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?

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.]