Salutation to you, my friend. It has been a long century since we last lost sight of each other. In fact, it is by pure coincidence that our fathers destined us to meet, so for today. Otherwise, I would still be engrossed in my miserable journey; a remarkable odyssey I will never live to remember for I have been reduced to a culprit of my loose morals. Ok, you always kept yours tight but I know you will not abstain after you eventually walk down the aisle with your sweet angel, perhaps angeless-whichever you prefer.
I began to keep a low profile after I realised that out of the legions, who had been put in the red light, I was (un)lucky to come out as an especial instrument of victimisation. Now, I am delighting in this favour every moment I breathe. It is a privilege to feel so.
Do I sound strange? I felt it some day gone when I had not regained my good piece of peace to sound the way I am doing. No one would allow me to speak to them for they already had a smell of my misdemeanour and what became of me. They loathed me like the Devil. Not even one among them yearned to encounter me on the way and greet me with the warmth of our biblical brotherhood. In a way, I felt privileged to exist in a humane society in which I have countenanced long-term ostracisement and rejection. My companion became torturous lonesomeness. In it, I sensed some autonomy, which ate my conscience like a hungry beast that had not seen the face of food for forty days. Lucky me! It is only you I could speak to.
Let me now embrace this precious timeliness to sound like a soldier of conquest turned an apostle of sad memoirs. How could folks unravel the secret seeds of such destruction and fail to open their ears wide open when I spoke to them about it? If so they heard, how could they feel convicted when all they heard with one ear exited through the other? I wonder!
Perhaps, I could relay this piece of sad memory in black and white. A serious epistle it could be. Those who would not bear to hear me out could read it. I perceive the epistle might at one time of confusion, have its way into the Library of Books: The Epistle of Miserable Joe to his friend. Nevertheless, before that, I could still preach the good message and encourage people to walk their talk in whatever circumstances. In so doing, I would; unlike in my heydays of self-indulgence, practice what I'd be preaching. It is so wonderful, not so? I will convince many more to stop putting themselves in the shoes of the good New Testament Thomas whenever I preach to them.
Thanks to my decent-some demeanour, nothing will bar me from sensitising my historical; rather, my biological brothers and sisters to keep me closer to the memory of their hearts and so, distance themselves from the acts of perversion. In all this, my experience will be nurtured to make me not only a seasoned philosopher of good will, but also an apostle of moral refinement. Period!
Only one impossible dream do I have to nurse. I look forward to the infinite day when I will be holier than the Library of Books or perhaps; holier than thou so I could easily be the heir to the moral kingdom of our fathers. Even so, I encourage you to stand up for your morality and you will escape the free-doom of our days. In whichever way you view my reasons, you will be grateful I reminded you so.
Since my days are short, do me one favour: Read this epistle to the mourners and revellers at my funeral.
P.S. Do invite me to your funeral when your time comes.
Joshua Masinde
I began to keep a low profile after I realised that out of the legions, who had been put in the red light, I was (un)lucky to come out as an especial instrument of victimisation. Now, I am delighting in this favour every moment I breathe. It is a privilege to feel so.
Do I sound strange? I felt it some day gone when I had not regained my good piece of peace to sound the way I am doing. No one would allow me to speak to them for they already had a smell of my misdemeanour and what became of me. They loathed me like the Devil. Not even one among them yearned to encounter me on the way and greet me with the warmth of our biblical brotherhood. In a way, I felt privileged to exist in a humane society in which I have countenanced long-term ostracisement and rejection. My companion became torturous lonesomeness. In it, I sensed some autonomy, which ate my conscience like a hungry beast that had not seen the face of food for forty days. Lucky me! It is only you I could speak to.
Let me now embrace this precious timeliness to sound like a soldier of conquest turned an apostle of sad memoirs. How could folks unravel the secret seeds of such destruction and fail to open their ears wide open when I spoke to them about it? If so they heard, how could they feel convicted when all they heard with one ear exited through the other? I wonder!
Perhaps, I could relay this piece of sad memory in black and white. A serious epistle it could be. Those who would not bear to hear me out could read it. I perceive the epistle might at one time of confusion, have its way into the Library of Books: The Epistle of Miserable Joe to his friend. Nevertheless, before that, I could still preach the good message and encourage people to walk their talk in whatever circumstances. In so doing, I would; unlike in my heydays of self-indulgence, practice what I'd be preaching. It is so wonderful, not so? I will convince many more to stop putting themselves in the shoes of the good New Testament Thomas whenever I preach to them.
Thanks to my decent-some demeanour, nothing will bar me from sensitising my historical; rather, my biological brothers and sisters to keep me closer to the memory of their hearts and so, distance themselves from the acts of perversion. In all this, my experience will be nurtured to make me not only a seasoned philosopher of good will, but also an apostle of moral refinement. Period!
Only one impossible dream do I have to nurse. I look forward to the infinite day when I will be holier than the Library of Books or perhaps; holier than thou so I could easily be the heir to the moral kingdom of our fathers. Even so, I encourage you to stand up for your morality and you will escape the free-doom of our days. In whichever way you view my reasons, you will be grateful I reminded you so.
Since my days are short, do me one favour: Read this epistle to the mourners and revellers at my funeral.
P.S. Do invite me to your funeral when your time comes.
Joshua Masinde
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