Guns

 

 

Then again, we are all children.

 

Fighting with our mothers and fathers about education, drugs, and wrong choices. Rebelling against rules, claiming we are grown-up and moving out.

 

Fighting with our brothers and sisters, trying to put out past trouble fires but mostly trying to make ourselves feel good and superior.

 

Fighting with our girlfriends and boyfriends, hiding our ignorance, attitudes, greed and hidden agendas. Quarreling and screaming at each other relentlessly until peace is a narrative that used to but no longer is.

 

Fighting in our professions, for promotions, respect and pay rises, but mostly for happiness and fulfillment.

 

Slowly losing our childhood, piece by piece…

 

Then we only have wrinkles to tell of our battles, painful tears to mourn the lost, anger towards our dead vitality and nostalgia for the child within whom we had been too eager to throw out.

 

Then again we are still children, bestowed with the chance of choice. While nations are made through wars, like Kenya was molded by the violence of our freedom fighters, America by the guns of the founders and Germany by the massacre of their dictators, humanity is molded by peace, humility, patience, understanding, kindness and happiness.

 

But maybe guns are just quicker.

 

 

Photography: Mukiri Gitiri

Words: Dennis Peters

[Mukirivity– Ingenious art and text made comparative]

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Tales of Trails

I am a slimy snail, slugging away indolently across a wet piece of wood in the month of April when the rains come down hard and washing away January and February’s transgressions.

 

I leave a trail behind me which contains pieces of me, my DNA and tales of my mistakes and misfortunes with human beings.

 

There was Alex, then there was Ted, Frank, and James. Before all that there was Ken.

 

Yet I loved them all but couldn’t keep either. The longest was Ken, who was also my first and in Alex, Ted, Frank, and James I was looking for Ken.

 

He was left with the biggest part of me and I need it back. I’m fading out, my shadows are whispering and my heart keeps knocking. I need all these pieces back before the mist clouds my eyes, my skin becomes grey, and my soul lifts off.

 

I tried my best in all these unions but trying is always never sufficient. Made supper, nursed their egos and gave them a good time like a lady is supposed to but like everyone else, I was inadequate, I was possessive, I was a crazy bitch and I burned Ted’s ex-girlfriend using hot water.

 

Maybe we try too hard when we are just supposed to live.

 

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Photography: Mukiri Gitiri

Words: Dennis Peters

[Mukirivity– Ingenious art and text made comparative]

Green in your Eyes

 

It begins with a nibble at the tip of a cookie, a tiny puff at the edge of a lit cigarette or a pinch of a powdered flour into your whisky glass.

 

First, everything is noiseless, perhaps too silent. Then the edges start to fade off into an approaching mist on the horizon. Just about when you have begun settling in, your heart starts to beat faster and faster and it is like you have been racing a medalled athlete or like you just had sex, good sex.

 

Then you are uncertain of the future. You cannot find home and the green in your eyes starts to cloud your sight, reason and judgement. You are unequivocally scared. All you want is to go home, but where do you find home when the green extends beyond the skyline and meets the blue in the sky at a distance edge?

 

You feel alone and you renounce the nibble, the puff and the pinch. You pray to God that he gives back your sanity, you promise him never to put yourself in such a situation over and over but he watches you from his righteous seat leaving you at the hush absolution of experience.

 

Finally sleep takes you home and you lie still on your bed, nothing is certain anymore, not even waking up the next day.

 

 

Polite Advise: Please don’t do drugs!

 

 

Photography: Mukiri Gitiri

Words: Dennis Peters

[Mukirivity– Ingenious art and text made comparative]

Six-thirty Deadline

Boss man says its two days. Two days is two years, I have forever, an eternity to deliver quality. Two days is paradise, so close to three days, yet so far from two hours.

 

Are we drinking tonight? I can hardly decide but two or six whisky shots never hurt nobody. A good time equips the mind with the agility and aptitude.

 

No longer two days, now it is just but a single day. But my head, my head feels like a pounding sledgehammer. Last night, did someone add vodka to my beer?

 

Just let me sleep in today, just four hours. An active mind needs repose to rekindle and rejuvenate. I did not say this, Science man said, on nutrition channel.

 

Four hours is relative to eight hours. Furthermore, it is game time. Soccer. It’s Manchester United, everybody is watching. I’d be a buffoon to miss this game. So, four beers and roast meat as we watch the game, Yes?

 

Two hours to six-thirty. I need coffee, I need cold water, I need silence and I need a miracle. Time to get to work.

 

Six-thirty deadline, more like Six-thirty deathtime.

 

 

Photography: Mukiri Gitiri

Words: Dennis Peters

[MukirivityIngenious art and text made comparative]

As Dark As it Gets

January 1:
It was a cold dark night… as dark as it gets…
The air intense.. the alley welcoming with a sort of gloom about it.
When I was younger my parishioner said that in the absence of light darkness prevails, yet in these moments of opportune bliss and pleasure I often wondered how right he was and even still how good it felt to be bad….

 

The alley narrowed and my eyes spotted my prize
A young blonde, stooping low to pick up something on the ground, her skirt lifting tediously to her effort, this was going to be easy.

 

I became one with the darkness and a generous smile plastered over my face before my butcher knife oozed smoothly from my coat side pocket….
This would be easy,

 

The alley was welcoming and the night was dark as dark as it gets.

 

Photography: Mukiri Gitiri

Words: Francis The Lone Puppeteer.

[Mukirivity– Ingenious art and text made comparative]

Life is Serious

Processed with VSCOcam with g3 preset

 

They told me art is shit. Art is not engineering or business. They told me I had to be serious with life because good fortune never came to those who took life in an easy artistic convention.

 

They forced calculus on my back like a yoke. Each day I had to solve for x and y in algebra. In class, the teacher screamed history and civics. I only saw her necklaces and bracelets and thought, Goddamn, the person that did that was good. But the test came and it was neither about bracelets nor necklaces.

 

But I learnt how to take life seriously.

 

I grew up and learnt to take my happiness serious.

 

I attend my digital logics and statistics classes. I do not pass that much but I am fine and you should be alright if I am alright. I have listened to you enough now it is time you listen to me.

 

Let me paint the world, let me show you the world through my eyes. Let me show you that life can be easy and artistic. Look at my eyes, do you see the light in them when I paint?

 

Photography: Mukiri Gitiri

Words: Dennis Peters

[Mukirivity– Ingenious art and text made comparative]

Chicken

People just do not get it? Do they? Between the egg and the hen, the egg has to have been first! There is no discussion there. I have this figured out. See, it is not a question of the egg or the hen it is a question of how you spend your Sunday afternoons.

 

One is for the buffoon who spends Sunday afternoon reading history books and stupid old books that I would not look at twice. These people know Charles Darwin’s wife, girlfriend and mistress. They think the hen came first. Do not date or catch a drink with these people they will make you grow old for no reason.

 

There are people who spend their Sunday afternoons in a church. I fear those people. They can ask the gods of the prophets with long beards in the good book to strike you down with hail and lightening. They do not know hens or eggs these people, their question is which among the quails and manna landed first.

 

Now, there are those who do laundry on Sunday afternoons. Most of you here are those people. What were you doing on Saturday? You have probably never asked yourself the question of the egg and the hen because you are too lazy for life. The moment you are done with end of semester exams, you do not even read billboards. You have a problem.

 

The egg came first and it was this big… See… Dig me?

 

Photography: Mukiri Gitiri

Words: Dennis Peters

[Mukirivity– Ingenious art and text made comparative]