A mother lucky to have a crooked and despicable child with looks beyond ugly, what we french call jolie laide (fascinating ugliness that has a stronger pull than Newton’s gravity or sex to a nympho) is a sight and ‘hearing’ to die for. Enchanted and tranced by maternal love, she will bore you with the grandness of the child. Its crooked smile becomes a royal earth-shattering smile. Ever-yellow sweating teeth which are ever exposed like those of busybodies on close-up adverts owing to shorter lips or rather size XL teeth turns to be golden-polished fit for humanity to see; its acts and stories of folly mutates to novelty and genius comparable to discoveries up for scientific Nobel Peace Prize entries. Free from such passions, and without seeking approval I intend to be objective in all I scribble.
It is hard writing, very difficult. The nigga who called writing nothing but travail and anguish was right. But a new breed of plain creative writers has just simplified writing. The opening line (my language teacher used to call it a topic sentence. Damn literature, I never understood this crap of topic and clincher sentences) as a canon, should be a maxim from ancient philosophers and sophists like Socrates, his pupil Plato, Descartes among others. With an epigram or sonnets from great poets the article starts, and in an alphabetical manner ensues quotes starting with Aristotle, Bacon, Confucius, Democritus, Epicurus...Voltaire, Wittgenstein, Xenocrates, Yi Hwang to Zeno. Such maxims elicit a flood of dumb admiration from the blinded readers who treat philosophers as men of vast wisdom without borders and of great oratory skills. So clouded with quotations from the Holy Writ are these articles that you will mistake them for Tommy of Aquinas or St Augustine. A paragraph on economic meltdown will mutate midway growing pregnant with edifying sermons; christian readers receive tidings of hope and ‘comfort’ ( come-for-tea)(the gospel of name-it-and-claim-it) , comments halla-luya and recommends the article to the extended family of believers.
However, if there comes a time I feel the need to use maxims ael try as much to compose mine and credit them to corpses of Shakespeare, Mandela, or the swindlers who come in the name of the King and Church as knights-errants on quests to banish poverty via motivational and inspirational texts. Failure is not a destiny, or do I need Eric to tell me this? Neither do I need anything more than common sense to know that a single step starts a journey of a thousand miles.
On use of quoting, there seems to be a never-drying well of sayings and quotes. If it be about love and money, trust this neo-Shakespeare to say that unfinanced romance is alien even to housewives and shamba-boys. Trust Aunt columns, twenties-counsellor, and sexologists to say that money will buy the pussy, but love will set the cat purring. On and on will they go confusing the reader claiming that money aint a guarantee to happiness as if love was permanent and could pay bills. Anyway, give me money and keep your love. Conscious of feministing, equality and liberty trust heavy borrowings from the I Have A Dream guy, Mandela, Gandhi and other liberators. Typical quotes will be ‘Never underestimate the power of a woman,’ before the next line ends in ‘Never underestimate a man’s ability to underestimate a woman’. Feministing blogs will seek to empower women through revolting against chromosomal arrangement. This is when my sassy lass Andrew Audrey thumping her chest in her stilettos that turn her into a walking kangaroo appears on TV screaming ‘I am a woman in a man’s body. I have taken biochemist na sijapata njia ya ku-develop balls. Serikali iingilie kati. Call me Audrey not Andrew’.....(NEXT INSTALMENT COMING SOON)
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