8 May 2012
11 Mar 2012
13 Feb 2012
10 Feb 2012
9 Feb 2012
belong in the Olympics and rightly so.
Arm wrestling is not one of them.
intimidation and humiliation that made me lose, or that for all the
nineteen years of my life I had lived in a state of heightened
self-delusion resulting in my humiliating loss.
It was not C's strength that I found intimidating; it was the starry,
retarded way her eyes focused on me, like Mike Tyson getting ready to
feed. I didn't even try to put up a fight the first few times, but the
celebratory high-fiving and hooting, combined with half a gummy ear's
torso still stuck to my eardrum, were reason to grow delirious.
"Fine, you fucker, let's go!" I yelled.
Getting into position on the floor while my friend T video-recorded
what would inevitably turn into a violent episode of The L Word. I
hoped I could turn my anger and humiliation into a sort of rabies
strength but was reminded time and again who was in charge.
Losing in conjunction with the stadium cheering was not the worst part; after
she beat each one of us, she would leapfrog onto the back of our
heads, crushing our faces into the tiling, and then spank us.
It was beyond embarrassing.
After that, i could never look C in the eye afraid that she would take
any opportunity to remind me how scrawny I was. I did everything in my
wheelhouse to avoid a one on one altercation. I averted eye contact
and generally made sure that we were never alone in a room.
I have not seen C since then. Everything about her scares me. I
suppose it has to do with the fact that she looks like a transgender
villain, and that at the time she was dating a man with shoulders the
size of a barge and a head like a steamroller.
I suppose my problem with her was that she was an unattractive
heterosexual who acted like a lesbian on steroids. That and the fact
that she dressed like a truck driver and cursed like one too. If
anyone had asked me if she were a woman, I would utter and reiterated
that no, I did not believe that she was female and that if we did any
further DNA investigation her constitution would prove me right.
Although her voice did all the proving one needed, it boomed from wall
to wall, end to end. Shaking the rafters of the house. I suspect she
is the reason why the earth would grow silent everytime she spoke.
Even a whisper from her sounded like a scratch to your eardrum.
I wonder about her sometimes, especially now.
Is she married? Living in a house with a white picket fence with her
children, little man girls with broad shoulders and buck teeth.
Or maybe she realised she was a lesbian after all *place-know-it-all emotican*
Vulnavia T. Gura
6 Feb 2012
whilst I was on my way out of the house.
I didn't panic.
My aunt did. She freaked out. Her scream rang out for miles and miles.
I did not see what the fuss was about; it wasn't like I was not the
first one to give birth. But there she was rolling on the floor and
wailing like a banshee.
Odd, birth is such a beautiful thing.
When mama came running she was clutching her purse in one hand and her
holding her phone to her ear,
"Chiiko!" ("What's happening?") I remember shrugging nonchalantly and
turning to pack my nappy bag,
"Nothing hey, auntie is crying because my water just broke,"
"Oh God, are you alright?" she asked rushing to my side.
"I'm fine mama, it's just I can't find any baby clothes, I totally
forgot to buy, all I have is one of the old nappies you used to use
and a bib, I doubt the baby will be needing that anytime soon but let
me just pack it in case,"
Aunt Gladys was now writhing noiselessly on the floor, occasionally
letting out a ragged sigh.
Her theatrics were annoying.
"Mama, tell her to get out, go call a taxi or something to take me to
"Gladys get up come on, we need to get V to the hospital,"
Mama yanked her off the floor and held her up as she walked them both
out the door. I could feel the baby trying to make its way out now. It
did not hurt though, I just felt like I needed to use the toilet,
through the wrong hole.
"Hang in there," I mumbled running a hand over my belly.
I heard the far away rumble of traffic, drawing closer until I
realised that I was standing on a footpath in the city.
The baby was starting to crown and I wondered vaguely where mama had
gone off to. She should have only been a minute, but it seemed like
she had been gone for ages.
A chair appeared in front of me and I sat down waiting for her. But
the baby was coming and I couldn't hold it off any longer. So, lying
back I reached between my legs let out a little grunt and gripping the
baby by its head I pulled the it out of the safe confines of my womb.
It did not make a sound, neither did it move. Instead it remained
rigid in my palm, ramrod straight and cold as ice. I pulled at the
umbilical cord, and it came right off.
Disconnected I laid the baby on the bench and watched it for a while,
I felt nothing for it. No pulling of heartstrings, no sense of loss,
only a clinical detachment.
It opened its eye's then, mewled for a just a split second and let out
an ear bleeding shriek. Piercing the brittle walls around my heart.
For the first time in my life, I felt love. Total love for another
human being. I was humbled.
In case you are wondering what sort of madness that is, I will tell
you. That was a dream I had last night. Scared me so much I spent the
whole day pressing my stomach just to make sure was not pregnant. I
circled a pharmacy twice, trying to decide whether or not to go in and
buy a pregnancy test kit. If you have an inkling as to what it may or
may NOT mean, do tell ;)
3 Feb 2012
30 Jan 2012
29 Jan 2012
sentences had labelled me
bitter, a further three sentences on after mentioning
that I blogged, he
said that I had a puffed out ego adding that I was an
attention whore who felt the need for people to agree with her.
His friend then added that it made me seem
insecure; as I seemed to need
validation form other people.
Understand that blogging is
vanity publishing, and the majority of people who do
it want to be heard.
Although, I hardly think they want to agreed with, at
least not all the time . What this fine gentleman- who after a couple of
more sentences I labelled a
neurotic pervert with borderline misogynistic
tendencies who felt the need
to put people down in order to hide his own
insecurities- failed to ask was why I blogged.
Sure, I like people to agree with me but at the core
of it all, I genuinely
love writing; lists, diary entries, doodles on paper and
stuff on this blog. Granted I do not always have time
but I really enjoy writing. The interplay between fiction and non-fiction,
inspiration, seeing it all unfold. There is no bigger a
fan out there than
I. You would be correct in your assumption that I
blog more for me than anyone else.
I may not be as good as Dickens, but this is what I
Here's an excerpt from our conversation.
"Don't you have anything you like doing?" I asked.
X turned his gaze on me, smirked took a drag from
the cigarette that was
dangling precariously from his fingers, smacked his
lips and retorted
"I love sex," he paused for effect, "and I love
Dear reader I should tell you that such brashness
makes me uncomfortable. I
also think it is inappropriate to discuss sex in such a
manner to one you
have just met. So I gulped looked away and then
turned my gaze slowly back on him, whilst he and his pal hi-fived each other and
smirked some more.
Which, for a split second made me think of small sized apes pounding
their chests to validate their maleness.
I regarded him for a while,
"Different strokes for different folk," I said sagely.
I wanted so badly to change the subject.
"What can I say, I am a thirsty guy,"
Moments later after noticing how I had interrupted N
as she went on about
her Shona heritage, I noticed him exchanging looks
with said pal,
"You have bi-sexual tendencies," he guffawed and
exchanged another hi-five
with his pal.
Thoroughly annoyed, I turned my back on him
and spent the rest of the
evening talking to a politician who had been sitting
quietly at our table.
I became oh so interested in why he had not yet built
a dam in his constituency, as had been promised almost a decade ago.
"A couple of years ago you moved people out of that
area claiming that the
government planned on building a dam."
"The dam that resulted in the displacement of
hundreds of families from the
He continued staring at me blankly.
X's friend who had been eyeing N for a while, took
this opportunity to grab
my arm and point to a video of two people having
sex on his phone. "That's what your friend should do," and then he let
out a loud bark and
pleased as punch he hi-fived X.
Disgusted, I left with N in tow. It dawned on me that a man that
constantly went on
about sex was just using
the talk to compensate for a lot of things, which
happen to be none of a my a
Vulnavia T. Gura
26 Jan 2012
24 Jan 2012
20 Jan 2012
15 Jan 2012
A shadow painted whereyes, a shadow must fall.
the cow's breath not forgotten...
life is painted noly red, green, but also in grey and dard.
Let us welcome life with smiles whatever it is.
Green Dreams, gift of the gods, and in this achievement effort. both
inward and outward. must play a great part
Think me not unkind and rude, that I walk done in grove and glen; I go
to the god of the wood.
Best wishes for my Best friends and welcome To our little happy world.
When you have problem, Remember me.please.
Cool Dogs Welcome to Cool Dog's Happy little world BEST WISHES FOR YOU
I now dend you infinite blessing at every each other for youth and
joy! Drip such acrid fragrance.
Miffy 45th Anniversary in 2000 Skipper's Schedule Fishing the seas for
a fishy story for the fishmonger.
Child Wonder The only excercise I get is when I take the studs out of
one shirt and put them in another New Taste Many reason have been put
forward for napolean fame, apart from those put forward by napolean
Dear my friend, Bob. Hi! Bob, How are you? I'm in the pink of health
Do you know that plastic model car race is now very popular in our
school? My car is "BOB Special No. 2" which you gave me some time ago.
It's really the best one which has been never failed to keep first
place at all races.
Snoopy for PRESLDENT Weber for Lunch * Editor's note: The drawing on
this pencil box showed Snoopy and Woodstock. King of Line Wisdom is
better than Strength
This is me talking now... none of this was made up. The Chinese said it.