that plague the world. Free will and animal instinct will most definately corrupt a soul, how can he blame us for a fault of his doing? You can't throw animals in a cage with limited resources without expecting that they'll most probably eat each other. Sigh.

Or maybe we got it all wrong. Either religion totally got it wrong or God is unfair. Let's talk religion for a minute. Let's talk about it from a broader perspective outside of it's confines for a minute. Religions borrow heavily from each other. Regardless of the physical appearances, their attributes of God tend to be human, temperence, tolerance, generousity, love, every human attribute to its utmost extreme. This does not make him feel extra ordinary to me. His power is limited to our imaginations and his laws are based on our view of morality stretched with consequence equal to the limit our imagination feels the body cannot handle.

Maybe God doesn't have human attributes and whoever we pray to is our own creation. Maybe he is not the God who is morally right, an abundant provider, an extreme punisher, an all loving kind albeit with no sense of humor.
Maybe he is not that white guy with a long beard somewhere in the sky.

Maybe he created and left and we are struggling in explaining his existence the way we deem fit.

Maybe we are wrong about God.

Friday, November 18

Venus vs Mars



It's a couple minutes past eleven and am almost out of beer. Sleep and I haven't been close for a while but my beat down ipod is good company. With it's broken screen and a habit of throwing me off balance with the arrangement of the tracks, I've learn't to cope.

I think.

At first it was her. She popped in my head again. After a while, she pops in my mind, the good times, the smiles, the laughs, the conversations et al. The good memories.
She smiles easy, she smiles in her voice too, she talks gentle, she inspires music. She walks slow, she's careful with her feet, she watches them a lot, it makes people think she's shy. But I think she's just trying to protect her smile. She knows the world is a cruel place, it will take advantage of her smile, so she guards it, and the world said she's shy.

Then there is me. Lost in my ills, selfish with freedoms, mean with time, stupid old me never learns. It's the little things that matter, the texts that say you crossed my mind, the rock cd that says I know what warms your heart.

My cousin says I have a phobia for commitment. Maybe there is truth in her statement. I don't hold on to anything, good or bad, I let everything slip through my fingers, the good and the bad........ I think.

Nah, I take that back. It's the planning, the routine, the knowing tomorrows, it's the control. You can't surf in calm waters, I need waves. It's the not knowing where am going that makes blood rush, the running into trouble, the spotainity.

Control or lack of it rocks this boat. It's the flips in judgement that control the cruise.

I guess we are both to blame.

Thursday, November 17

Let's make lemonade


I want to talk about all the good times, lessons I have learnt, experiences I've had and some not so graphic escapades with my women. Am a little shy about the sex escapades because most of my ex-girlfriends are still good friends to date, we talk over the phone, we have not broken off our friendship and they sometimes do read my blog and they will probably know am talking about them. I do however like reminding them that I still remember the good times, the walks, the smiles, the drinks et al.

That's a whole lotta digression, if am allowed to use the word. The stories.

Am not much of a loner. I need people around me, the more the merrier. To make this happen, I need to make it worth their while but since you can't throw parties everyday, one is forced to be interesting. I am forced to be interesting. I feel comfortable in a crowd, (probably the reason am going to die a poor man) so I need to entertain them.

I like literature. Actually, I love literature. Reading good stories written by men and women who love to tell their stories and stories of others and tell them so well. I like reading history, stories of men of old, their battles, their solutions to worlds problem, their ''how to love a woman'' manual (the Spartans knew how to love a women, I try to love my women the way the Spartans loved), and so forth. I like history because it has lessons, with history we know how not to live lest we suffer the same consequence. The good morals you take them with you, the bad you thank God you weren't born then. I like to read poetry every once in a while. I like the Bible too and the few bits of the Qur'an that I have read.

If I maybe excused, I will digress for a second.

Have you ever thought about the religious books from a different perspective except a religious one. Am not trying to offend y'all religious folks but don't you think these books are Jewish myths as told by the Romans. The message is great and although their God seems extremely powerful, is it possible that these books are based on stories of two stoners trying to understand the world with a whole bag of weed? Call me crazy but a man being swallowed by a whale then spat out after three days doesn't sound too plausible. But that's just me.

I love good music, especially good old school music. It brings forth good memories, the mistakes you made and never learn't the lessons, the girls you loved then, the people that loved the song, where you lived when the song came out. I have a theory that people who love old school music have had a fun life.

I like movies, I haven't watched one in a while probably because am yet to buy a telly. I think am out-growing T.V, or it's the realization that T.V is killing books, or am just broke.

As I was saying, I like movies. Movies tell you stories the way they are supposed to be told, in detail. Movies have raw emotion, not as raw as live T.V, but good actors and actresses do make you feel the emotion. Good movies make you imagine yourself in the characters situation, epic movies makes you want to live the emotion. Troy is an epic movie.

I love to travel. I have a dream that one day I will own a Jeep and a no limit credit card. In my dream, I jump into my Jeep and drive away. See every corner of this country, sleep in small towns, sample traditional drinks and foods. If am lucky, a beautiful lady will ride shotgun.

Why am I telling you all this? I've come to realize life is bitch. Motivational speakers do try to insist that life is what you make it, they have books teaching you this side of the coin but I call them bullshit mongers. Life is a bitch. We don't get dealt the right cards which means our dreams are just that. Dreams.

I've always loved literature and if I could change one thing in my life, it would be the career I chose. Accounting is not so bad, but am not cut out to be an accountant. Am good with math, but am better at telling stories, and reading those of others. Life on the other hand forces us to need things that we don't need, we go to jobs we hate to finance needs that life subscribes us. We don't like our jobs but the path that our hearts desire happen to be rocky. Thus the death of the arts, our arts, our first loves.

Anyway, let's make some lemonade.

Wednesday, November 9

Good girls magnet.........so I've heard


''How many times am I going to forgive you? Huh?''

You just sit there and take it, nod and accept all the charges and promise to change your ways. I don't know if y'all have noticed but women seem happier when they are mad at you. When she's screaming at you, insulting your manhood, fighting to feel superior over you for that particular high-tempered moment, she feels great. And thus my conclusion, women love bad boys because they give them a reason to scream at them very so often.

My friend Mutinda thinks a little different. He likes women around him, and he feels he knows them better, not that am denying this or anything but hey, every man at some point think they've figured women out until the day they find out that they don't. Every man has gone through this stage, some of us for a short period and most of us a little bit longer a period, I fall on the ''some of us'' group. My boy Mutinda falls on the ''most of us'' who still believe that they have ''figured'' women. His theory about women and bad boys is that women love to correct mistakes, they don't feel at ease if they are not cleaning up after someone, they feel that they need to take care of someone. The harder the job, the longer the will stay because apparently, they are not in the business of leaving unfinished works.

You gotta understand that men are extremely simple beings, we don't trust ourselves which means we don't give too much information because in too much information we get ourselves in trouble. We therefore say exactly what we mean to avoid speculation. Women on the hand, although we get it wrong all the time, we try all the best to understand our lovely primates from Venus. Most of us do try, at least those that I know do try. I know most of us are still trying to learn the ''read between the lines'' language, the ''silent language'' and the ''sign language'' but even the Professors are yet to decipher these Venus dialects. We do try, but Mars taught us different, we don't ask for direction. We will try to fix everything without a manual, go everywhere without maps, we don't ask for direction because Mars taught us we only learn by losing our way. We will not ask our lovely ladies to teach us their language, and as soon as we think we've learnt, down goes we.

Mutinda, ''an expert'' in this subject of women believes that they love bad boys because bad boys are a challenge, they give them something Or someone to fix. They feel that if they can fix him, they can have a trophy of their own. If they can take a rugged man, polish him or rather upgrade him, they feel that they have accomplished something.

Good guys seem to have gotten their shit together, they can easily walk without a guide and they clean up after themselves. For a woman, this is child play for her, she needs someone who will give her a headache, whose polishing is going to take some thinking, they like to be challenged.

Lesson of the day, good girls like bad boys. What about the fuss with the bad girls? I will let you know when I know.

Thursday, November 3

A mango tree and a lady to scream at goats.............




I want to retire in a ranch, anywhere in this world but in a ranch. I want my wife to haul insults at my goats like my grandmother does, while I sit under the mango tree a couple of steps from the cowshed and tell stories to my grandchildren. Exagerate the facts about the war against the Al-Shaabab, ''the first attack took place a couple of days after we attacked them'' I would begin. The grenades will turn into bombs, the casualties will increase, hell, I will even be there. I will tell stories the way my grandfather told them every Christmas, under the mango tree.

Some 18 years ago I lost my grandpa. My grandfather couldn't stand hospitals, he believed that when you step in one, you won't come out in one piece. He was paranoid around the white mans' things, they were poisoning the black man to take back his land, he did not trust the white man or his ways, or his things and that included their hospitals. When we took him to hospital, he ran. At 82, he walked for 6 days from Murang'a District Hospital approximately 160 kilometers to his house. We looked for him only to find him at home talking to one of my aunts drinking milk after we were almost out of places to look. A couple of months later after having lived a full life he left for heaven.

I want to sit under the mango tree and tell stories of my childhood, my teenage years, the scares of the second coming of Christ, the war in Somalia, the bomb blast in 98', my first job, how i met your grandmother, stories that tell my grandchildren that I lived a full life.

Am not the most religious freak but I believe in God. When we talk I like to ask him why, with all his wisdom, he created so many dumb people, he doesn't answer though, so I speculate. Heaven I want to go, but not the mythical one, but the real one. To be remembered in good light, to have left a mark in peoples' hearts, by telling great stories, stories that tell people that I lived a great life. I want to be in my grandchildrens' thoughts 18 years after my demise.

Now to get there, I need a lady to insult my goats.