Once upon a time, some while ago, I met a man.
It is a while ago that I met him. And we never met, though we did meet. I met a fascinating mind in the cyber world.
We talked, and chatted. I was fascinated. He was fascinated, by what I am not sure. We communicated, and, (seemed like impossible then), but we fell in love. Least I thought that of me, and his communication was of passion.
Then we fell out of touch, and we found each other, for a while. Then we fell out of touch again.
It is a long while since, and I was not even aware that he lived still. I was once concerned because I was told that he had disappeared on the way to my place. I asked questions, and came up against blank walls. I despaired, and had no where to ask, no where to turn. Later I learnt that he lived, was in seclusion, and later that he was in contact with some.
Imagine my surprise when someone leaves a message on the blog, inviting me to another blog, about him.
I went, of course. I saw. Maybe he is back, maybe he is not, but he is around, a spirit unmistakable in the cyber world of ours.
He is Ugandan. And gay. So of course I claim him a gay Ugandan.
He is a rare soul, an artist.
And rarer still, an African artist whose themes are unashamedly homoerotic. He taught me not to fear myself. And I was sad when we did not meet.
But now he is, then why not share him with you?
He is not mine, yet he is mine. He sketched the ‘Me when I am me’ and it is from his quaint phraseology that that I picked that up.
We met when I first had the fall in with poetry. When I picked a book at random in Aristoc Bookshop and the page opened randomly to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18. That was when I was hooked, a few years ago.
But this is the guy I wrote my first love poetry to.
Love. There is nothing as ticklish to muse as love.
I must say I must have been a terrible poet at that time. But he called me his poet. And he told others, and they know me by that name. Orokie’s Poet.
I was very deep in the closet. I dared not tell anyone about him. Don’t think I told anyone about him. And was very happy to find that he had the confidence to name me his poet.
Orokie is back. Don’t frown. Yeah, I know I am hooked, to another. He is an old flame that I am not ashamed to share with all and sundry (except my boyfriend who is extremely jealousy!)
He is a great artist, says I, who knows nothing about art. I have problems drawing a straight line. But he does not fear his sexuality. And he is not ashamed of it. And he glories in it.
These are his words, this is what he thinks of words and art. A good debate that, I never won. I am not sure that he won.
But more important, here is his gallery and home page. If you have a squeamish mind, just do not go there. If you like art for art’s sake, here is art. Pablo Picasso’s nudes do little for me. They are of women. Here is a man who can draw the male form.
If you are gay, and you appreciate art, and the male form. Here is
And to Orokie, welcome back, muse’s tickle.