Shyness + Making Clouds + Haunted Air

It’s been one of those days! A tough cookie that won’t crack and bites you in the noodle bowl kinda day. My ointment for this ill is to slap myself with a bit of colour.




When I was a child, I was shy-shy-shy. Painfully shy! I would not speak to anyone but my family. My mum, having failed in many attempts to prise words out of me in public resorted to blackmail.


Nairobi has a wealth of Indian snack shops and one of my most favoured treats were these sugar coated fennel treats that were readily available in such places. I would force myself, through sweat, blushing, hyperventilation to speak to the shop keeper to buy these colourful drops.


Speaking of colour……..


I have been actively engrossed in this vocation of making clouds.

After much consideration and tapping of my calculator (to look convincingly clever), I have come to the conclusion that the way forward in this endeavour is to create moulds out of colourful blocks of plasticky stuff.

I am not expecting to be nominated for the Nobel Prize. So while I wait for that elusive whack of genius to blast me into a shiny level of consciousness, I shall fill my ears with some choons:


Yeah, it’s me, myself and I. Mirror, mirror on the wall. Tell me mirror what is wrong…..

The creepy in me is what’s wrong! I have been twitching/aching/dying to get my claws on this book.


One man’s collection of anonymous American halloween photos dating from 1875 – 1955 further commended in my mind with it’s introduction written by David Lynch.


// Listening to Dreams by Roy Orbison:

A candy-colored clown they call the Sandman
Tiptoes to my room every night
Just to sprinkle stardust and to whisper
“Go to sleep, everything is all right”

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