When you read widely as I have, and I’m proud of my insatiable hunger for the written word, labels such as my favorite writer cease to exist because favorite means a personal god born of comparisons and competition – a limited edition perception on variety and discovery, you realise that everyone is a writer including toes that draw a cupid heart in the sand, and the sun’s trail across the sky is a cosmic signature and clouds are nothing but water stains. And labels such as a good and bad writer only exist by comparison and competition – a limited edition perception on variety and discovery; you realise that,
if you truly love music like I do, and I’m proud of my music taste that sometimes I listen and dance to silence, then nothing like favorite jazz musician or rapper exists in your taste. You realize that every voice is a unique note. That the footsteps of a marching band is a regular rhyme in itself. That it will take you at least three lifetimes to listen to every piece music ever recorded, including the cry of a newborn or the sound of a kiss in a wedding. That is why you should switch off your radio and buy a poetry book because music is a shape of words and not drums and a mouse on a studio pad compressing recorded waves, or hollow strumming distortions of a guitar, you realise that,
if you love women the way I have loved, and I’m proud of the women in and out of my life, labels such as my favorite woman will slip through the fingers of your mind like a big wet soap because you can’t possibly love only one woman in your lifetime or measure the seismographic scales of your heartbeats when in love. You realize that the best girlfriend in the world is your mom. The best girlfriend in the world is your first love. The best girlfriend in the world is your ex. The best girlfriend in the world is your current girlfriend, your next girlfriend, your wife, your crush, your sister, cousin, the waitress, Mama Mboga, your woman friend, your daughter and Mother Nature. You realise that,
if you live life the way I have lived, there is no such thing as the best or worst moments of my life. That ‘worse moment’ simply means not in harmony with the spirit, the present. That such dark moments are whet stones for the edges of the swords of your soul. That each moment is divine. That a birthday party and a requiem mass are moments of celebration of a life well lived. That a first date coffee steam and a divorce case are moments of freedom. That a smile and a tear are the Morse codes of the soul to the world,
that dark moments are cerematic glazes, monochrome rainbows; 69 shades of gray. Balance. Harmony. Love. Fate.