Archive for February, 2013


Akuko Ilu


Hey!
Today, we’re doing something different (again!).
So PM brought two hilarious and interesting posts to my attention and they were stories made entirely with clichéd idioms.
Check out the stories http://thisismycorn.wordpress.com/2013/02/13/cliche-touche/ and http://thisismycorn.wordpress.com/2013/02/20/the-show-must-go-on-chapter-2/
We decided I could give it a Nigerian spin so I decided to try it out with Igbo proverbs.
You are permitted to read this in Pete Edochie’s voice. Lol
Enjoy!

AKUKO ILU

Okoro woke up that morning thinking all was well in the land of the living. What he did not know was that trouble had come to break kolanut with him early in the morning.
When he heard the voice of his troublesome wife Njideka screaming his name, he knew that Ekete had revealed its buttocks in the market place.

He jumped up, tying his wrapper hastily, getting ready to face his wife; after all, the tortoise said that it always travelled with its musical instrument in case it met other musicians.

She barged into the room and with one look at her face, Okoro knew he was going to eat headache for breakfast.

He made to carry his cutlass, in a bid to escape to the farm on the pretext that he had to look for the black goat in the day time before night came but his wife had decided that morning that it was the head that disturbed the wasp that the wasp would sting.

She held on to his wrapper and screamed at him but Okoro kept his peace, seeing as it took only a matchstick to start a bush fire.

She was asking for her usual; Ego this. Ego that.

He laughed and shook his head at her. His wife was like a chicken and the chicken he was carrying on his head did not know that the road was long. Didn’t she know that present situations have taken the form of a coconut?

Ah, but he could blame no one but himself. What a young man could not see standing on top a tall Iroko tree, the experienced aged man already observed squatting on the grass mat. He had been warned by his parents not to marry Njideka but he refused and true to form, the stubborn fly followed a corpse into the grave.

He sighed.
He had to try settling her with tact because the tsetse fly perched on the scrotum had to be chased away with extreme care. Although he was physically stronger than his wife, the man who woke in the morning and found himself being pursued by a chicken ran for his life for he didn’t know whether the chicken had grown teeth overnight.

His friends always mocked his inability to handle his  irascible wife; what they called his weakness but he never minded them. Only the man who ate palm kernel in the morning understood the language of famine. Moreover, Wisdom is like a goat skin bag, every man carries his own. This was the way he chose to carry his!

He gently told her to be patient because there was no road close at hand that led to Onitsha. He tried to complain about her manners and she reminded him that it was only when a young man lacked money that he complained his wife’s manners were not good.

He laughed at her blaming poverty for her manners. Would she be any better if it were different? If the bird who had not perched on a tree gives off twenty excretions, when it finally perches on a tree, how many excretions would it give off?

She claimed she was a good person and he laughed and told her it was impossible because Dinta had not reported the lack of excrement in the forest.

After her clamouring, she began to cry, throwing herself on the floor of their room. He sighed and sat down.

She and her impossible demands.

He drew nearer to her and held her close because an adult does not sit and watch while the she-goat suffers the pain of childbirth tied to a post. He wiped her tears and told her that he could be like the rich husbands of her friends who waste money. He was only trying to count his teeth with his tongue. If he wanted to swallow a mango seed, wouldn’t he first of all calculate the diameter of his anus? He could only do the best he could.

Things would get better soon, he assured her.

She grumbled in her usual fashion but nodded and he smiled at her but in his mind, he knew she would still repeat her tantrums the next day.

After all, isn’t the yam thief carving tools to dig for yam in his mind even when you are giving him advice?

She would try again tomorrow, he knew; but for now, he was free.

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Eidolon


Hey guys!

Today, I bring to you a writing experiment of some sort.
This piece is going to be read in an unusual way:
First you read straight down, and you continue the story by reading from the bottom to the top!
Quirky eh?

=========================================================================================

EIDOLON

It was

Pain to move;

His body hurt,

They had held him down for too long.

For now;

He had managed to free himself from his demons.

“I need to move on”

He tried to rise on shaky legs.

Shivering like fingers stroking his spine,

He got up.

He reminded himself.

“It’s just a dream”

“Brand him! Brand him! Brand my name on him!”

Burning pincers.

Poke. Poke.

Shrieks of anguish.

More pain lanced his body.

He stumbled as his hands stretched to find a hold.

“Mine!” A voice had cried.

Bad Dream.

Flashes of light behind his eyes.

He woke up in pain.

He woke up scarred.

 Fin.

==============================================================================

Make sense?
Hehe!

Stakes


Hey!
Dionysus is here to take us all on a ride.
Sit tight!
————————————————————-

STAKES

Tell me what it means to die, for I cannot tell if I am alive. The wind glides through the hair on my skin and massages my pores.
The streets are never quiet; vehicles always screaming at the top of their lungs.
I smell the litter of waste and I taste the numbness of my soul. I got my last cash and I’m going in for a gamble.
Life is all about choices …or is it?
Is life not better if there was no such thing as having to choose? In between the alternatives, I see no light, no breath of fresh air.
Both paths ultimately lead to my misery
I change my last cash to coins and I am ready for my last encounter with ‘Chance’.
I see 3 slot machines right in front of me. Written on the first one..‘FAME WITH PAIN’..
Written on the second one.. ‘ALONE WITH PLEASURE’..
Written on the third one.. ‘PERFECTLY MEDIOCRE’..
I look at the 3 options and a plethora of thoughts flood my head. I look at the coins in my hand and not only do I have to make this difficult decision, I also have to gamble. This means that even after I choose to follow 1 out of these 3 fucked up choices, I am not still sure of getting there.
I insert a chip into ‘FAME WITH PAIN’.. I pull the lever and the apparatus in the machine starts to roll.
The first one shows a bag of money, the second one shows legs and red high heels, the third one shows a skull with two bones underneath..
5 coins left.. I insert another coin inside FAME WITH PAIN, Yacht/ Yacht / Cuban Cigar..
4 coins left.. I tell myself maybe FAME WITH PAIN isn’t for me or is it? What if I had more coins and kept playing? I used to have a lot more coins before but I gambled and lost it all. What if I just focused all my coins on 1 machine instead? Would I have gotten it? I guess I will never know
I insert a coin into ALONE WITH PLEASURE.. The apparatus rolls and the first thing that comes up is a Book. The second thing that shows is XXX. The third thing that shows is Drugs.
3 coins left… Damn.. I try again with ALONE WITH PLEASURE.. Facebook / Headphones / Food
I’m running out of coins and I’m getting anxious.
I wasn’t this anxious and restless when I had 6 coins.
I feel uneasy and tense, like karma is against me.
I feel I should take my last 2 coins and fade away into oblivion but again, that voice keeps telling me, “THis is the One, This is the One”..
PERFECTLY MEDIOCRE is the last machine I am left with and another voice tells me “Do I really want this”.
Still another voice tells me “If you don’t try, you can never win”.
Why should I try to be something less than the nothing that I am?
Fuck it..
*Inserts Coin into PERFECTLY MEDIOCRE*
Office / Marriage / School
*Inserts Last Coin into PERFECTLY MEDIOCRE*
Golf / Golf / Television
NO! I’m out of coins!.. I don’t fit into FAME WITH PAIN, neither do I fit in to ALONE WITH PLEASURE OR PERFECTLY MEDIOCRE.. I’m lost, an outcast, ostracized..
 NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!..
But wait…. I look at the casino and then a sudden flash of truth hits me right in the middle of my forehead; An epiphany!
I see the slot machines standing on the Casino floor. I see other people gambling. I see them smiling even though I cannot hear what they are saying. I am alone, no one notices me.
I see all these things and they exist in this big nothingness inside the casino. The people are there because of the big nothing that surrounds the place.
I am nothing therefore I am bigger than something.
I live underground and like a thief, I come out only when I need something from society. When I’m done, I go back underground, to my state of nothingness.
I smash the 3 slot machines with my fist and everybody pauses to offer me ‘the stare’.
Ever done something bad and then people stand still and look at you without blinking? What is the aim of that?
Am I meant to feel threatened by your glance?
I zip down and start peeing on the slot machines and they start to look away as if in shame before security comes to throw me out.
As I sit on the floor outside the casino, I realise something very profound. All those people who saw me break the slot machines and pee on them, what do you think they’d talk about when they leave the casino?
I stimulate their boring lives.
I’d be that ‘crazy guy that peed on the floor’ and they would all label me crazy but deep down inside, covered under layers and layers of repression, they all wished they were as free as me to do what I just did.
I am not free but they think I am.
I ain’t crazy but they think I am.
I am a slave.
I am a slave to nothing.
They are a slave to something.
Nothing holds me captive and whatever I do, I feel the need to retreat back to nothing.
I am indebted to nothing like Stockholm syndrome.
—————————————————————————————–
Interesting read for me.
Now a question. If you ad to choose between Fame/Pain, Alone/Pleasure and Perfectly Mediocre, what would you go for and why?
Let’s here it!
And a big thank you to Dionysus as always!

We’d be back on Friday with a story from yours truly, ME!
He He He.

On Africa


Hey!
So, I wrote this last year but wasn’t sure of the right time (and place) to put it up but seeing as it’s a Monday, (and I love it when we think on Monday), I decided to proverbially FUCK IT and post it up here and today!
These are two stories which are allegories based on Africa and the African mentality.
Enjoy!

ON AFRICA

The Leader nodded his head. “This is great!” he said as he commissioned his new project.
His followers nodded too.
“Great!” they echoed.
The people nodded reluctantly.
“Great.” they muttered.
They were after all afraid of the Leader and dared not oppose him.
Not after what happened to some of the so called rebels.
It was fine and great.

A child, unaccompanied by his parents walked past the gathering. He stopped and stared in amazement.
Thinking it was a joke, he burst into fits of giggles.
“No it’s not great Baba! It’s Shit!” he yelled, pointing at the project. “Big heap of Shit! Shit with ribbons but still Shit!”

The Leader was silent, embarrassed. He glared at his aides standing by his side, bemused and with alacrity, they moved towards the child.
“Go away from here! Get out! Are you mad?”
They kicked dust at him, chasing him around. Thinking it was a game, the child laughed as he ran in circles with the aides, chanting “Shit! Shit!”
The people tried to hide their amusement. Men bit their cheeks to stops smiles from blooming on their faces. Women covering their faces with their colourful wrappers, soft laughs muffled.
The mother of the child came and took the child away, afraid.
“Stupid child!” she said, slapping him and dragging him home by his ears.

Silence reigned and order was restored.
The Leader looked at the people and pointed at a man.
“I saw him laugh. Take him away”
The people were silent as the pleading man was dragged away by two of the aides.
Rubbing his hands, the Leader grinned and looked back at the project.
“This is great!” The Leader said again, his smile, daring anyone to argue.
No one did.

******************************

A mouse looked into a mirror.
“Surely, I’m as good as an elephant. I have a tail and I have four legs. Chichichichi
He had no tusks of ivory but that didn’t bother him.
“I have sharp teeth to make up for that. Chichichichi”
He had been told an old tale about an elephant’s fear for mice.
He believed it wholeheartedly and with confidence, he decided to let the elephant know who was boss.
“Na me be de baddest. Chichichichi”
He had 31 swags after all; a pulsing G.

And so the mouse went into the cage of the elephant.
He laughed to himself as he watched the ‘clumsy animal’ wave his trunk like an ‘imbecile’.
Chichichichi! Eysss! Big for nothing! Turn this side!”
The ‘clumsy’ elephant turned at the sound and like an ‘imbecile’ it traipsed around its cage, looking for the source of the voice he was sure he must have heard.
Not locating it, the elephant decided he imagined it and went about its business.
The mouse twitched in death, crumpled beneath one giant limb of the elephant.
Chichichichi…

———————————————————————–

So rather that explain what I meant with these stories, I would rather you did that!
Would appreciate it if you give me your understanding or input or whatever you got on these!
And I hope it gets you thinking!

On Wednesday. We got Dionysus in the house!!
Stick around!
Jana!

Te Amo


So it’s the 14th of February. Yada Yada.
Everyone seems to be writing bloody love letters! Lol.
Well, this isn’t a letter but decided to try out a short love story for you love junkies.

————————————————————————————————–

TE AMO

“I…I…”
“Shh…” He held her tight in his arms, burying his face in her hair and stroking her arm. “Say no more baby. I understand” he whispered into her ear softly, a small, sad smile on his lips.
She shook her head slowly, tears streaming down her face, dampening his singlet clad shoulder.
“I forgive you Ibukun” he murmured, kissing her ear to her neck and up to her forehead. “I forgive you because I love you. It hurt but baby,I cannot go on without you.” His voice cracked and her hands shaking, gripped his arm tight.
She choked on her sob, shaking, trying to get a word out of trembling lips but he held a finger against her lips, silencing her.
“Let’s forget it all. Don’t explain. You cheated but I want us to make peace ok?”
He kissed her softly, tasting salty tears on her lips. He licked them. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”
He stroked her hair again and suddenly pushed her on the bed roughly.
He smiled serenely at her jerking body; smiled as she cried, foaming at the mouth, the poison she had ingested making a short work of her system.
Her kohl-lined eyes rolled back and her nails dug into the sheets as her limbs thrashed on the bed.
He studied the transformation on his wife’s face with absolute fascination, arms folded.
He sat beside her and stroke her tangled weave as she tried to moan through the pain. “We’ll get through this”
Slowly, her thrashing reduced, her limbs losing energy to continue that frantic movements.
He stroked her hair as he watched her seize movement.
He watched her die.

His smile broadened and he arranged her neatly on the bed, taking time to divest her of her clothing. Satisfied with his work, he jumped off the bed and rummaged through his drawer till he found what he was looking for. Dropping the found item on the bed, he unbuckled his trousers, pulling them down and off. He threw his singlet off his slim frame.
He climbed back in bed and with reverence, mounted his wife of three months.
Marital consummation.
The word floated in his head and he barked in laughter as he exercised his rights.
“We’ll make a baby. The baby you always wanted, we’d make one. Maybe a girl that looks like you…”
He talked to her, stroking her face, feeling her body stiffen beneath him.
He rode her relentlessly.
“We’d be happy together. All of us. They’d grow up to be doctors and lawyers”
His breath hitched as he was about to release his seed.
“You’ll love me! You’ll love me because I love you! My love is big enough!”
He squeezed her tight as his body spasmed, ejaculating into her.

A beautific smile on his face and he laid beside her, suddenly exhausted.
He exhaled deeply, hands tapping blindly till he felt the object he had dropped on the bed earlier. His fingers found the cold butt of the pistol and he smiled as he lifted it up.
He held her hand and dropped a tiny kiss on her palm.
“I love you…”
He raised the barrel to his head, feeling slight shivers run down his spine when the cold steel met his skin.
“I love you…”

He pulled the trigger.

Visions


Hey guys!
Decided to be more regular with stories and poetry (and the rest) SO HELP ME GOD!
Today, we’d be having a new guest poet who decided to share his work with me for which I am grateful as they’re extremely good!
@Bayo_Adesanya!

___________________________________________________________________

VISIONS

Visions

Roving, drifting

Wondering with the mind,

Seeing.

What do I see?

Oh, just a man, well past his prime,

Realizing his past errors,

Roads he could have taken, should have taken

But didn’t.

The enormity hits him like thunder and lightning,

Lightning and thunder…

First the illumination,

Then the bone-jarring realization

That he alone is to blame.

To accept this is his salvation

To reject it…

Seeing.

What do I see?

A man,

Worked hard all his life,

Educatedandallthat,

But has he gained what he dreamt of,

Worked for?

Etched in the lines upon his brow

The harshness of the passing years.

He could not have pictured this future,

His future…

Hard work, perseverance and honesty

The three cornerstones of his life.

He must be the only one left still building

With these three.

Everyone else has changed.

Society rests strongly on selfish supports,

One for one and all for none.

There is no longer good or bad,

Black or white, wrong or right.

Just like day and night

Not two different times but a continuum.

One slowly giving birth to the other,

Both merging into one….

Right is wrong and wrong is right.

He cannot accept this

And herein lies his poverty,

The root of his despair.

***************************************

Loved the first time I read it. Still love it!
I hope it gets you thinking like it had me do.
Do share your thoughts aNd show some love!

Once again, a big thank you to Mr. B and I do hope you’d write more! 😛

On unrelated events, a big congratulations to the Super Eagles of Nigeria for winning the African Cup of Nations.
Proudly Nigerian, in sickness and in health till my British Passport do us part!

Tee Hee!

O’er the Hills


O’er the Hills

The bell tolled low at the hilltop and slowly, the voices of the monks rose to the heavens in rolling waves from the monastery. They echoed over the hill and down the valley, tumbling through the rushes. The wind sighed, playing an accompaniment with the blades of overgrown grasses beating against each other softly; a susurrus of murmured hallelujahs.
The skies wept softly, joining in the instrumental as the pitter-patter of raindrops tickled the aural senses.

She stood there at the foot of the hill, red hair matted on her pale face, dull grey cloths moulded to her lithe frame, drenched in the rain; listening. Her nostrils widened, taking in the smell of the rich, damp earth. Her hands crept to her throat, eyes wide with wonder and shiny as they quivered with unshed tears. She swallowed soundlessly as the melodic humming washed over her.
Unthinking, she pushed one foot in front of the other, walking. Her bare feet dug into the wet ground, wet clomps of soil finding refuge in the spaces between her toes and in her toenails.
She trekked up the hill; stumbling but kept going, not saying a word, as if any sound from her would break the lightly woven magic.
Like a mage, without no gifts; the voices, her guiding star to where her musical Messiah would lay.
She knew no fatigue, her body knew no weariness. The sweet sounding harmony nourishing her limbs with strength when she faltered.

Suddenly, she panicked.
The nearer she walked to the monastery, the fainter the music got.
Her heart knocked in her chest hard.
She ran; her hands flailing as if trying to urge the singers to carry on, urging the music to stay.

She finally got to the old monastery and stood in front of the old wooden door, breathing hard.
The music had stopped.
She choked on a sob, her lips trembling as she struggled to contain herself.  With shaking hands, she pushed at the wooden doors until they opened, a dark womb letting her in. She walked into the gloomy chapel, feet taking care to walk carefully, as if the slightest noise could…what?

It was empty.

Her vivid green eyes suddenly went wide.

Where…?

She let out a single gasp.
Her pale face turned sickly white and like a lone wilting rose, she swayed on her feet and ungracefully, fell, a crumpled heap of the dull and the damp.
Her ears picked up faint footsteps and she tried in vain to get up, to see them.
They came into her view, brown hooded figures, making a circle around her.
She stretched a hand weakly, help? a command to continue?
She stopped short.

Bones.
They had bones where flesh should be, peeking from beneath their robes.
Her thin mouth rounded in a feeble ‘O’.

Suddenly the singing began again.
She sighed and slowly, her eyes flickered to a close, eyelashes kissing each other.

One of the figures carried her gently and slowly, they all walked, disappearing like the early morning mist after the first rays of sunshine. Their music trembled faintly in the air after they had gone, like a whispered goodbye to a lover before it too, disappeared.

**************

Never go up the hill, the locals would caution their wide-eyed children.
‘Beware the music’, they would say in hushed tones. ‘Beware the hill, the snatcher of souls’.

The hill calls; the hill beckons.

Resist it…

Resist the music…

———————————————————————————————————————————————-

This was written under the influence of this ——> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FKtBpuLrI2s

Listen and be calmed.

Have a lovely day.

When The Raisins Ate Nothing


Hey all!!
How are we enjoying our Mondays?
Monsieur Joshua is saving me today from my dry spell with this interesting piece!
Enjoy!

—————————————————————————–

When The Raisins Ate Nothing

 

Intolerant eyes seep through the cracks in the door;

Reiterating our thoughts in a million microdots.

Broken Bubbled Blisterine screams.

Juga juga juga, that is the story we will tell.

The telling of stories is an alternative,

To sitting back and watching the synapomorphy of our taxomine scars,

((Together; in the balance or under it))

I hang and cling to my dear Cecilia,the dearest of all.

Her smile like a panting old whale and an empty soup can.

Who are I? The pimple who left here with no shoes.

Weevil bites Ah-weigh da coN-Struck-shun Of Our sa-lu-bri-us dreams.

Made to see all that we are through ah-foh-rest-ay-shuns of duh-bul bah-rell-ed egos.

Hungry.

I lost my footing, but you remain unstressed in our iambic pentameter,

Cecilia.

This is not a love song, yet

but it will be.

Patience,my dear.

This is a cluck cluck duck – an Uh-peh-ray-ting fan-tom.

Orphaned peat on prophane date.

I like how our hopes wobble like a wheelers and wail out of uncomfortable conversations.

No, I will bear no compromise.

Devised a deracinated demon in the drawer of our throats so we would say the words we wanted to hear ,in slow, apple,

Bram-tuckling, ram-buckling noose-fitting, Cran-crafitng doses.

Lance after lance we dance into the gas chamber of our immaculate whispers.

Drawing in every primordial urge with cryogenically infused antlers.

Gregorian chanters,the sound of metal plate kissing metal plate.

Slashing mental slate into mental slate.

Roaming the the wild borders of our mental state,

Alas,we find the lips on which our menta sate.

I find that you were easy to love when you were broken and silent.

But now you are manumitted by the mutations of your manubrium,

And your hips sway to the zinggraaaa in other men’s eyes.

Oh foul spirit.

How can I wrest you from your foolish conceit?.

I freeze your diencephalon

until you think nothing.

I feel you die in my watery arms,

And I lay you beside harrowing daffodils,

That sing you that ugly song you never wanted to hear again.

The weevils bite away my thin veneer and I lay dead beside you.

The color of sky and a multitude of powdered babies,

This death is an epoch that kills every other one under its weight

Our glorious synapses;

Dis is da home-O-low-jus Kro-mo-some that will stand to evince our every meiotic prophase,

This is indefinitely a love song.

 

– JSL.

————————————————————————-

*Dreamy sigh*

Back to earth!
Do not think I have abandoned writing people, I have not.
I shall soon be bringing you some stories I’ve been working and have worked on (once I’m done doing my shoddy editing. Really, I stink as an editor!:'( )

Drop your comments!!
Tee Hee!

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