we be movin’ on up

Over the phone my brother is literally like, ቤት ስትመጣ ውስኪ አለ ፤ ይዘህ ትሄዳለህ…እንደቢራ ብዙ መጠጣት የለብህም:: ትንሹ ሞቅ ያደርግሃል::

እኔ ደግሞ literally መሽኮርመም like

He was the one who had turned me from my teetotaling ways (የትም ላልደርስ ነገር) and initiated me into the wonders of ቢራ. He had also overseen my earliest exposure to ጠጅ:: ሌላ ሰው ከሚያስለምድህ እኛው ብናስጀምርህ ይሻላል was his angle.

So, yes. Excitement. Whisky is going to be great; an upgrade over wine. The few times I’ve drunk whisky, I’ve got nothing but good memories. Like the time I was hanging out with this girl, I was finding her and physically arousing, she dropped me off at home, we rubbed cheeks with that singular of Etyopian greetings, and in the privacy of the bathroom I had inspected a prototypical boner, which is a stuff of aspirations to this day. ከዚያች ዕለት በኋላ ከላይ የተጠቀሰችውን  ብዕሲት ለማግኘት የተደረገው ተደጋጋሚ ጥረት አልተሳካም::

A text from the future:

message from the future

Unaccomplished tasks:


ደረቅ ቆዳ season. A sore sight for the eyes 🙂


I really hate this. And the lotions don’t seem to be doing me a world of good probably because I keep on washing my hands like Lady Macbeth. My line of work requires it but maybe I take it to a whole nother level. Anyways, now it’s going to be the unfinished bottle that my former roommate left behind. Yes, I like saving money. Interesting thing about that bottle, the smell of the lotion brought back waves of memories of a special girl. I had been warned: use it sparingly or else risk the scent becoming my own scent; memories getting wiped off. Didn’t listen. Applied it daily and liberally on my face. Yes, I’m metrosexual. Now I can’t tell where girl ends and roommate begins.

There’s also that other lotion that was sent by another special girl for the express purpose of applying it on the አይበሉባ:: Woe the day that tube runs dry. It would be like the last strand of connection being broken….

Finished reading GGS. It got repetitive after a certain point. Slugged through it regardless. Far be it from me to lap up talk of Etyopian exceptionalism however tempting it may be. But the book talks about how Etyopia was one of the select number of places to have domesticated plants leading to crop surplus in turn setting the stage for civilization. And what kind of shit did we manage to domesticate? ጤፍ፣ እንሰት ፣ ኑግ ፣ ዳጉሳ (“የዳጉሳ ጠላ በጎን የሚነዳ”) ፣ ቡና እና ጫት:: Even though the list gives off the impression that our lives kind of sucked that half of it had to do with stimulants, looks like we were on our way to civilization. What the fuck happened?


True. Yesterday’s disaster pales in comparison with today’s. But both don’t even make a bleep on the radar of disasters when you consider the real shit people around you are going through. So, brush that impostor syndrome off of your shoulders and keep stepping. None of that “torpor and inertia” (From Captain Corelli’s Mandolin).

Then again, It is as reasonable to represent one kind of imprisonment by another, as it is to represent anything that really exists by that which exists not. 

ነፃነት butchered መድኃኒቴ እና ልጠብቅህ ወይ:: ምነው’ቴ?! ምንም ዘፈኑን አንቺ ብትዘፍኚውም የሕዝብ ሃብት’ኮ ነው! ታሪክ ሰሪው ደግሞ ሠፊው ሕዝብ ነው:: Similar but varying degrees of reproach go out to all them mutherfuckers who had tried to redo their old songs: ቴዎድሮስ፣ ኤፍሬም ፣ ንዋይ ፣ ፀጋዬ… The triple OG’s remain in a league of their own: አስቴር ፣ ጥላሁን ፣ መሐሙድ

This week’s anthems:





shit keeps changing. and staying the same.

Enzymes make shit happen when they bind to their substrate molecules. That’s what makes life as we know it possible. Our professor told us that the paradigm for enzyme-substrate binding has in recent years been shifting back to the lock and key model. This came as quite a shock for a couple of reasons. First, the induced fit model had held sway for a long time, seemed more reasonable, and it was what I’d taught hundreds of impressionable Etyopian kids. And second, induced fit had served me well for so long as a metaphor for the kind of complementarity I aspire to in a relationship -life partners changing each other for a better fit.

Frigging science has now ruined my metaphor by implying that complementarity is kind of perfect from the outset. I may have to fall back on good old ተረትና ምሳሌ -ቶፋ ግጣሙን አያጣም:: As could be sensed from the ተረትና ምሳሌ there probably is no need for active participation on the ቶፋ’s part. It wouldn’t be going around looking for no ግጣም:: It would just be chilling, and someone or something somehow would put the ግጣም on it. And that, sounds to me, like a sound plan for finding love in this cold cold world (in the meantime, we keep breaking records for the hottest year on record): just laying in the cut, አርፎ ትምህርት መማር, until, one day, ዘሪቱ አንድ ጊዜ እንዳለችው “…ቁጭ ባልኩበት ፍቅር መጥቶ ኳ!…“ እስኪያደርገኝ ድረስ::

እስከዚያው ግን I got Paris over my bench:


እና አሪፍ ዘፈኖች:



So, whom/what do you turn to?

While we are on the topic of unrequited love…


Meet my bed. Check out my throw pillows; there’s tens of ways of arranging them! That’s where I lay my weary head down every night.

“ፊትን ወደነገ አዙሮ መተኛት”: ነብይ መኮንን is a favorite expression even though I have not been  practicing it. There was the rosary on the vacant pillow (or clutched in hand. i know, i know. i am supposed to pray with it, not sleep with it) phase which I still go back to, every now and then, especially on those days when it feels like the monsters are gaining on me. Recent times have seen my mobile phone occupying the same spot where the rosary used to sit, lulling me to sleep with Sheger FM.

It is not that I am having trouble sleeping. It is rather a case of going to bed being the most exciting part of the day—for better or for worse—and trying to set it off the right way.

What’s all this got to do with unrequited love?

Well, in all honesty, probably nothing. I mean, I got so much love to give and shit (my love be just sitting there, waiting, like a winter’s growth of grass on the playground of our primary school, ምሥራቅ ድል, ጨረታ ያሸነፈ ሰው መጥቶ እስኪያነሳው. ኖ ጨረታ ፎር ማይ ላቭ, ቤይbae) but there are currently no vultures lurking around in my life, at least none that I know of 🙂 But it must be nice to have someone to turn to at night, someone who would be a personification of my late night traditions, all rolled into one. For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen. I ain’t seen her, Lord! (A very polite exclamation mark.) If I had, she would be my way of loving you. Forget the radio, the sound of her breathing would be all the information I need, proof that the world is functioning just fine. And the few pages I used to read before bed, before it got too cold to stay exposed for even a minute, she would be my lifetime of reading.

ህመሟን የማውቅላት;  of whom the best I would bring out, only to the best I would compare… (ዘፋኞቹ የግዳቸውን የሚዘፍኑ ይመስላሉ)

Someone whom I would make cherish her day

A lot of “would”s

We be so tight with Kd in the nanomolar range that nothing or no one could come in between us except maybe some room for her vibrator. I have come to find out from my extensive reading 🙂 of The Guardian that women don’t mean their vibrators to replace their men but to augment them, like augmentin. Cool.

This also from the Guardian; even after somebody had commented on the mistake, the “Aramaic” was still there last time I checked.


Back to the topic at hand. The world is crazy. Something wrong with the human race. A whole lot of people running towards love. A whole lot of others running away.

Fuck it, I’m out.


I had missed out on these cats all this time

a post for sist

Watch this space.

The Journal of Infatuations and What Not (2012)


Esua sist alechiw simuan asanisa

She is so heavy


To want. To need. Adam needed a help meet for him and Eve came into being, leaving posterity to wonder how a single rib got to grow this heavy. Almost brings to mind Gebremedhin’s line wa leAdam ena Hewan kejemeruma ayCherisum!

Fret not, for this is going to be short.


One Adam is finding it hard to live up to the task preordained thousands of years ago. He does not insist on leaving behind a copy (copies.) But he has raised his soldiers to be independent thinkers.


A rare specimen Sistus exoticus, sist for short, has made a recent appearance in his fucked up world and he surmises that he is smitten. Soft, oh mysterious smiter! You’re knocking me off by degrees!


To see this shit through to the sweet end. Explore the possibility of publishing an article on the much more prestigious Journal of Make it Last Forever.


This blog is fraught with reports of past endeavours, however pathetic.


Um, get carnal with her of course. Take her pH measurements repeatedly. The standard guidelines on how to write a proposal demand that one shows the pH meter that he would be using* ph metre

With so much drama in the LBC With so much distance in between the two, it’s kinda hard to do anything else at the moment except have some mind sex:


The uncensored version is so much better.

But one promises, should by any chance that distance turns to naught, the first thing one is going to do upon clapping eyes on her is smother her with kisses, all the while taking care to blow on her because she would be so hot! He is positive –he has seen her avatar. And besides, Dokile voice, sayayu yamenu bitsuan nachew sibal alsemashim?

 Where are his manners?! First the date. Here is where the first one took place. I bet she never had someone give her the whole field:





She has gone through enough of his writings to be in the know. He has got foolish proclivities and is lacking in experience when it comes to the workings of the fairer sex. Just look at him, referring to them as the fairer sex!


Gratitude is due to the good folks at WordPress. And time. And space.


GeTere! I don’t trust that dude. He was the one who started this getting naked business in the first place. She has already tried to tell him that… but…**


The getting carnal and blowing on her lines are courtesy of Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer; it is a premium book.

           * and ** are the points where one blows it.



         Conceived – some time back. Published –15 December 2012.


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