Friday, April 18, 2014

Ngoma (The Acoustic Fooling Around In The Living Room Version)


So, a while back, I was fooling around in my living room with my fantastic guitarist Toby, and we did this acoustic version of my song "Ngoma", I thought you may like to have it so it's available for download here.
So enjoy, while you wait, for, you know.......the album.
:-)


PK.

Sunday, January 19, 2014

Boxes, Darkness, Ashes.

It's funny, I think.

How badly we search for and seek out positivity in our lives nowadays. 

'Be positive.'
'Look on the bright side.'
'It's all in your attitude.'

It feels as though that's all we're ever doing now. Joy and happiness are not things that come to us in simple experiences. Life has become such a challenge that we now have to actively seek out the joy in things. We read books and articles and attend seminars and search for answers about how to 'live in the moment' and 'be present', so that we can tune our minds to a frequency that endures the constant drone of misfortune happening around us. We're now seeking out lessons on how to be okay, happy even, despite what life hands us. 

Could be that we bring it on to ourselves, though. The misfortune. For instance, I find myself tangled up in my dark emotions more frequently than I would like. And I think I realize now that usually, in my moments of joy and laughter, I have managed to disentangle myself from the darkness, but rather than shove it into a box and lock it and burn it, I am in the habit of wearing the heavy coils of darkness around my neck. Winding it around and around, mistakenly believing that I'm in control of it. And there I place it, like a necklace, allowing it to sit and bask off of my victories, and letting it have access to my vulnerabilites too often. Not realizing that the whole time it is slowly creeping right back to my neck, lusting after the chokehold I allow it to have. 

Somebody slap me.
Hell, I'll slap myself. 

I'm stashing that nastiness into a box and burning it.

And then feeding the ashes to a unicorn. I hear those creatures have the ability to digest anything into a spray of glitter. 

Later folks. 
PK. 

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Your Song.

A dear friend of mine, Wangari, shared this today.

There is a tribe in Africa where the birth date of a child is counted not from when they were born, nor from when they are conceived but from the day that the child was a thought in its mother’s mind. And when a woman decides that she will have a child, she goes off and sits under a tree, by herself, and she listens until she can hear the song of the child that wants to come. And after she’s heard the song of this child, she comes back to the man who will be the child’s father, and teaches it to him. And then, when they make love to physically conceive the child, some of that time they sing the song of the child, as a way to invite it.

And then, when the mother is pregnant, the mother teaches that child’s song to the midwives and the old women of the village, so that when the child is born, the old women and the people around her sing the child’s song to welcome it. And then, as the child grows up, the other villagers are taught the child’s song. If the child falls, or hurts its knee, someone picks it up and sings its song to it. Or perhaps the child does something wonderful, or goes through the rites of puberty, then as a way of honoring this person, the people of the village sing his or her song.

In the African tribe there is one other occasion upon which the villagers sing to the child. If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime or aberrant social act, the individual is called to the center of the village and the people in the community form a circle around them. Then they sing their song to them.

The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behavior is not punishment; it is love and the remembrance of identity. When you recognize your own song, you have no desire or need to do anything that would hurt another.

And it goes this way through their life. In marriage, the songs are sung, together. And finally, when this child is lying in bed, ready to die, all the villagers know his or her song, and they sing—for the last time—the song to that person.

You may not have grown up in an African tribe that sings your song to you at crucial life transitions, but life is always reminding you when you are in tune with yourself and when you are not. When you feel good, what you are doing matches your song, and when you feel awful, it doesn’t. In the end, we shall all recognize our song and sing it well. You may feel a little warbly at the moment, but so have all the great singers. Just keep singing and you’ll find your way home.


Sing.
PK.

Monday, January 13, 2014

Transform Me.

"Life is going to present to you a series of transformations. And the point of education should be to transform you. To teach you how to be transformed so you can ride the waves as they come.......
But you can’t learn when you’re afraid. You cannot be transformed when you are afraid."
Junot Díaz, speaking at Yale.

I'm all about transformation right now,with fear being one of my biggest challenges. I take lessons from everything around me, every situation, every experience, every person. And now I believe more than ever that aside from recognizing the lesson, I have to use it to transform myself in only the best of ways. I know that transformations which are painful are so because they are worth it, which is why I'm fighting the fear with every ounce of courage I can muster. I want to be the best of myself. 
And then some.

Bring on the pain. 
I shall relish it because I know it can only lead to greatness.

Happy New Year.
PK.

Friday, June 7, 2013

Zanzibar Pt 1 - Kizimkazi

Took a break a little while back and hit the Southern tip of Zanzibar. It was glorious. Stayed at a place called The Residence and I almost didn't come back. 
 







Everywhere you look is breathtaking. 
Find me on Instagram - MissKihoro 
I post more pictures there. 

PK.

Sunday, May 26, 2013

Fun with Fabric.

Hi.

Yes. It has been 2 and a half months of silence. Yes. But I must say, I figured it out. I finally realised something monumental about myself that is really so simple but quite substantial, and that explains the huge gaps between posts. And a lack of musical releases and a lack of more writing. That's going to need a post on its own.

But the irregular posting thing should change because I can finally blog off of my phone. Which I am doing right now. Score.  

But this post is about my playtime with fabric.

I was away in Nigeria for about a month -another post as well, there's about 20 posts stored in my brain ummm.... store - and for those that know me you know that my absolute obsession with Kitenge/Ankara fabric runs a tad on the crazy side. Well, I had just one hour to shop. One hour in the whole month. Not per day. One whole month in Naija with just one hour to shop on the day before my trip back. I made it worthwhile though, and scored lots of fabric. 25kgs of excess baggage worth. Score.

Now usually, what would generally happen when I have a stash of fabric in my possession, which I usually do, is a stare down. I go to the stash and just stare at it, imagining what glorious things can come of it. And this can last months because of how indecisive I am. But not this time. Well, ok, maybe that did happen, for about a month after I got back. But then, my friend was heading out to Cannes a couple of weeks ago with her daughter, Cricket, who is 6 months old tomorrow so I figured I could ruffle up some thingamajigs for her. Cricket that is. I decided head thingies with bows on them would be cute, but I couldn't figure out how to make sure they were comfortable enough for a baby. Took me a day to get a light bulb moment. Jersey fabric. Which I promptly cut off from one of my long, super comfy vests that I have in many colours.


The fabric off of this is über soft and elastic so I knew there'd be no uncomfortable tension on Cricket. Then what happened next, I apologise, but I don't remember in precise detail. I sort of just figured it out as I went along, but there was glue, needles and thread, lace, wine, Olivia Pope, ribbons, buttons, all things I have in my DIY stash, and some cursing involved.


The fabric I selected, had lots of dark pinks and purples, to match Cricket's outfits. Her mum is not too big on colour blocking. She gave me some serious side eye once when I suggested an orange sweater with a pink tutu for a wedding. 


And the result?



The black and green jersey fabric I got from t-shirts. I also made a couple of them thick so that they would cover Cricket's ears in case it was cold. 

And so that Cricket's mum wouldn't feel left out I made some bangles for her. Although the head thingies are stretchy enough to fit her as well.



Her mum is more into earth colours, warm tones and such. Much more grown up.


I made a tower. Not as easy as it looks with a couple of glasses of wine down at 3 am. Yes, I was up late. 


And then so that I wouldn't feel left out, I made some candle stick holders for my place. Fabric, ribbon, and empty booze bottles.


Yes. That was fun. 

So finally, my model and face of my line of baby thingamajigies, presenting...

Cricket!


She's perfect.

Later then.
PK.

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