Asufaruto, Jari, -Fū.

I have not written anything for a while now. Nope. I have not posted anything for sometime now would be correct. I have several pieces that died in the notepad section of my phone and machine. It is sad at times to think that those sophisticated pieces will never see the light. The characters in them would curse and yell in agony as they get cremated by my indecisiveness on whether or not if I’d decide to bring them to life.

The guy I left in charge to keep this space running as I went yonder and yonder on to chase the Asphalt, gravel, and wind also seems to be faced with his own quagmires. I occassionally get a text from him saying that he will keep this place burning but the only thing I have smelled burning has been that of an occasional worn out clutch pad.

That aside, I hope I am not really that late and that the completed pieces will see the light at the end of the tunnel. God forbid if the other light is from another oncoming train.

The breathe that one inhales before putting on that helmet is always feeled with euphoria. Turning the engine on and letting it idle for a while before taking off as I plan my route and say a prayer to the guy above. The feeling of hitting the asphalt, gravel, and having the wind rushing past is usually unexplainable. I have seen a lot of things as I rode. Some were terrible while others were pleasant.

Then there were days when the clouds would huddle together to form a conspiracy. And without any hint given whatsoever the rain would fall. Huge raindrops that would fall first, then followed by vigor and renewed commitment. Those were the days I dreaded falling off on to the tarmac. I would be composed on the outside but be scared deep inside incase any mishaps happened. The only voice I heard was the music coming from the pods and the continuous rumble of the engine as it tore the highway.

The rain would play pitter patter on my helmet visor. One time I found someones head matter sprewn all-over the tarmac and made a mental reminder to get meself a proper lid for my head. Whenever it rains, I feel insecure about all those bad chapters I never completed. The ones that I left pending on that word page devoid of the three thousand daily coupon words. I still try to take refuge and try to make pacts with the bad ones. Refusing to acknowledge the good that I had written. Perhaps I thrive on chaos?

I’m standing on the balcony with a cup of tea in hand and a thermos halfway, admiring the two wheeler that has been my friend for a while now. The night is dark, a few frogs are croaking in an unanimous orchestra. An idea came to me that I should patch this piece, simply because the tea feels good and the mood outside is great.

As the wind blows, it makes the cascard tree sway gently and its branches shake causing the leaves to ruffle. Then I remember; to be attracted to someone and develop romantic feelings for them is completely natural. To both love and be loved by someone is natural. Seeking the help of others to convey that feeling then it becomes pointless. I believe people are most charming when they’re being their true selves.

P.S: To Purchase a copy of my two published books, you can do it in two ways:

1: Visiting my bookstore and purchase 88,000 Acres of Bad Shit, or, Boonies and add them to the shopping cart and paying via PayPal or Visa.

2: You can also purchase through a Buy goods and services till number 5338319 Name: AM then get a copy of the book via your email or phone number. The email in use currently is

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Mwasi S says:

    Nice fiction.

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