I have a pen that constantly vomits.
A magic pen that vomits a magic ink of life and death.

This pen of mine writes stories of joining and breaking.
The magic ink of love and hate in the same page and sometimes sentence.
The pen of greed and honesty, truth and lies.

My pen writes about clouds and numbers like 9 and 69.
This is the ink of the gods and demons that tells beautiful stories of animals like dogs with styles that humans ape and celebrate.
This pen is a masterpiece, a crazy mix of thirst and quenching of the same by the same source of ink.

My pen writes with eternal ink, stories of beautiful sounds and crazy ones, songs, and moans of life and death, joy and pain, weird sweetness, bitten lips and shut eyes, confusion and pandemonium,
tales of feelings and strong things words cannot express.
Oh, how I love what this pen is.

The ink from my pen tells tales of healing and heartaches, pain and heartbreaks victory and loses, defeats and conquests, laughter and tears.

I have a pen that writes beautiful stories of life at the beginning and sad ones of death in the process in the same breath.

My pen writes stories of successful farmers and planters and painful ones of failed farmers and barren gardens.

My pen is a masterpiece of sorts, a gift from the gods, a tool for praise and ridicule.

Oh, ye sages, philosophers and wise men of this age, can you tell me what my pen is?
Can you tell me why my ink should be as mixed as this?
Oh, ye men who live right where God is, can you intervene in the heavens and bless this pen and ink?
Can you prophesy what my pen is and drop a word of knowledge may be to save this mortal son of a man from pens, vomit, and ink?

The pen holder thanks all of you for the stories and written manuscripts.
The pen is appreciative of the readers of these pen-ish stories that grope in darkness attempting to find out what this pen is.

#TheMusingsOfaMadMan
#TheReflectionsOfThePoet
#TheLoudThoughtsOfaSilentPen
#TheChildishStoriesOfa34YearOld

camistarespoken.blogspot.com

MOURNING GLORY

On a dark morning,
I found myself mourning,
As he forcefully stripped me of my glory,
And walked away with the trophy,
Painted in crimson red
Like the lips of a pride of lions
After a hearty meal of a helpless buffalo.
Years later I still mourn my robbed glory.

For a moment of heaven,
He gave me a million hells,
Painful hallelujahs and amens,
As he moaned in the glory that morning
While I mourned my glory.
Countless years later,
I still mourn in glory
Because moaning glory,
Has never left my memory.
I hate moaning glory
For it reminds me to mourn my
violently robbed glory.

#TheMusingsOfaMadMan
#TheReflectionsOfThePoet
#TheLoudThoughtsOfaSilentPen
#TheChildishStoriesOfa34YearOld

camistarespoken.blogspot.com

Everyone Loves When Death Is A Keyboard And Screen Joke: The Suicide And Cyber-bullying Mystery

A man posted on his public Facebook status that he was going to kill himself. 90℅ of his friends liked the status, 5% reacted with laughs, and it was of course quite hilarious. A further 4% reacted with love and an odd 1% reacted with sad then the comments began pouring in torrents.

His 1000 plus friends trolled, cajoled and bullied him. The experts among them noted that those who actually kill themselves do not say it in public, a further group of experts told him off to his face on that social media wall of his that he is a chronic attention seeker merely looking for likes and sympathy, a manipulative cry baby who needed to grow up and stop walking in baby diapers.

The religious chaps in his circle told him that Jesus had paid it all, he only needed to trust in him, in fact they summarized it all in three words of encouragement to him, "it is well, " never mind that none of them even bothered to find out what was actually wrong with him or the thing that was eating him up. The motivational speakers among his mutual friends bombarded him with stale copied quotes from memes, books, and sermons they had read or heard. They told him, "What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger."

Then the strangers and public opinion experts' knowledgeable in all things joined the thread. They laughed, booed, mocked and cheered him to go ahead and do it. Some offered him the best ropes and the strongest poison brands if he needed any, others, on the other hand, offered him YouTube videos and tutorials on 1000 ways to die, the avid readers shared with him expert books on how to kill yourself painlessly. It was a joke to them.

12 hours later they woke up to the news that he was no more. Condolences came from all quarters, his silent friends suddenly found their voices, the cyberbullies became the most concerned, and they were the most sympathetic in the comments section. An MPESA pay-bill account was formed to contribute money for a good send-off of a great friend and icon. Candlelit vigils were held, streets closed and matches in his honor held daily.

People poured moving tributes from all over the world, conversations about suicide with him as the case study went viral. I just woke up from that dream and realized friendship is overrated, sometimes all those you have called your bosom friends are Mike Sonkos` who will expose your nakedness for all and sundry to see when you are completely down and helpless therefore don't sweat the small stuff. Live your life, care for those who do and forget those who don't, take a walk through a dark tunnel, when you come out on the other side to see the light, you will be clear on who your friends were, don't be sorry if you found none, that is life. Funerals too are overrated so don't worry much about yours. The crowd will come through when you cross that line so why not just live and let live?

Mental health discussions need to be taken out of the closet and brought to the public table. It is a high time the society began talking about suicide openly and not as a taboo or a shameful topic that would rather be handled like a hot potato.

#TheMusingsOfAMadMan

#TheLoudThoughtsOfASilentPen

#Camistare2019

#ThePoet

#TheChroniclesOfDepression

#WoundsAndScars

#UnfinishedBusiness

camistarespoken.blogspot.com

image:www.libyanexpress.com

WHEN I DIE

How I want it when I die
One day when I finally die, I want to be buried within twenty four hours, with a simple casket, did I say buried? No! I don't want to be buried, I want to be cremated, and my ashes can be put in an urn only if my surviving family wishes so as a souvenir to them but if not, not even those ashes should be taken away. They should be left for the wind to blow away to paradise.

I don't want every Tom, Dick and Harry at my funeral, it should be exclusively for my immediate family, nuclear family, extended few who are actually family and not some crazy relations tied to me with nothing more than a name or a bloodline. At the crematorium, I want only my true few friends there, not people who claim to be my friends, that list should or may turn out to be as few as ten but I only want friends who have been friends to give me my last farewell, not people I have worked for or with, not people I go to church or fellowship with and nothing more, not people I went to school or sat in the same class with and shared nothing more. I want my true friends and actual family at my final farewell.

I want a simple funeral, nothing expensive, nothing flashy and nothing to write home about. My funeral should not be more important than the life I currently live. I will deeply appreciate and literally rest in peace if at that funeral people don't out do each other in sending public relations condolences, if "sad" friends suddenly pop out of everywhere when I actually never had any while alive. I will deeply appreciate if at that funeral people don't say things about me that they have never told me now, in fact, if it was up to me, the funeral would be a quiet one with no words spoken.

I know many will disagree with my desire to be cremated, they will talk about things like my culture and religion and what it allows and or disallows but my wish still stands. I dare state that there is always a first time for everything and I don't mind being the first in line. On the day I die, don't burry me, cremate my useless remains. I want simplicity, I want peace, and I want truth when I finally cross over. If at worse you cannot cremate me within twenty four hours or at most seventy two, throw my body for the hyenas at Masaai Mara or the crocodiles of River Nzoia or let it feed the hungry shacks of the ocean for that would make me more useful.

Bottom line is, my dead body is of no use and should not be treated better than the man I am now when I still have breath in my nostrils. On the day I go over to the other world, just burn me to ashes. My heart, soul and spirit will thank you greatly from the other side. I don't want to be buried when I die, I want to be cremated.
And this is my final will.

#TheMusingsOfaMadMan
#TheLoudThoughtsOfASilentPen
#WishesOfTheLivingDead
#Camistare2019
www.camistarespoken.blogspot.com