Getting this particular guy to write for my post was like getting Biko Zulu to write for me! Just for this once I will give myself credit for actually approaching a guy (I am a very shy person) for the first time! I will also give myself credit for my humor. Amidst a laugh here and there, and a few compliments (or many, who knows?) I asked him to write something for me. And this man delivers! Rackster, if you were an aspirant I would vote for you! Plus you were not one of those “Nitakuona lini?” breed of guys. (See what i did there?)

Haya, I talk a lot so if I talk more I will spoil. take it away…

So we’re back at it again; social media is strife thanks to winter coming. We have divides across the many friends and followers; divides widened by spoilers and an army of GOT fans eager to disrupt the peace. We have pockets of people in dark corners of the inter-webs united by their obliviousness to this madness. The ones that sift through the spoilers, gliding above them like ghouls. Uninterested. Unbothered.

And here I am; it is exactly 11:33 am on a Tuesday. I have had the umpteenth cup of coffee thanks to the weather. I have taken countless of trips to the bathroom, stood there and watched as a stream of almost colorless pee shot into the urinal; tearing into the colorful balls that decorate the bottom sending out an obnoxious scent that should somehow represent hygiene flying into my nostrils. Unwelcome. Settling down the back of my throat. Also it’s cold. Or trying to be. It depends on what side of the office you choose to peek out of. From my desk which is adjacent to a medium sized window. Streams of sunlight fight to seep through the drawn blinds. I can see slits of blue and none of gray. So I assume on that side of the office; it is bright. From the boardroom; all blinds drawn; the sky is a sulky sea of gray. It looks like someone in the heavens lit up a shisha pot and is blowing away.

The reason I am on this keyboard trying to wring out a few drops of word into an empty cup that is a white sheet with a blinking cursor; is because Savai asked if I could pen something for her blog. And in between a few jokes here and the revelation that she was enjoying a bad but overpriced whisky (which really hurt my feelings. Life is too short not to enjoy a good whisky hehe) there I figure I would like to address her ghost followers. Those guys that lurk in the background, scrolling through her posts, sending unsolicited friend requests, going through her photos and basically trying to figure out what makes her; well, her. Trying to put a face behind the words. Building an online persona, an image to live up to.

So to the ghosts. Are you ready?

I don’t know much about you or where you’re from. Neither does Savai. But if the stats on her back end are anything to go by we know you exist. We live on the faith that you do exist. That you are not just some non-existent entity conjured by the evil minds at WordPress to coerce us into believing this writing thing is a thing.

Sometimes I wonder what goes on in your minds. I have a clue when it comes to the guys that leave a like or a comment. But with you? What? Do you like it? Hate it? Do you wish that my writing fell off the face of the earth? To disappear into the realms of the unknown together with my name? Or do you utter my name like a silent whisper with one breath on rare occasions?

I also try and imagine who you might be and what your life might be like.

Do you wake up in the morning, early, just like me and hurtle yourself into a routine existence that gets so inane you want to scratch your brains from the inside out? For instance there are days I wake up and cannot stand the smell of light. I know that sounds weird. Light? Smell? But yes. Day break has a smell. And mostly it is of regret. When you’ve gone so much into routine you cannot break it. When every task seems mundane and you just want the day to end before it even starts. Those days even a mug of coffee will do nothing to raise your spirits.  Not even two bonus episodes of the Game of Thrones will get you out of that rut. Do you get that? Or are you always happy go lucky with a Mary Popping’s cheery disposition where a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down? Indulge me.

Or maybe you lazily stir up in the middle of the day when the sun is high. When it no longer gently pats you with its rays but strongly hammers you into submission. Maybe that is when your adventures start. I tend to think waking at that time means you’re adventurous. Or at the least a risk taker. I mean waking up when the sun is high? When the early bird already caught the worm? What then would the rest of your day look like? Maybe a cold glass of water, neat, from the tap. Because people like you do not fear cholera. You don’t boil. You take it as it is. Like every day of your life. Ready to live for the thrills that come.

Do you cuss under your breath in traffic? When the bus is swerving lanes left to right like a tea in a jug being cooled down for a young kid. Or when the driver slams the brakes without warning and you are sent like flying into the seat in front of you like a nuclear warhead? Do you say fuck? Shit? Oh my god? Is it loud or you murmur in unison with the rest of the irate passengers on board? What about when he, the driver, speeds just after reaching a bump and your thrown off your seat, into the heavens and have your bum welcomed back by a cardboard cushioned in worn out upholstery sending your whole spin into your mouth. How do you react to that?

Or maybe you drive. So what happens when you get cut off in traffic? Right when you were in the middle of your favorite song? And you too have to slam the brakes and send yourself, probably a drink that was in hand and your attitude flying towards the wind shield?

These are just some of the things that keep me up at night when I think about you. I want to know if you have any social media accounts and how many photos you have on them. What kind are they? Do you just upload motivational quotes shrouded in fancy fonts with an uninspiring image (mostly a sunrise or a sunset) in the background? Or are you vane and you kiss the air with your puckered lips showing off some mate lip paint with an endless list of tags to follow? Or maybe you are obsessed with your ass or abs. And try act like you are not. So you post pictures of your body with useless captions that are so thinly veiled we can see the future through them.

There’s so much about you I don’t know. That I would like to know.

How you text for instance. Would we be stuck in an unimaginative conversation where all I did was ask about the day or would you surprise me with an interesting twist to why Hitler was pro black?

But you are a riddle I will never solve. Not that I want to. I don’t. You are the perfect muse.

Anyway I might have overstayed my welcome. I do that a lot. Always. I talk too much too. Let me let you keep to your ghost ways and leave Savai’s quaint abode.

Till we meet again.

ION; What has four letters, sometimes has nine and never has five. Think about it…



5 thoughts on “Ghosties!

Add yours

  1. Me. I can be that ghost at times. The ghost of gambatura, remember. A favourite read it was before I discovered reading about vengeance (It has to be Sheldon), deception (Dan brown & John Grisham) and not giving a fuck (Mark Manson) was more fun. I could say I am trying not to be but for who. Actually who gives a rat’s ass? See, I cuss and even curse but I use a variety.

    Liked by 1 person

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