Monthly Archives: Mar 2020
Produced by Parisian based music label, Nouvelle Ambiance (known for celebrating cultural & musical collaborations)
It merges Kenyan, Arabic & Egyptian culture & traditional musical percussion instruments, drums and vocals to create a 15-minute soundscape that is just dope.
The track ‘Mabomba dance’ took my soul on a cosmic journey, so hypnotic that my feet & body were charmed into a dalliance on an otherworldy dancefloor. The only thing missing was me wearing a goat fur Kondo headpiece.
STRANGE TRIVIA: the Kondo is part of the traditional Kenyan attire to don when dancing to the Nyatiti (plucked Kenyan lyre).
The entire EP ‘ Wolf Muller meets the Nile project’ Goat-it is music that is in a league of its own.
It was recorded in the Egyptian city of Aswan, by Jan Schulte (Wolf Müller & Bufiman) & Kenyan and Egyptian musicians Kasiva Mutua, Rapasa Nyatrapasa Otieno and Adel Mekha.
If I were to self-isolate
I’d make sure I drip from the right orifice
I’d say, leave the muck
We’ve time to fuck
About in our dirty truck
Followed by a bath filled with rose petals
A comforter spread misted with lavender increments
The black hare
He doesn’t care
He is merely human
She won’t know what to think
She had too many Guardian Angels
He is a constant thorn
She will disapropiate
Brother, Eish let me make you another tea and I may share a few yarns with you
Paint the roses any hue- the town is full of red-faced
men who do nothing to tame your mews
Some of us have got to say
About something. Kay?
Cos last time I checked Its OKAY to talk, spew, let it all out
Shake your tosser hand
Make sure of that clout you received last night.
I wasn’t there
I don’t care
What the fuck is a silent night
When your body is a constant ablaze to inner trappings of your, inner might
What a sight.
A mind is cleansed by a prayer to shovel it to under nature’soils with a -blackie -the dead knight
He’s no talisman
He was a pet rabbit, not the shaded son’s garden boy.
That is a story where both lived to know what it feels to catch ha fright.
It didn’t start with a waterproof plastering over a burial ground….
It’s my curfew
Self isolate, lick my tail and tell myself self soothing mew mews
(Curfew words) too tired to correct
My simple pleasure is well over due.
Rage incensed unfurled by the scent of the Unsaged.
The Wisest fool, I know.
Marked with your own hands
let your vapid swimming champion attempt to have a go
Let you paw my naked flesh
Touch me up and make me think I wanted you for sex.
I don’t give a fuck!
Get out my of my head, black-mouthed dog.
I got my hands sullen – fresh paint can’t hide your taint revolving around my mind.
I write with these hands because I don’t know what else to do if I sit with my thoughts
what else will I find?
Paranoid thoughts, I was doing just fine.
Soul crooners lull me into an artificial lullaby.
desperate to pull the remainder of my smile -on the down line.
Graphic infatuation, little girls grow up. I put my hands in the air.
My new escapism became you
There is no edge about you
indeed your toxicity is your strongest flair.
On the border screaming – furry fury cloaks me.
You took advantage, you sick fucking spatial wasted amoebic basket case.
Slap you, disgrace you.
You took advantage and to hell with you.
I suffer still because I let you have me.
No regrets? fuck that – knowing you live is the cord around my neck.
Choke me, pollute the air -in my world. it’s not fair.
No, life ain’t fair.
Break. it. down.
Trace my heart – find a pulse – wearing my heart for all to show -has led to this current plumous demise.
Despise – I’m spitting mad.
You think you got me had?
Leave my mind – cybersex or sext with the one with the most milkshakes accumulating in her breasts.
I back away -Every.Single. Day.
My greatest doubt is you.
My biggest mistake was believing you -believing in you.
I’m bored. I’m tired. I feel like you’ve drawn out the last pint of blood from my veins.
Silence your kind.
Judge not those who seem a reflection of myself.
Your kind is everything that drags me into the knockers pit – I know about that mine.
I know the rules now.
Not worth it. Wasted.
Not worth recycling.
If I see you again count on a different primitive play out.
You ain’t no clever clogs – your seduction techniques consist of stirring drunken lust.
You can’t even get your playmate up – he so broke – he to lame to even cough up and say I’m bust
See my belly button? I ain’t your mommy – there ain’t no umbilical cord,
Snap out of this maced crowdy place.
Am I losing it because of a hillbilly with a familiar face?
Contravene – isophane
Get out of my mind.
Tickets for you – you need to pay hundreds in fines.
Here’s the unpolitical correct version – may your mind be haunted and possessed by the very wrong deeds you have done with your own venomous spew.
I hate you. I hate me. I hate that I let you get to me.
Immigrant? I’d rather be that than insignificant. who are you?
Who are you?
No metamorphosis fly buttering around.
Comparisons to what I have tossed away to one side.
If I end up in a grave with a tag on my toe.
Please, family, don’t own me. Call me Jane doe.
Such is the embarrassment for the one I almost gave up breathing – you so shallow – you so low,
then I realize you want to have that effect – crazy bastard. Your mind ain’t correct.
How can I erase your dirty fingernails and unwashed face from my skin?
How could I let you touch me – lusted after you? You dear, are not my sin.
Lost and a wandering always flock to the same ravine.
I’m not gonna drown in here -with you the last thought on my mind
We all a bit crazy – you crazier than your previous generation of malignant space heads.
Fuck you. Fuck this – potions brewing. I’m on my way to Haiti to instil a dose of voodoo – you hoodoo – foo do – mush brain processed tin canned – factory-made – reset the defaults – you haven’t got a clue.
You think you some Who?
Have I told you lately I have some news for you?