Yet Another Prologue

In the first instance, I wrote : Potash The Encounter, which did suffice, then, as a prologue to my "Pseudo-intellectual anthology of Kenyan Urban Narratives." In subsequent posts, my intellectual and other failings not withstanding, I set out to chronicle my urban experiences and such other things appertaining. Yet in due time though, I faltered; suddenly this blog went as silent as- to paraphrase Michael Longley's two line Poem, Terezin- a room where hundreds of violins had been hang in unison.

Soon after, this blog was to find itself twice-prologued in the publication of: Interruption of Potash supply. Yet as though being Streetesque and therefore thriving on being opposite, that self-same 'interruption' happened after a couple of other posts.

And now this; yet another prologue? In essence, yes. Do I feel guilty of blog inconstancy? Not necessarily. I see each hiatus, in its being unpredicted/ unforeseen, as a metaphor of Fate's ever turning wheel that allows those of our end of the street no luxury of the future tense. Therefore, though I would like to be here writing my Street Gospel, the vindication of that Gospel is in the not writing- the veracity and eloquence of my narrative, unfortunately, abides in silence. (That's a riddle, now you decide!)

So, have I been writing, lately? Hardly. Neither can I say that I have been reading anything seeing that purchasing relief food- yes- is cheaper and of greater preference than books. But there is, as always when I need mental stimulation, the dog-earred "Complete Shakespeare" - the complete not being descriptive in this case- and the termite streaked bible that has seen worse wear than a Quran in Guantanamo Bay. So my choices are stuck between the soporific Troilus and Cressida on a weary night and a swash-buckling sex and gore story from the Old Testament on a breezy morning.

Now that makes me think:
a) What exactly is civilisation; or, to be civilised?
b) Western civilisation over the last Millenium being premised on the Judaeo-Christian tradition, are its labour pains, vagaries and ill ramifications an indictment of man per se or his religion?

Those questions overshooting my intellectual orbit, I slink back into the ever darkening cocoon of my mundane pursuits.

To think beyond- maize meal and sukumawiki- one's daily bread is to me the epitome of luxury. Oh to think about matters beyond the fulfillment of primal needs. To question: mind, matter. To discourse on war, peace and all things in between. History. Philosophy. Science. Metaphysics.
(The only metaphysics I encounter now rails from behind the gaudy armour of dogmatic faith. But still I prefer the company of the demon I know - who lives in my Napshizzle- than a God, in that there heaven, I do not know, whenever I desire the quality that they have in common; a dulling of the human mind.)

But all this by manner of a prologue. All in the hope that by and by I can afford the luxury of thinking and the skill of writing. Maybe I will soon find a transparent spot on the vast opaqueness of my glass ceiling...
Damn it I am Incoherent, this day!