I notice when I get down to write on Sunday morning, that is what I tend to first write. A line in the soil around.
Saturday eve, I danced the day away in a bar.
Got to a point when the alcohol fueling the dance dullened perception. And, I chose to stand and appreciate the beauty of humans around me. Of course, it was not the females in their bright, scanty attires that drew my eye. Rather, the males, the men, in every guise and shape, some bright and shouting, some not so much, retiring into the shadows to look and gaze- some somewhere inbetween, not so out happy, not so down dull. Somewhere in between.
Reminded me of Walt Whitman, ‘City of orgies, walks and joys…’
Poetry. Where would I have been without it?
It’s a sink for thought, a treasure, a guide to thought. The best is always good, but even the worst has that nugget of blessing to confer to my soul.
Back home late, it was bed for me. I embraced my love, and we made love, deeply, fevertly, completely. Good to always come home to a man, my love. Great to know that he is with me… It’s a completeness that cannot be replicated.
After a fulsome rest in the night, we were back at it…. So help me god, but we are young and eager. What better time to indulge all our senses?
And afterwards, tiring of bed, I grabbed the book of poetry, and went to welcome the morning.
It rained yesterday.
And, in the early morning, the slanting sun rays, the gleams of sparkling dew on the green turgid grass.
is never as beautiful to me as after rain, the days afterwards are always cooler, better, brighter, the air clearer of fog and smog. Kampala
Read a poem. Wrote a few. Watched men, boys, life streaming by the road.
It is beautiful. Of course it is, very beautiful.
Yet, there is work to do, and, that is what calls now, a siren call. The beauty of the day, its appreciation, it has for now to take a back seat, in the background, as I seek to know what more is in the world for me.
Sunday morning. I hope Ssempa is not showing hard core gay porn in his church today. No, I will not be bothered to go watch.
It is a very beautiful Sunday morning.
Now, for laughs. Remember when I told you that I had sent a cheeky letter to the Monitor about Ssempa's Porn Show in church?
Well, I did. I gayuganda. And, the Monitor has published it. I kid you not. Here is the e-paper link.
I am a Ugandan who has been keenly follow- ing the debate about the Anti-Homosexuality Bill. I respect sane arguments for and against the Bill, but as an adult Ugandan, I am ap- palled that the debate has descended to the point that pornographic materials are being shown in churches by Pastor Martin Ssempa.
I know his intention is to show that gay sex is so bad that it should be banned.
But, porn is porn, whether shown in the film halls (bibanda) or at places of worship- churches and mosques.Pastor Ssempa has shown these porno- graphic materials at press conferences, at the Uganda National Theatre, and other public places. It is deeply disturbing that children are being exposed to this. It is disturbing that even though this is against the law, the Police and the Minister of Integrity and Ethics have turned blind eyes to it.
It is also shaming to the country when headlines like `Uganda Pastor shows Gay Porn in Church' appear in the international media, like it is on AFP as I write.
Concerned citizenYes, you have noticed it. My identity was too inflammatory. I identified myself as a gay Ugandan. The gay didnt skip the censors scissors. And, gug, gayuganda was also slashed out. Instead, I am a magnificent Concerned Citizen.
Have a great day!
from Concerned Citizen, gug.