It is Friday night and I have still not got a blog post. Ate I don’t like to leave the weekend empty. I don’t have a post. Well, not a complete one. I have old bits and pieces all over the place…
1. Opening Lines of a short story. Circa October/Novemberlast year:

I had been fired five times by the time I was 29 so losing no longer surprised me. I was able to meet it with calm and – this part is rare; few people my age can say this— with maturity.
Shit happens. This must be accepted. It is one of the lessons I have learnt, that I keep in a bound leather tome in a dark smoky room in a basement in a corner of my mind. There are a number of these lessons. It had been an eventful 29 years.
I have learnt that looks indicate something, but prove nothing. Don’t trust them. Use them. I have learnt that money is dust unless it is in your hands and you can see and feel it. I have learnt that everyone thinks they are the reason God made the world, but everyone is wrong. They are not the reason– I am.

I just got back. The dust is settling over my shoes and shoulders like a welcoming embrace. Now that I am back in Kampala, clean slate, fresh start, I will not forget that thing about shit. Shit happens.
But the trick is, when it does…

Make sure it is happening to the other guy, not you.

2. A portrait. Originally made at the time of the GAVI Arrests:

Mike Mukula, who before we go too far, is a captain of the plane-flying sort, not a member of our gallant and valiant armed forces, is not just a politician. His flamboyance, his extremely GQ appearance, his almost desperate camera clamouring antics, which are successful more often than not, have shot him like a canon above and beyond the mundane level recognition upon which we array our more typical politicians.

Mikey is beyond mere recognition. Mikey has celebrity. You could be forgiven for not knowing who the current minister for health is, but if you don’t know who Mike Mukula is, my dear, what is the name of this rock under which you have been residing all these decades? Olduvai?
He dresses like an Oscar awards host, is always impeccable in perfectly cut yards of Armani, and the ladies tell me he is quite the hunk, for a man his age. A cocky tuft of grey adorns his right temple of his hunky head and his perennial say-cheese smile is symmetrical and blazing white.

3. A plea unto the world. Somebody give me songs:

Chaka Khan, Love Me Still.
Everysinglething Monica as in Monica Arnold has ever uttered since she was born. I am particularly fond of material from her first album Miss Thang.
I will sever limbs for Brownstone. Five Miles To Empty, I Can’t Tell You Why and Sometimes Dancing are particular favourites.
SWV sang a song called So Amazing.
Does anyone remember All 4 One?
I want to listen to Dave Matthews Band and Hootie.

I mean, this is the Internet. I know somebody out there has a copy. Can’t we talk? 

Finally. Speaking of music:
Do you know what an empty street, round six-thirty, just after an evening storm would sound like if it was a song?  Like Again Never by the Branford Marsalis quartet:

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