Jury

I have a lot of drafts. A lot!

This is very unlike me. I procrastinate sometimes, but typically, once I take that first step, I’ll see it through. So for a long time, my wordpress had practically no drafts. I mighh have a ton of ideas in my head at any one point in time, but I would rarely jot or draft or sketch before I am ready.

So why do I have a lot of drafts?

I draft Art Stories here. If you need to know what Art Stories are, go here.

You should see the back end of TheNakedConvos. I bet even thetoolsman and the Alchemist get lost in there sometimes. Utter madness. So I draft here and then when I’m ready to post, I paste in there, fine tune and then publish. But the drafts here remain.

So yesterday, I added a new category to this my small cranny in the blogosphere. It’s called Every Day This October and I’ll be posting … Well, everyday this october. Duh, right? I know. I’m sorry.

Well, I thought I’d start off easy and serve you the very first Art Story which went up on TNC. This intro could serve as a post all in itself but…

Okay, let’s not overdo it. Enjoy the story, and the accompanying art 🙂

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Alhajai1

We walk in and as always, I can feel the judgmental glares being flung in our direction, smacking us rudely in the face and then dripping down to the floor. A shake of the head here, a grimace there. From a mere glance, they know our whole story, and there is great disdain towards him and pity towards me. His tall, imposing figure and my diminutive one do not help matters much. I can see what they see when they look at me. I can see it in their eyes as they judge him, indict him and sentence him to a thousand deaths.

I can see how wrong they are.

I can feel the righteous anger beginning to stir. It will soon claw its way out of me once again if not suppressed. I can feel its frustration, and so can he. He lazily puts his left arm around me to soothe the beast, calm it down some. But his action only releases the other beasts in the room. Hisses and dirty little whispers defile the air around us.

“Oma se o…”

“Animal. Old bastard…”

“All these dirty alhajis sef…”

I’m already spinning around to release my angered demon in response but the soothing arm around my shoulder has becoming steel, he won’t let me. He presses me close to his side, again, the wrong move. This time around, a chair or two scrape back in response as a customer or two rise to leave in disgust. I can’t take it anymore, I release my demon by bursting into sniffles and sobs. Hot angry tears are not the way my indignation had sought to be released, but they would have to do for now.

I can never understand these people, these people and their dirty judgmental selves. Can’t a girl choose who to love any longer? Why can’t a 20-year-old girl decide for herself? Why can’t I just…

The gentle squeeze I feel on my arm, just above my shoulder, a squeeze that is not from my husband’s hand, is the one that opens pandora’s box. It is barely a touch but it speaks volumes.

I understand. I’m here if you ever want to talk. I can rescue you, just let me.

The demon is unleashed. This time around, the husband’s steel will not, cannot, hold it back.

“Don’t you dare touch me again, you dirty whore! Who told you, any of you, that you can judge me or my husband? Did I come to you people to beg for help? Did I tell you I did not love my husband as he loves me? I can marry whosoever I choose regardless of what anybody thinks. Unu agaghi ekwu maka nke gbasara unu. Anuofia!”

I see the desired effect as I scan the room. Confusion. Shock. Remorse. The igbo was a nice touch, wasn’t it? I’m not so good at it, growing up in Lagos is to blame, but the chances of these people in the heart of Ogbomoso being able to tell that is highly unlikely.

My eyes come to rest on the middle aged woman who touched me, she is smiling. I am confused.

She replies, “Unu abuo yiri ka di na nwunye. A na m eche otu mu na di mu no mgbe m dika gi. Ka mkpuruobi ya zuru ike na ndokwa. Lee anya, a na m ahu panti gi.” I was just thinking how you both make a cute couple. In fact, you remind me of my husband and I when I was about your age, God rest his soul. I only meant to let you know your skirt isn’t quite zipped up at the back. I am shocked.

I have judged this woman and all these people, perhaps too hastily. It appears I am guilty of the same crimes of which I have accused them, in thought and in words. The tears keep pouring as I look from my kinswoman to my husband. I am remorseful.

The end.

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See ya tomorrow 🙂

20 Facts About Toxic

1. I’ve never done a viral challenge before. 100 days of-, 30 days of-, 7 days of-, cold water challenge, etc. I’ve never been able to stomach riding on band wagons and following trends. Until now.

2. I’m an artist. The expression of creativity is my utmost passion and manifests itself through several media. Mostly visual.

3. I’m an actor. I’ve been in several stage productions and in film and tv, I’ve acted in Campus Queen, Shallow Waters, Edge of Paradise and most recently Gidi Up.

4. I love words. I’m a reader. I’m particularly a sucker for fiction and history. Growing up, I’d read anything at all… Unless it was my school book, then the interest would disappear like salt in boiling water.

5. I’m a writer. I write #ArtStories at thenakedconvos.com and I blog very, very regularly here ( ._.)

6. I used to be a dancer. I’m still very agile, however I appear to have lost all sense of rhythm. I do not know how this happened.

7. I’m an introverted extrovert. I’m a very social person but I value my alone time very much and I can spend many hours in the company of only myself. I’m also fiercely independent.

8. I hate writing on touch-screen devices. I still own a blackberry solely for this reason, primarily because I write lengthy pieces on my phone (such as this one) and buttons just do it for me. In fact, this post is being voice written at the moment (with much finger augmentation though, because not the most accurate). I’m experimenting.

ps That voice thing was a long thing so I had to use my finger more. This happens to be the first time I’m using swype at length on my phone without a screen protector and I’m falling more and more in love with it. I’ve just been giving myself suffer head all this time. Dis tin too sweet. Needless to say, no8 is no longer a fact about me 😝

9. I find correspondence a chore. Replying emails, text and IMs are tedious for me. Necessary evils, all of them. Interestingly enough, I reply tweets fairly promptly and I much prefer making and receiving phone calls.

10. I used to be a very lazy person. I can be very indisciplined. I still procrastinate sometimes. However, I look back sometimes at all the things I’ve done at certain times and I realize I do a lot… but I could actually do more. Much more. So I will.

11. My eyes are terrible. Myopia. Some day, when I can afford it, I shall laser blast them out of terribleness. Ironically, I like the different looks I can achieve by wearing different glasses. I consider them a form of fashion.

12. I have a degree in Fine Arts, with a specialization in sculpture. I’ve never practiced sculpture.

13. I’m a romantic.

14. I don’t watch television. I find video terribly distracting and no matter how crap what is on is, I can stare enthralled like I’m 5yrs old again while time irreversibly passes me by. So I disciplined myself to simply never switch on and walk on by even when I see someone else watching something interesting. After I began living on my own, I didn’t own a tv for years. Now, I’ve owned a tv I’ve never switched on for 9mths.

15. I’m a film and movie buff. Control is key for me when dealing with the video format and I love how I can dedicate a small period of time to a movie and then move on to other things. Youtube too. Much as I love the idea of tv shows, they simply carry on for way too long. The only tv series I’ve allowed myself follow at all (and earnestly too) is Game of Thrones. Because epic epicness!

16. I love travel. I hope to visit a vast number of places on God’s green earth before I’m done with this planet. Amen.

17. I’m that rapper who never followed his passion through. The only bars I’ve ever managed to record were at the behest of other people.

18. I gave up on rap and began to consider poetry and spoken word as more suited to my personality and choices of subject matter. Never really expressed those because I soon began writing fiction and got lost in it. Never too late to try, right?

19. I don’t watch football. I don’t care for it. I’m also not a gamer, even though I enjoy it the few and far between times I indulge. I just can’t afford the time. I never owned a gaming console growing up and now that I can afford one, I’m just not interested. Shrug.

20. I don’t lie very often, even though I’m really good at it. For instance, no1 is a lie. I did the ‘100 questions about me’ challenge 2yrs so… No, I’m not narcissistic.

Bye.

I Forgot

I forgot how to write.

It didn’t matter that I was a writer. Or that I was a blogger. Or that I did not lack inspiration; nor motivation for that matter. I had forgotten how to write and that was that.

Countless times, I was sat in front of the computer and toyed with the keys. Caressed them till they were warm with the touch of my fingers. Rested my palms atop them and watched gibberish spew unto the screen; no deliberate words ever amongst the gibberish. Sometimes, following the gibberish, a few words which bore some meaning or other would slip out. They would glitter and sparkle with potential and my mind would toy with what to make of/from them. And before my very eyes, said sparkle and glitter would fizzle out, leaving nothing but a dull ache where the potential once was.

Back space.

Many-a-time, I would flick open my twitter app and scroll through the timeline. I would find something to laugh about and begin to RT it, adding a big, fat “Lol”. Then I would catch myself and hit delete. I would lurk in the shadows imagining brilliant commentary for ongoing bants, and then never allow the comment beyond the realm of my imagination. I would stalk my crush(es) and then close their tabs without so much as a little flirting. I’d refuse to reply tweets or DMs directed at me. And many rants would go unranted upon…

Because I’d forgotten how to write…

And a deadline I committed to had passed. And the person to whom the commitment was made is the person whose tweet I would have loved to Lol, but couldn’t. And the rant I would have loved to rant was about having forgotten how to write… but a tweet is written, is it not? How then do I justify said rant to them upon the TL?

I’m writing this piece because I have forgotten how to write.

The irony of writing and the inability to do so is that there is one sort-of widely-known solution: Write either way. So that is what I am doing now… writing either way. For you must know, that even though these are not the words I mean to write, words must be written. And perhaps if I am unable to write the words I wish to, writing these would help pave the way for the ones I hope to write. Yes?

Well, that’s what they say.

I wrote this piece to remind myself how to write.

Day 1: Toxic

Ladies, gentlemen, Nostalgians, welcome to 2014.

There will always be highs and lows in any given year. My prayer is that by the end of this year, all who are reading this will have far more highs to remember than what lows there may be. And that these lows will be few and far between.

I once again had the privilege of reviewing my life in the previous year over at 19th street. You can read that by going here.

And now, here begins the #30DaysOfHope 2014. If you still do not know what this is about, I’ll give a brief summary.

I have come to learn that there is power in words and especially the words of proclamation. With these series, folk get to write down (it will be a great idea to speak them too) the things they hope for, aspire towards, are expectant about and/or aim to achieve within the period of 2014. Writing it down is that first step which translates these hopes and dreams and goals and resolutions from mere intentions to actions taken towards actualizing them. These written words will also serve as inspiration to readers and observers, reminders for the writers/guest bloggers and reference material for the people who they hold themselves accountable to. For a more detailed introduction to #30DaysOfHope, please go here.

Now, I would usually take the easy route and save my entry for last, drawing inspiration from the beautiful people who will grace this space in the next few days and weeks. However, I believe it’s time there was some shift from what has come to be the norm. I will be more proactive this year, learning to be more leader than foot soldier. And so, I’m leading the charge with this one.

I don’t exactly know how I’m going to do it but I’m going to be far more consistent with Art Stories in 2014. I guess the obvious direction would be better planning and more networking to get more folk involved. And oh, there must be some sort of collaborative project. I already almost feel like I’m setting myself up but this is how we’re going to develop our wordsmithship and artistry to the level we’re looking towards. We must write book someday soon.

I’m thankful that the wanderlust I’ve always had has begun to be satiated. But man, we gats travel more this year. Gosta add at least 3 more countries this year. So help us God. Amen O:)

A tiny little pot is beginning to poke its face out of my midsection. For logistic reasons, I really couldn’t attend to it until now. Well, now has come and logistics have been set right. Time to pump those six-packs, amongst others, back into place.

I’ve always believed inside hustles, multiple sources of income and in fall back options. For a believer, I’ve been rather faithless in that regard, seeing how these are presently just ideals and not realities. Before the end of February, something has to have been put in place.

Finally, last year, I took a small step towards achieving an education in the field I’ve always dreamed of working in. And that was it. I didn’t follow up, I didn’t begin doing what was necessary to achieve this dream. This is me setting a deadline of March to reinstate the correspondence required and someday make something of that dream.

Of course, there are bigger things I hope for and dream of. But these are the few I choose to share here. The rest, I will hold a little closer to my chest for now. By God’s grace, at the end of 2014, I will once again do a review of how the year ending turned out and this time, I pledge to benchmark my progress against this post directly, so help me God.

Please support the #30DaysOfHope project by following/subscribing to the blog and by liking, sharing and commenting on the posts you enjoy and/or resonate with you.

Have a mighty blessed 2014.

Deep Dark Musings

“This mysterious life.”

Life is a mystery. A long, complicated enigma. We all go through it trying to solve the puzzle for ourselves individually. Figure out the intricacies, unravel the tanglement, know the unknown, make whatever iota of sense we can of the chaos, randomness and madness.

Some contribute to the endless confusion. Sowing seeds of discord, initiating actions that will spiral out of control, becoming tyrants, embarking on killing sprees, bombing shopping malls, shepherding zombie congregations, wrecking havoc on entire nations, starting world wars, spreading the darkness. “The heart of man is desperately evil.” But then there are some who suppress the evil and desperately fight for peace and light. They spread love and joy and constantly preach the idea that we can all live in congeniality.

Some just come to terms with the randomness. The world has experienced confusion for billions of years. Nothing shall change. Between the incalculability of nature and the perpetual self-destruct mode with which human nature operates, many eventually come to terms with the fact that we are but “passers-by in this strange world.” And “This world is not my own.”

They are right. At the end of the day, regardless, where one stands; regardless what one believes, regardless how much order and control one brings the their world and maybe even to the world of others. Regardless of anything at all, one thing is sure…

Death.

We will all die. At the end of the day.

The question is “When does the day end?”

“Every dog has its day.” I use that in entirely the wrong context of course, but, it applies still. The point is no matter how attached, entangled and joined together the strings of our life become, they are all individual strings still. We may all be in this so called ‘rat race’ but our finish lines are not the same. Yet, we run the race together. Not against each other. Together.

Kindness is underrated.

There’s a lot of sniffing going on around me right now. Pep talks too. And prayers. A whole lot of prayers. “We will not die.” “No more deaths.” “We will live long and old and see our children’s children.” Lol. The words “untimely death” keep popping up a lot too. Funny.

How can anyone tell?

Death creeps up upon one, taking them by surprise. Announces his arrival from a mile off to another. Comes for the new born, the toddler, the teenager, the young adult, the middle ager, the elderly. Did the elderly finish their race and the toddler get chucked? Is the middle ager a failure for giving up before his time? Is the young adult unaccomplished?

Death will come. The time and place unknown. A teenager somewhere is more accomplished than an 80yr old elsewhere will ever be. A popular person somewhere has far less of an impact than someone else who has a really small reach.

This mysterious life.

Death will come. For us all. At one point in time or another.

“Ready or not, here I come.”

Are you ready?

No one can answer that better than you. Especially seeing how “ready” translates to so many different things to so many different people.

If you died now, what would you be remembered for? Ok, you’re still alive, aren’t you? Well, how about if it were 2weeks back? A year ago? Remember that grudge? That mistake you made that you haven’t admitted to yet? Remember the apology you know you should have offered so long ago now that you feel like a complete fool now that you recall? I don’t go around with a ‘death consciousness’, but I hate to leave anyone with the tiniest bit of a justification to bear a grudge against me. “Sorry” should never be that hard to say.

Emeka’s smile. That’s what I remember the most of him. I hear he was a spiritual dude and that is something I’m glad to hear. But what I can speak for is his joviality and niceness. Emeka smiled a lot. He handled a really sensitive desk and was constantly put under pressure. Yet, he never let the pressure get to him. We hung out a few times, we were not close but we were certainly not distant. Emeka was my friend. I can say that. Emeka was my friend. People tend to look for only the good to say about people when they die. I have nothing but good to say about Emeka. I like to think I’m an objective person and yet, I can’t think of a single negative thing to say about him. Having experienced death very early on in life, I’ve come to be a sort of numb towards it. Very few times, the numbness is broken through. It happened with Dolu not long ago, it’s happened again now with Emeka.

There’s no point praying to live forever, or very long, or that death will not come. We will all die (or get caught up) eventually. “Na you pray pass?” More prayerful people have prayed harder than you will and died young. Heathens have lived long, ‘full’ lives. What’s the point in trying to avert the inevitable.

Live the life you want to be remembered for. Live your dreams.

Emeka smiled a lot. He was a good person. These cannot be contested.

Emeka will be missed.

Emeka

Psychedelic Words

Was leaving work drained the other day and was suddenly inspired to tweet some real emo ish. My homie, @afrothises does it a lot, tweeting stuff that makes you either go “Deep!” or “Hunh?!” So attempting to channel him, I spewed these forth. Going back and looking over them, it struck me that I could put them all together into one post and share on here. It’s not really poetry. Just a bunch of isolated thoughts, some from the same strain, others stand alone, that all came from the same place. Enjoy… if you can…

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Rabbit hole scurries and trippy delights that are disguised pain.

Head spins upon and within fluffy clouds which end up getting snuffed up. High.

Skidding in slow motion up steep hills with craggy edges, ungentle slopes and cliffs that gracefully fall away.

Floating just beneath the surface. Wallowing in dusty pixie hills.

Experiencing the well beneath the ocean. The sky within the clouds. The space under the hole. The peace upon the turmoil.

Coaxing these golden evidences of humanity out into existence. I am adamant. Lips and fingertips. They must be read.

I die. While living. Because what is life but the perpetual scrawl towards the end. The flourish. The climax.

Grovelling for more moreness. Such a life. Such is life.

No. Just no. Let it go. Let it go. Blow.

I miss it, you know? I do. You saw a lay, a glorious one. And yet, unlike me, missed the signs. Missed us all. Messed us all up.

Open up. Elaborate. Let the feelings run through your fingers, hit the floor and splatter upon your favourite shoes.

I am here now. You are not. What is reason, if it will not permit such magics to occur?

Free-falling straight through you. Crashing into the memories. Do the shards and the fragments blind you purposefully?

You see how I bandy these, don’t you? You realize how I pander my weary wares. Bandy the trade that is my tools. You see it?

Falling From Grace

The Nigerian cyberspace is abuzz. It was taken by storm last night with the confessions by a woman of her illicit affairs with her former pastor who pastors a ‘big church’ in the FCT, Abuja. Needless to say, this is going to have a huge ripple effect and you can be sure that this will go from blogosphere, where it started, to social media, which it is presently already on, to the offline media, where the waters will undoubtedly get really murky, and then out into the world. It’s pretty easy to see these are the latter days considering all the scandals that keep rocking the church in general, especially now that ‘big men of God’ seem to consistently be coming under… and falling all by themselves into fire.

I choose not to discuss the details of this particular mess or direct traffic to the blog. Real names are mentioned, personal details shared, the lady’s face is plastered on the background of the blog, lives and livelihoods may be at stake. I would rather not contribute any drops, no matter how little, to that raging ocean. I’ll briefly summarise though…

A lady joins a church but against the advice of her friend, joins the work force of the church after encouragement from the senior pastor himself, who, according to her story, singled her from the crowd. After serving for a while, she goes abroad to further her education, but not before exchanging contact details with her pastor. They keep in touch. He comes into town eventually and invites her to his hotel room and after cajoling and “manipulating” her, gets her to sleep with him… everyday for an entire week. Pastor is married and constantly speaks out against adultery and fornication. When, in confusion, the lady asks how he manages this, he says “I will teach you a level of grace that you don’t understand.”  At some other point, he claims to have dreamt that he saw all that is happening now in a dream and warns her that the bible says “Touch not my anointed and do my prophet no harm”. Wow. Such effontery. *sigh* Naturally, after this whole episode, the lady is thrown into much turmoil. She speaks to friends, leaders and eventually, someone under whose authority the pastor is supposed to be, and in all of this, the issue is not addressed. She finally resorts to telling her story from the mountain top to the whole world.

Naturally, from the comment section of said post, several believers were concerned for the salvation of younger christians and how this may hurt their belief. In all honesty, I was tempted to toe this line of thought also, but then had a rethink. The bible does say “And whosoever shall offend one of these little ones that believe in me, it is better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he were cast into the sea.” Mark 9:42 KJV. It is easy to push this lady to the side of the fence of one causing others to stumble, sin, go astray, disbelieve and/or leave the church. But then again, she can very easily also be seen as one who has been led astray herself and is dealing with it as best she can. She repeatedly claimed that even though she was not forced and doesn’t believe she was jazzed and even admits complicity in all of this, she was manipulated and abused by a person using the authority they wielded over her. She clearly states she showed no interest initially or leading on to these happenings and did not seduce the man of God. Off course, this all only her very well told side of the story. She also claims to have evidence of all this.

Now, in all of this, I don’t particularly support the calling out from the mountain top, but at the same time, I admit that this kind of treatment is needed sometimes, possibly even in this case. There are too many such situations that end up getting swept under the rug. Yes, this may discourage young believers. Yes, this will provide much unneeded fuel to the church-, christian- and christianity-bashers. Yes, this is not guaranteed to provide much needed closure for the lady in question. Also, at the end of the day, the lady is certain, in this judgmental, largely chauvinistic society of ours, to get the shortest end of the stick.

BUT at the end of the day, there are certain pros despite all the cons. It offers her some sort of solace. It serves as a wake up call to other spiritual leaders who are guilty of these sorts of travesties to repent and change their ways; if not for the potential spiritual consequences, then at least to avoid the disgrace that comes with being called out like this. And most importantly, it serves as a reminder to believers, old and new to be wary in their walk of faith. “Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.” ‎Matthew 7:15 KJV

Perhaps, the biggest issue for me personally about this whole issue is the man of God using and twisting the scripture and bible teachings to perpetuate and defend his misactions. Yes, we are all sinners. And yes, grace abounds, but Paul asks “…Shall we continue in sin, that grace may abound? God forbid. How shall we, that are dead to sin, live any longer therein?” Romans 6:1&2. I have a serious issue with folk who have an issue with admitting their mistakes or wrongdoing when confronted with them, within or outside the church. I understand that we each have our own flaws and pride might not be as much an issue for me as it is for some, but if we all know just how much trouble and furor can be avoided by just saying “I was wrong.”, “I’m sorry” and “I will not do this anymore”. That last one more to self than anyone else.

I’m not perfect but I’ve found something that works for me when I’m trying to not do the things I’m tempted to but I’m sure to regret later… I think “What will people say?” Many a time, I’ve looked upon a beau and wanted to misbehave, knowing without doubt that my advances will be welcome… And it is the thoughts of the message I have decided to stand for and how that will be affected when the word gets out (which it always eventually does) that have kept me the most. And oh, lest I’m beginning to actually sound self-righteous, I’ve also been in that position and grossly misbehaved, time and again. Indeed, the grace of God abounds. But for how long? Eventually, even the grace of God runs out if continually taken for granted. Will one wait for that time to go in search of repentance and turn away from indiscretion? I choose not to wait for that time. So for me, that is one major way I have ‘kept’ myself. As someone who grew up under and has served in ministry, I would certainly prescribe it to others.

I know one who has repeatedly taken grace for granted and has become a terrible hazard to himself. I can count no less than fifteen friends of mine who he has attempted to ensnare, a number of them concurrently, with “I’m a man of God and God has told me you are the one I’m to marry.” Fifteen girls. And this is no exaggeration. Trust me, I counted. And all these before he even went to seminary, where he’s supposedly at right now. He would even go on to actually date two of them that I know of. And distance is no barrier either. From the UK to the states to Canada to different corners of Naija, bros was/is writing poetry, tweets and blogposts dedicated to and preaching his way into multiple ladies’ hearts. And the modus operandi when he got found out was/is always the same too. He would ‘become remorseful’, break down and cry over the phone, then say “See, I’m crying. I’ve never shed tears for anyone in my life. That’s how much I love you. Only you”. When this doesn’t seem to work, he would cut her off, delete her from twitter and bbm, block her, etc. Sometimes, when he’s anticipating a really big mess, he’d even delete the twitter account he’s using at the time. But this is usually only for a small while before returning when the dust has settled, sometimes with another account. Then when he hears the lady has moved on and is seeing someone else, he would attempt to reconnect and guilt trip her, usually ending up ranting about how she’s a heartbreaker before he cuts her off again. This has happened countless time with countless ladies.

I’ve reached out to bros, he acted remorseful, said he was changing… and then he cut me off too. LOL. And now, I’ve heard from at least two more ladies who he’s been making advances to and using the same ol’ tired modus operandi. *sigh* This leopard and his spots sef. For a long time, I threatened to call him out and was constantly asked by the ladies he’s tried his stunts with not to bother with all the inevitable drama. Apparently, he’s excellent at picking his targets, which I’m guessing is the only reason none of them has called him out yet. I realised though, that the longer no one was calling him out on this issue, the more he went around trying to sweet talk la ladies. This one just don’t stop, does he?

Bros, I sure as heck hope you’re working on yourself and are taking the example above seriously because, in due time, all your hard work and the ministry you’re helping build will come tumbling around you… if you don’t change. I’m not the one who’s going to name you, for now. But apparently, no one having publicly disgraced you is the only reason you keep doing these things, worse still using the authority placed upon you by the ministry in which you serve. A time comes when you will have to be held accountable for your atrocities. I hope you’ll be prepared.

This Is Not A Rant

I’m upset. Can you tell? No?

Okay, I’m upset.

I should probably tell you why, right? Hmmm…

I’ll tell you. Purely out of the benevolence of my heart. I mean, yore dying to know and everything so I choose to now be kind and just spill like I know you want me to. Badly. ( ._.)

I’m in a rut. Again. (This endless battle with this bloody recurring rut sef). With writing and, more importantly, with drawing too. And this combo is horrible because writing and visual artistry are the backbone of my beloved Art Stories. [If you’ve somehow achieved the near-impossible feat of burying your head so deep in the sand that you have no idea what Art Stories is, click here] See ehn, the possibility of this very eventuality is the very excuse I had for not wanting to launch Art Stories when I was supposed to; same reason I even almost didn’t accept when I was first offered the opportunity to run my own column on TNC by @thetoolsman… But that was until I realised this what it truly was- an excuse. Yeah, I can be a legendary procrastinator. Sure, my schedule can be extremely unpredictable- free now, tomorrow, extremely constricted. Sure, I’ll fall into a rut, heck, even a trench every now and then and inspiration might be nowhere to be found to help haul my ass out of the pit… But these are not acceptable excuses for me to not achieve the things I could, and definitely should.

So, I accepted.

And now here I am, stuck. Again!

An Art Story is supposed to go up every tuesday at 4pm. I’m not sure any has ever gone up at 4pm. Well, maybe one or two sha. I’m usually still tweaking or editing or reworking or adding something. In some horrible cases, I’m just beginning to write or draw or design at 4pm *smh*. I sha try to post before 6pm and this usually works out. Usually. Meaning most of the time, not all of the time. Yes, I’m terribly ashamed to admit that every now and again, I completely miss out on posting. Terribly inefficient, I know.

And now, why I’m upset and at whom. I’m upset at myself. Because I have now reached a new low- TWO darned weeks without posting.

And this is not for lack of trying neither. But that’s just an excuse. One that’s unacceptable. Yeah, I had contributors that ought to have delivered and didn’t, but yup, that’s just another excuse (and me guilt tripping y’all. You know yourselves ( -_-).

Why am I beating myself over the head? And why here?

Well, for one, I promised here when I was about to begin Art Stories that I would not abandon this space and promised myself that at the very worst, I would serve something up here once a month. And so, in typical fashion, I’ve saved the best for last left it till the last minute. No, literally, the very last minute. Terrible. *smh pathetically*

More importantly, I’ve learnt, from others and from past personal experience, that one of the best ways out of a rut such as this is to write ones own way out of it. Sounds near nonsensical that one would suggest that the way to deal with not being able to write or draw… is to write or draw. But this has been proven over and again so… *shrug*

And most importantly, I’m beating myself over the head on here as a public reminder to self to do better. TNC 3.0 launches next week. We’ll call this inefficient phase a ‘test drive’, bury the demons, slay the carcasses, pick up the bad attitude and body slam it before heading off into the new era.

Ladies, gentlemen, it is time.

[This post was finished at 11.45pm on the 31st of July, 2013 after which I proceeded to post it… Only to find that etisalat had taken up the N2000 credit I had bought that morning as data rather than renewing the BIS subscription for which I had made the purchase. Imagine, two tauzon, gone just like dat!

I contemplated not putting up the post at all when I was able to, but considering the pungent reasons seen above for which I wrote it at all… Well, you’re reading this now, aren’t you?

I shall however edit the time-published to reflect when it should have originally gone up. Because I can. And to fulfil all righteousness. And cos it makes me feel good. Sue me.]

SH!T

Hey there Nostalgians.

The following events took place on Sunday, 7th April, 2013 between the hours of 7 and 11am. The following events are not fiction.

________________________________________

It’s been a glorious weekend. My homie, Bayo got married to his college sweetheart, Tope yesterday morning… (´⌣`ʃƪ). I went to sleep and woke up with the glaring reminder in mind that I’m not getting any younger and need to start thinking more seriously about settling down with a bride of my own and creating a few cute little toxics. No pressure, of course, but still…

[02.15h to take-off]

As my mind keeps churning these thoughts around my head, I settle my backside gingerly unto the plastic seat of the ceramic receptacle and release the stress that has built up in my innermost man over the night. This happens without incident which is good considering that very suspicious twinge of a taste in that asaro I had the previous evening. It was delicious, but I was more than just a bit suspicious that I was confusing a taste of slight offness for deliciousness. However, my options were limited so I indulged.

Stress relieved, it is time to shower, pack and proceed to the park to head back to Lagos. The bride’s brother is due to come pick my buddy, Chima, and I at 8am and it would be impolite to keep him waiting. Besides, I have a pile of friday’s undone work I need to get to the office to sort out as soon as we arrive Lagos, so obviously, the earlier the better.

[00.40h to take-off]

It’s 8.20am now, I hear a soft knock on the door. It’s Oluchi, the very nice girl I met yesterday. We got talking after the wedding and it turned out she was also Lagos bound this morning so it only made sense we roll together, right? Yeah, same thing I thought.

Chima and I check out of the hotel and we all pile into Dayo’s (the bride’s brother’s) car. Yay, we’re headed to the park. Lagos, here we come (back)!

[00.15h to take off]

Chima, Oluchi and I are settled into the back row of the little Sienna. Timing is looking good. In about 3hrs, we should arrive Lagos. That would be about noon. Good. Good.

[0.03h to take-off]

The driver begins jumps into his seat and starts the engine when I hear a soft but urgent whisper from my innermost man. He’s saying…

“You should certainly not be seated here on this bad upholstery of this mini-van. You should be seated on a plastic seat much like that of the ceramic receptacle of this morning.”

Worst. Timing. Ever.

[Take-off]

The old model Sienna leaps reluctantly into the road and the driver practically has to nudge it from the car park to the filling station down the road. I’m a little concerned about the state of the vehicle but greatly concerned about the different voices my innermost man is beginning to speak to me in to warn me of impending doom. I contemplate telling the driver I have to come down now but I’m concerned about how foolish I’d look. Plus, I no know anywhere for Osogbo. Where I wan go?

The tank is filled up, the journey begins. I think to myself and to my innermost man…

“Eyss, notin do you jarey. Are you not a man? Three hours, ees nuffiin. Psshh!”

[00.30h after take-off]

“Jesus Christ of Nazareth, son of David, King of kings and Lord of lords, have mercy on me. Embarass not thine son in the land of the wicked. You have promised in your word that I shall not dash my foot against a stone, nor block my yansh upon a bus. All weapons fashioned against me shall not prosper…”

My innermost man, on the other hand, is screaming curses at me. He is reminding me of all my most recent misdemeanors and how he does not deserve this punishment on my behalf. I had called in sick on friday at the office to make this trip… “Running tummy” was the excuse. Surely, this was payment for that. More directly, I had suspected the taste of that asaro, why I had I gone ahead and eaten the yam pottage?

(Aside: if you think that should be ‘yam porridge’, you’re a putrifying sack of depreciated olodo)

[01.00 after take-off]

“I’M GOING TO DIIIIEEEEEEE!!!”

Well, my innermost man has concluded, who am I to dissent? I mean, how am I supposed to put up with two more hours of this shit? Nah, I kent. Ees nor porzibu. I’m sweating profusely, tapping my feet, clenching and unclenching my butt, tears are on the brink of falling from my eyes and I’m speaking in unknown tongues, all in attempt to ‘contain myself’… It’s not working.

“Driver!”

“Yes”

“Ejo, taa ba de filling station, joo ba mi ya. Mo fe lo toilet”

Se ito abi iyagbe?

Good Lord. This dude is from hell. Like it’s not bad enough that I just announced to the whole vehicle that I need to go to the toilet, he needs me to categorically state exactly what business I need to transact there… *sigh*

“Iyagbe.”

This is quite likely among the top5 most embarassing moments of my entire life.

[01.15h after take-off]

We roll to a stop and I all but dive out the car after grabbing the roll of toilet paper I, thankfully, remembered to bring along. In case of emergencies. One of which presented itself a little over an hour ago.

I run to the fuel attendants, they point me in the direction of heaven and I race towards my salvation… Only to be assaulted with the most disturbing excuse for a w.c. I’ve seen in a long, long while… But it’s still heaven. I dash inside, lock the door and proceed to do a little jig to keep shut the sphincter that is threatening to let loose all hell before my belt and zipper can get out of the way into heaven.

I assume the position. Finally.

All hell breaks loose.

Prrrrrrrrrrrrrhtyruewbwsjddycxdfveiwebfdsakskssggggghhhhhhhh!!!!

I see heaven and it is beautiful. I look behind me to see the hellish devastation that my innermost man has unleashed on this place and I am well pleased.