Mr_Wasta.

Life Sophomore ¿

[Mr_Wasta. @Mr_Wasta]

I know what to do. I know what’s best for me. All I ask for this year is the courage to be loyal to myself.

[Mr_Wasta. @Mr_Wasta]

My mind just made a baby.
: )
I'm getting old. F it.

[Mr_Wasta. @Mr_Wasta]

Mbogi yote drip clean, tumepiga luku fisa na madini kaa bila finyo tukiadisia mambling, na minoko zote ni mangoto ka sita, big black mister, bling back mister ,big poll Insta, bad like Batista, fresh boys inadi yard ka rada tukipita, tushapiga luku kuja tukule mapicha. Wanjapi!🕺

[Mr_Wasta. @Mr_Wasta]

Life is hard but atleast boobs are soft.
And music was invented.

[Mr_Wasta. @Mr_Wasta]

The worst persist ,so do I.

[Okong' Okuna @XivTroy]

The basic foundation of nihilism/existentialism/humanism is that life is meaningless (not the OP's but Schopenhauer, Kant, Nietzsche Kierkegaard, and Sartre's e.t.c).

For some like Schopenhauer, meaninglessness inevitably bred dissatisfaction: for the likes of Camus, happiness

[Okong' Okuna @XivTroy]

1. An objective truth (meaning) holds because it can be inferred universally, or at least, among the majority.

2. Life's meaning is a very subjective truth depending on one's circumstance: for the hungry, winning is a full stomach, for the pious, it is heaven.

[\ˈfāth\ @kedonojom]

"Little things are little things, but carefulness in little things makes a man great."

[Njoku Nonso @njokunonso_]

The art of returning to the writing of poetry is indeed a humiliating experience, as every creative process that requires an elaborate translation of knowledge or sensibility on paper, or to be poetic: “a patterning of the chaos within and outside,” but it doesn’t end in shame.

[Mr_Wasta. @Mr_Wasta]

The things I'm working on are also working on me... a good one and also threatening to unalive me.

Mambo are always hellbent on being mengi.

[WifeByHusband @wifebyhusband]

"Hey babe why is our wedding so expensive?"

The musician I hired:

[Writer | Climber | Mother of Dragons | Kas Ka Gan @Wordslinger__]

My dear sister @NyamburaGobela asked me to slow down and witness myself arriving at the end of a leg of my journey, and I interpreted the smells (sweat, dust, death, smoke) as narratives. What stories have you told yourself in your journey through the hard lands of life?

[Mr_Wasta. @Mr_Wasta]

She told me the things she'll do to me will worry a priest but thrill a poet.

Now I'm numb from my waist down. I can't feel my toes ,tongue, eyes and ...I want to go home.

[Lukas Not Podolski @OtitoNosike]

It is a Monday afternoon and I am seated at an ordination service. The organ exhales ancient hymns that rise into the rafters and settle upon us with the weight of centuries. The church seems to breathe with them. Voices gather, swell and dissolve into one another until it becomes difficult to tell where the music ends and belief begins.

Around me are faces lit with the solemn joy reserved for the fulfilment of long-awaited promises. Mothers smile through damp eyes. Priests beam with the pride of men welcoming others into a life they themselves have come to love. The men about to be ordained kneel before the altar, their heads bowed beneath the weight of vows they are about to make, while an entire congregation rejoices that a bevy of souls have answered a call they believe came from God Himself. I understand the beauty of it. I understand why someone would desire this to be the rhythm by which every one of their days is measured. I only wish I understood why I am not moved by it.

I search myself as the hymns rise, as the vestments catch the afternoon light, as the prayers are recited with the ease of words that have lived on the tongues of generations before them. I look upon all this accumulated beauty—the ritual, the music, the symbolism, the continuity of a tradition that has survived empires and revolutions—and I wait for something within me to answer. The organ is magnificent. The liturgy is beautiful. The people around me are sincere. I believe every one of those things, and still my heart remains wrapped in a silence I cannot explain.

Perhaps that is what troubles me most. It is not disbelief. It is distance. I do not mock the ordination of priests. If anything, I envy it. I envy the certainty that allows a man to surrender his entire life to something he cannot touch. I envy the ease with which the people around me seem to enter a reality from which I remain strangely distant. They hear something in these hymns that escapes me. They encounter someone in these prayers whom I continue to search for. Standing this close to what so many people call the presence of God while remaining so profoundly untouched by it leaves me with a discomfort I have never quite found the language to describe.

I am close enough to hear every note the organ produces, close enough to watch belief take visible form in bowed heads, folded hands and tear-filled eyes, and yet whatever it is that moves them refuses to arrive within me. I find myself wondering whether faith is something one acquires, something one receives, or something that exists within some people while others spend a lifetime searching for it.

I do not know. The older I grow, the more I wonder whether not knowing is simply the truest condition of being human. Even these men, radiant with joy as they kneel before the altar, do not know what tomorrow will ask of them. They do not know the burdens their vocation will place upon them, the doubts they will wrestle with in the privacy of their own hearts, the prayers that will seem to disappear into silence, or the unexpected graces that will find them years from now. They kneel anyway, and I keep searching. Perhaps that is where we all meet: priest and questioning believer alike, in the same sea of not knowing, each of us learning, in our own way, how to stay afloat.

[Mr_Wasta. @Mr_Wasta]

Do it again.

[Mr_Wasta. @Mr_Wasta]

We should argue less and make love more.

[🕊️ @lichthauch]

Skills that have nothing to do with money but are worth dedicating an immense amount of practice to:

- semen retention
- disciplining the gaze
- breaking bloodline patterns
- manual labour daily
- decrypting dreams
- digesting Gods silence
- swallowing humiliation consciously
- transmuting sexual rage
- blessing an enemy sincerely
- navigating feminine deception
- entertaining madness sober
- obeying nothing internally but your will
- holding power unannounced
- reading bone structure
- starving the character
- feeding the shadow
- choosing pain voluntarily
- refusing comfort during grief
- commanding your fear verbally
- sitting inside guilt until it teaches you
- walking at night
- reading a face
- breath control under rage
- sleeping on floors
- killing an identity
- commanding a demonic thought
- digesting betrayal cold
- eating alone
- staring at fire

[Mr_Wasta. @Mr_Wasta]

two roads diverge into the wood,
I chose the most scenic route,
since it's the least travelled and,
and that's the road that made all this difference.

[Mr_Wasta. @Mr_Wasta]

Very gracious. Grateful.

[🥷 @_iamhabeeb]

grateful for the existence of boobs and music

[Mr_Wasta. @Mr_Wasta]

...The needs to be babied coupled with...
The feels I can lift a car, rule the multiverse
So inverse,why so diverse?
Craving and cramps,hormones so raging
I'll go home and take her a care pack
Or jolt her...

[Cyd Wambui @CydWambui]

Cramps And cravings..
Hormones raging..
So invasive..
Seasons changing

[Mr_Wasta. @Mr_Wasta]

I thought about this yesterday after seeing my friend's YouTube video getting 1000 views. I imagined him talking to all of them at once.
So this digits are actual people.

[Renaissance ⚔️ Morio @RamzZy_]

Social media for some reason makes numbers look like nothing:

50 likes on an IG post looks like a fail.
50 likes on a story feels overwhelming..

Do you know how excited you would be in real life if in one day 50 people told you they like your shirt or dress?