Category: musings.


Day 19 – Sakura Blooms


Allo mes amies! Ça va?
Decided to take a leaf out of Mae Gregory’s book and do a time capsule for my memories of 2012. Do check out Mae’s blog on here -> http://stickyfingersxo.wordpress.com/

————————————————————————

SAKURA BLOOMS

12 months, each with their own troubles; with their own blessings.
I cannot remember the earlier months, of course. This is probably because nothing spectacular happened in them.
Actually, something did, Me. I remained alive.
I remember March; not because it is my birth month or because I remember my birthday, but because of the amount of stress I went through with course works.
April. May. June.
Relationship shook. New friends made. New discoveries about myself; about my capabilities as a human.
I use human as opposed to person because human denotes sides of the emotional.
Like a chemical reaction, old bonds broke and new bonds formed. Not an equilibrium reaction so there’s no going back.
LOL at my little scientific humour. Don’t worry if you don’t get it. Not about to teach you Le Chatelier’s Principle.
July to September.
Decisions to make bugged. To remain safe or to? To open up or not to? To take risks or not to?
I took it head on.
Not the easiest choices to make, but I have absolutely no regrets.
October to December.
The wait. The trickle of rejection. The waves of indecision and depression. I got over it.
Again, new bonds formed. Another chemistry in action.
God happened in my life. Strengthened me more. I know i’m a shit head on a good day but He hasn’t given up on my naughty self yet.
He gave me rain and I expect a bumper harvest soon.
He gave me fire to refine me like gold.
He gave me another Fire to complete my soul.
Spoke to my dad for the first time after six years of silence. In less than sixty seconds of conversation, I realized how much I had missed him. I realized how much I allowed myself channel this feeling through my hate. Through my hate, he remained with me. In less than sixty seconds, I realized how much I actually do still love him, annoying and irresponsible as his deeds were.
After some hours of turmoil, I decided it was actually OK to miss him and love him. I probably came to this decision late but better late than never.

The year isn’t over yet and I know many more good things would happen.
Decided to put like a ship in bottle, all my worries – my fears, my bitterness, my rage, my mood swings – into a bottle large enough to contain them.
I’ve decided to take that bottle with me to a beach and toss it into a sea; watch it float away.
That is what I’ve put in my time capsule. And I have sent it back in time where it would hurt me no more.

Sakura blooms, radiant with life and colour.
So will I…
So will I.

And you too!
Jana!

Day 18- The Gateway


I’ll leave you in the saner hands of Dionysus.

————————————————————

THE GATEWAY

Fallen into a deep sleep, The sweet melody of nothingness embraces me and takes me to a place; A place so formless, so beautiful, so lucid and yet, I don’t remember any of it. They say time flies when you’re having fun. When I am in this place, I close my eyes for just a second and when I open it, I know I have travelled in time to the future. I must have had a lot of fun for time to fly that fast and yet, I am in a passive state. I feel refreshed and it was as if I merely blinked my eye. In between, what really happens? What happens when consciousness leaves? I like to call this place between sleeping and waking life, The Gateway.
What Happens In The Gateway? There are times we have flashes of imagery. Other times metaphors, vivid pictures, vague ideas, abstract concepts, strange voices and many more. We remember all these images so vividly when we sleep but as soon as we wake, we forget them. They say dreaming occurs during REM (Rapid Eye Movement) sleep i.e When our eyes roll under our eyelids during sleep. Its happened to me countless times that I have had the most beautiful of dreams when I sleep and yet when I wake, I can’t remember them. I just know they made me feel good as I saw the images in my sleep but no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to recollect what happened.
People also claim to have Out-of-body experiences in The Gateway. They believe we all have an astral body and we can astral project by some deep form of meditation designed to silence the mind. They say the astral body leaves through the pineal gland located in the middle of our forehead. Some call this The Third Eye and say it holds a lot of spiritual powers if awakened. Some say they leave their bodies during sleep and travel the world in their astral bodies. They claim the experience is sort of like first person clairvoyance. Can we really rationalise what goes on in The Gateway? Can we really know what happens in the mental world of an individual stuck in The Gateway? Can scientists observe the flow of blood in the brain and the various chemical reactions that occur in the brain to cause us to dream? Can they isolate certain parts of the brain and cause us to dream while we are awake?..Some shamans believe that what happens when we sleep is reality and what happens when we awake are dreams and illusions. They believe that mankind is forever in a state of deep sleep even though conscious. They are of the idea that if we could remember our dreams during sleep and also decipher its hidden meanings, we would have a true guide to show us the way as we live our lives in conscious waking life.
Another experience that happens during The Gateway is when you are awake and yet you can’t move your body. They call this sleep paralysis. You are conscious of what’s going on around you and your senses are working but you can’t seem to control your body. This has also happened to me many times. Maybe its a mini form of astral projection. Maybe I’m out of my body and I’m sensing things around me. Maybe I’m just too tired and I forgot how to control my limbs. There’s also the recurring dream of falling from a cliff or a high structure and the moment you hit the floor, you awaken. This is accompanied by a subtle pain in your solar plexus. Again, maybe that’s the astral body returning to the original body and falling from a cliff is the mental imagery you get in the dream. There are also wet dreams were you wake up lying in a pool of your own semen. Some say a female demon or succubus is responsible for this. They believe this demon has intercourse with you while you sleep and causes you to ejaculate against your will. Sadly, I also have had my own fair share of wet dreams in my teenage years(perverted mind). It isn’t that I saw myself having sex with a hot dame during sleep, I just know I’m pounding against something and when I cum in my dream, it gushes out like a hose!. I feel as if I’ve filled up a river with semen in my dream but when I wake, its not that bad. That also happens generally in dream life. Your emotions are heightened, senses are sharper and everything seems over-exaggerated. I can’t tell if women have this too. We also hear of the incubus but I don’t know if any female is honest enough to tell us whether she really climaxes in her sleep when the incubus shows up. Are there any physical symptoms of orgasm or he just makes her have morbid fantasies? I’m talking about does she wake up with liquid dripping from her loins or maybe she just has sex with the incubus in her dream and there are no signs when she wakes?
Life has many mysteries and he who is to know life has to first know Self. He has to know the reason Why. The root Why from where all the other small why’s spring from. There’s always one sole reason why we do what we do and it usually comes from a feeling of lack within. Its a seed planted in our mind. Like a hydra, the more we cut the head off and try to ‘fix’ this lack, the more heads pop out, the more why’s grow till there are stems, branches and leaves of whys in our minds. In The Gateway however, abnormal things happen. You might see yourself in a garden surrounded by white doves one moment and then the next moment, your stomach is drilled with a chainsaw by a loved one. That is the hidden message in The Gateway. Irrationality. Maybe sometime in the near future, scientists would understand what happens to us when we sleep but for now, what we can get from The Gateway is Irrationality. All our understanding is limited, biased and tailored to keep us in our shell forever screaming from our prison cells, telling our other inmates we are free. We who live in ‘society’ are all sentenced to life imprisonment from the moment we are born. Mankind has only two natural drives or instincts. The Desire for Self Preservation and The Desire to Reproduce. Concepts like money, language, Tv, Marriage, office, education, politics etc are a perversion to the instincts and are all artificial stimulants. As man climbs the ladder of what society calls success, he is erecting the bars to his prison cell firmly with his own hands. When he does all that is expected of him by ‘Society’, he would have built a large prison for himself, forever locked away from the outside world. There are also those who don’t follow what ‘Society’ tells them to do and again, these ones still end up in prisons built by their own hands. Only thing is their prison is more wretched and dilapidated. What is the way out? What does The Gateway teach us?
Irrationality is the only rational state of mind. We can never know where we are going cause we don’t know where we came from. How can you finish something when you don’t know where you started from? There are a billion paths you could choose to follow in life so how do you know that the One out of a billion you chose is the right one? Is there any judge that would tell you these things in the end? What if he told you, sorry son, you followed the wrong path.. Would that console you or crush you and the feeling of consolement and being crushed, what does it really mean? Do you really feel it or you think you feel it? Can any feeling ever occur without a subtitle in the form of thought playing in your head? Why is it some thoughts occur without you thinking about them and you feel good doing them while some other thoughts occur and you keep thinking about them and feel bad when you try to do them? Irrationality is the solution to all this..
Just like The Gateway, we should fly through time and shatter the senses. We should destroy our linear form of thinking and reasoning. We are all sentenced to life imprisonment and we can’t escape it. The only way to deal with this is to have this irrational belief that we are free, that we can can escape our prison. Although, we might never break out of prison, trying to break out is the most rewarding experience in life, even though painful at times. Don’t try and remove the log in your eye, endure the pain and enjoy the view. Believe that there is no log. The inner life is all there is. We believe that there is a world out there because our eyes see far ahead but everything out there occurs in the brain, your brain. The human body is what we use to communicate with the outside world and the outside world is just a projection of the inner world. Apart from nature, everything we see out there was created inside someone’s mind. A diseased mind would see a desolate world of suffering and apathy even if you gave him a thousand pieces of gold while a clean mind would see a different world. Waking life is filled with distractions. These distractions are designed for us to escape ourselves. Everyone is moving, talking, looking, listening, smelling, tasting, feeling so the mind is never at rest forever bombarded by foreign stimulus. What is the aim of all this struggle in the end? We have to eventually come to the conclusion that there is no aim. Only then can we attain liberation through Irrationality. The Struggle is the Aim. To cleanse your mind is to start doing what you wouldn’t normally do, Irrational things. Only then can you find the path that leads to The Gateway and harness its power in waking life.
—————————————————————————————–
Co-signed!

Day 16 – End of the World


Allo!
Today, Dionysus is taking over!

——————————————————————————————–

END OF THE WORLD

If the world was actually going to end and you were given a heads-up beforehand, how would you spend your last days? Seriously, if Today was the last day of existence, what would you do before you got swept away by rapture or crushed by meteorites from space?.. Feel Free to voice your opinion at the end of this but let me explore some possibilities of my own…
1. REPENTANCE
Ah, yes!, this is where you’d find most people. They are all holding their bibles or crucifixes or kneeling down in church and praying violently or singing praise and worship with their eyes glazed and staring at the ceiling…the path of mass fear!. We came to this world and right from the beginning, they told us our very existence is cursed! They say everyone born of this world is born of sin and if we deny our instinctive drives, we might get lucky and make it to this place called ‘heaven’. If it is such a burden to actually be sinless on Earth, then heaven must be a place where humans gnash their teeth and weep inside while wearing a smiling façade. Heaven must be like the workplace; Everybody pretending to like each other, laughing loudly at jokes that ain’t funny and all in all, acting like everything is fine when its as boring as watching paint dry. Think about it… Its meant to be a smooth sailing trip from Earth to Heaven, no turbulence, but to live a life without sin is to suffer intense pain from your fellow humans on Earth. The most common pain is the pain of ostracism. I’m not talking about pseudo religious people who only have God’s name on their lips not in their hearts. People who are actually devoted to religion know what I’m talking about. You’d forever be ridiculed by your peers and feel repressed, like you’re denying a huge part of yourself, burying it underneath. You’d feel cheated more than you feel blessed, like you’ve been alienated from everyday life. Its the case of the sinful party chick who gets married to a billionaire while the christian girl is still single and hurting inside. She usually wears a plastic smile on her face and pays lip service to Christ even though she’s burning within. If Heaven where real, going there is not gonna be pleasurable. Solitude is the only true path to heaven, aloneness, loneliness. To really be sinless is to live in solitude. Many Humans cannot deal with solitude so I don’t know why they think they’d feel good if they actually went to heaven…
2. REVENGE
I love this path even though many won’t choose to take it. It is punishing your enemy! whoever he or she is. Since the world is gonna end, you’d just say fuck it and look for that enemy you’ve murdered many times in your mind and actually kill Him/Her in real life. Sharpen your blades! Fuel your chainsaws! Load that shotgun!, make sure that marafucker dies by your hands! Its orgasm to your soul ending your enemy’s life with your own hands.
3. FRIENDS & FAMILY
This is another path people would likely choose. They’d spend time with their friends and family; sit together and go down memory lane, say those mushy mushy words they wouldn’t say on a normal day, stare at the sunset together with Celine Dion’s music playing in the background… You get the picture.
4. INHIBITIONLESS
I also love this path! Since the world is ending today, rip off all your clothes, scream at the top of your lungs, smack a girls ass for no reason, take all the drugs you can find. You’re basically going down swinging! Your last moments on Earth would be so fucking great that the afterlife would seem boring to you (If there’s any)
5. REVELATIONS
Fasten your seatbelts and open your ears wide cause this is where you hear the most shocking secrets revealed!. You might just realise your brother is in the Yakuza or your girlfriend was once an orangutang!. This is where people pour out all their deep dark secrets, clear it off their chest since the world is gonna end anyway. It might be fun to listen to… sometimes.
6. DENIAL
There are obviously those who just can’t believe that the world will come to an end one day (including me). Hollywood has corrupted our minds with special effects and science fiction that we think we’d get plucked by some white light from the sky (the Holy ones) OR we’d witness the Apocalypse and get crushed in the final battle between the Angels from Heaven and the Demons from Hell…Yawn!.. Some people will go to work, come back home and sleep even if the world were ending today. They just can’t accept that strange phenomena like that could occur. It would have been fucking epic though if something like that could happen
This is all I could come up with. Tell us how you’d spend your last days on Earth if the world where ending today.
———————————————————————-
Lool! The world ending? Man’s gonna be in a frigging Chinese buffet eating myself to a premature heart attack! Then get married to the nearest guy. Man’s can’t die single. Jesus didn’t die for that. -.- Consummate the marriage inside the church there there. Hotel gini? Are you not hear the world is gonna end ni? My friend will you bring out that penis biko! Are we here to play?
We gats do like 20 rounds…at least.
The End.
😀

Day 15


Hey guys! Today, I’ll be doing another freeform writing, seeing as I have nothing set to offer.
Good luck!

___________________

Mama, they marched us to the parade ground. I held the hand of Nahor. He didn’t let me go even as I stumbled. They shouted at me roughly, Mama. It made me sad. You never shout at me even when I am naughty.
After marching us to the ground, they made us take off our clothes. They said we might have diseases. They shaved my hair too. I am not happy. I miss my curly hair, Mama. I miss your fingers running through my curls.
Where are you mama? Hope they’re not shouting at you? No one shouts at my Mama!
They’re taking us into a chamber mama. They said it’s to bath us.
I hope I’ll be able to see you tonight. Nahor misses you too but he’s ‘being a man’.
They’re pushing us roughly into the chamber.
Nahor is shaking.
It’s just a bath. I wonder why he’s afraid…

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

They captured us from our homes. Rounded us up like animals. Don’t take anything! Out! They screamed at us, hate twisting their faces, guns pointed at us. We obeyed.
We’re on a train huddled together.
Where is our destination, an old man asked. They hit him and told him to him up.
We’re watching landscape change in silence. Someone tries to sing but no one responds. Our hearts are heavy.
We’ve passed familiar places, Towns we visited in happier times.
The train stops at a station and more people are pushed in.
Where are you taking us to? An indignant man asks. One of the guards shoots him in the chest, laughing and leaves him in the carriage. The younger children are screaming. 
Some of the girls are crying.
Why us?
What did we do?
The men are trying to move the body to another part of the already cramped coach.
The train passes a post that reads ‘Auschwitz’.
I watch the sign even as it had passed out of view. Fear twists my heart.
Bubbe holds my hands tightly, her frail body quivering with exhaustion and age.
We wonder what we’ll find there…

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

Cries.
Screams.
Their voices are raised, day and night.
Black smoke pours out of the huge chimneys attached to the chambers.
Cries.
Screams.
They’re being burned alive.
Eli Eli lama sabachtani?

———————–

That’s it.
Dunno why they came to mind; those children in 1942.
They went to Auschwitz- Birkenau.
They never came back…

Sigh.

Day 13-Scream


Hey guys…
Umm… Think we’ll be having a poem from me. Well, dunno if it’s a poem but kinda dictates my mood now. Something i wrote some time in October.

—————–
SCREAM

Scream!
Scream for the past!
Widen your eyes in dismay.
Throw yourself with vexation for the broken promises.
Tear at the hard earth with your nails for the betrayals.
One after another, they came didn’t they?

Scream!
Scream for the present!
Tear your clothes!
Gouge your skin raw with your nails.
Scream and shriek!
Scream for the burdens of today.
Let your eyes know tears for the suffering.
Dig your nails into your scalp and pull hard.
Scream in pain as your pull out clumps of hair attached to skin.
Let the blood run down your face.
Roll your naked self on cobbled stones.
Feel the bite of pain that nibbles in places where hard abrasion occurs.
Let your blood surly the stone earth.

Scream!
Scream for the future!
Scream for the monsters, the vultures.
Scream for the hopelessness.
The hungry nights, the stolen bread.
Scream for the jailed bird, the jaded bird.
Prod your fingers into your eyes and scream.
Scream as you pull your eyeballs out of their sockets.

Let your eyes know darkness.
Cry blood!
Scream!
Arch your back and scream!
Crawl on the floor!
Mewl and growl!
Scream!
Scream!
Scream!
SCREAM
SCREAM
SCREAM
SCREAM
FUCKING SCREAM!!

————————-
I’ll scream if i wasn’t too tired. Lol.
See you later. Have a lovely day.


Hey.
Today’s post is by someone who would rather remain anonymous.
Do enjoy!

———————————————————————–

RIVER

I read my uncle’s stories. Not Uncle Jonah, Uncle Joseph.
It gets confusing sometimes to differentiate
them in my head; all the twins I know look and think alike, even though mother says Jonah and
Joseph were as different as night and day. Mother has a folder of his stories and drawings, most of
them are from his twenties. All his teenage fiction is lost now, gone with the wind. There’s also his
diary from 2001, the one which mother took in 2002 and kept. I think I’ve read that from cover to
cover many times. Then he didn’t use so many big words and there was happier then. In one of the
pages he actually called mom and grandma hags.

Mother doesn’t talk about my Uncles Jo any more.
She doesn’t talk much, about anything. I’ve seen videos of her from younger when she wore really
small shorts and rode horses on the beach and seemed to constantly laugh at every little thing. She
isn’t that person any more. She misses them though, in her own way. The family portrait from when
they were younger doesn’t have any dust on it, unlike most things in this house.
I was tiny the last time I saw Uncle Jo, a baby really so I don’t really remember much about him.
But I know him.
I know he used to hate people shortening his name. There’s a day here, March 14, when
he got really angry because he introduced himself to a girl and she asked if she could call him Jo. He
was angry about it, his name was just two syllables, two phonetic sounds and she wanted to shorten
it to one.
People shortened his name a lot Joey, Joe, Jo, Jay; some even shortened his surname. He
felt shortening a name was robbing it of its power. Joseph meant beloved, everything else meant
nothing. He wrote that he felt guilty after, she really didn’t mean anything by that. And he’d taken
out his frustrations on her. Uncle Ed used to do that a lot, feel guilty because he stood up for himself.
I think he was a coward or too sensitive, most times a mixture of both.

I know uncle Jo felt under pressure, much like I feel. It’s a different kind of pressure from the one I
feel but at least the effect is the same. Pressure not to disappoint. Constant anxiety, its like this
physical thing, your heart in your mouth, sweaty armpits and hours trying not to rationalize the things
you’ve done, looking for mistakes in them.
Mine is from being the only child mother has. Her greatest legacy. Mother is a very hands-on person in her life. And she believes in results, that the work should be done in secret and the results presented like a magician’s show, so it appears effortless,
apparently plucked out of thin air. She is that way with her work. And she is that way with me.
At home I can be petulant and sad and needy and whiny, at home I’m allowed to have emotions. But
outside, in the company of strangers I’m only allowed one; serenity.
Smile to older strangers, walk slowly at the buffet table, even though I can people taking second and third helpings, eating my
plate covered with small clumps of remnant food scraped from the edges of the serving trolleys with
a demure happy smile.
The happy child.
Uncle Joe was the good middle child. Every other role was taken, stuck-up first born, sadist spoilt last born. Mom and his brother fought constantly for
grandma’s attention and in all the noise, his own rebellions seemed small, a welcome relief. So he
stopped trying and started writing and drawing; eventually he had to choose. He chose drawing and
dropped the diaries.

The pressure is pretty bad on most days but I think I have it better than he did.
I’m not being ignored by mother at least not as badly as he was.
I wish I could write like he did. But I’m already in my teens and the gift hasn’t been passed down.
Maybe his was like a disease that snuck into his body undetected because of all the activity that
puberty brought on, and when everything settled, his Immune system worked through and found it
and neutralized it. Or maybe he gave up one medium of expression for another.
His pictures are beautiful. They are of dark things, but beautiful none the less.

There’s this particular one, inspired by this song he loves. It’s a girl on a bridge, leaning forward and looking over, at a much smaller
reflection of herself, rippling in the dark still river. The girl in the water is not looking back at her, instead she is looking at her hands, which are cupped together holding a dandelion. She is smiling, happy and oblivious to black murky water that surrounds her. The girl on the bridge is leaning so far
out that its certain she’ll fall.
The girl in the water looked like mom and the girl on the bridge had Uncle Jo’s hair. When mother first saw it, she stood there, in the gallery full of white walls and stared at it as her tears fell.
I cried too.
I don’t know why.
Maybe because the girl in the water was already so happy she didn’t care about the girl on the bridge. Perhaps it was because I knew only a truly sad
person could create something like that. Something so ominous an yet so simple. Or maybe I just felt
jealous and somewhat protective of the girl in the water; she was happy, but her happiness was
dependent on the girl on the bridge, if the girl on the bridge walked away, she would just cease to
exist.
You are the girl on the bridge, leaning out too far, hoping to catch a glimpse of a part of you that is
truly happy and oblivious to everything around her. Drifting away slowly, cradling what remains of
your innocence in her palms.
You will fall.
Because
That’s the only way you become the girl in the water.
Uncle Jo fell.
And his paintings and stories took on a life of their own.
I’ve been leaning over, reluctantly, looking for her. But so far, all I have seen is myself.

————————————————————————————–

*Sigh* 🙂
Jana..

Day 9


So I entered an odd mood last night and wrote this.
Goodluck.

—————————————————————

“You’re quite strong”

People have said this to me a lot. I’d smile and say Thank you but deep inside me, i chortle in disbelief.

Me? Strong? Since when?

I laugh because I know myself. I laugh because at night, I confront the true me. In the silence of midnight, my Cinderella moment disappears and the real person is revealed.

Needy.

Weak.

Easily hurt.

I laugh because of the clumsiness I encounter, trying to sort these feelings out. The feelings of inadequacy and need for support.

Now let me ask, Am I still strong?

Life has been unfair to me as it has to everybody. To the world, I have moved on with my life. I am smiling. I am achieving. You’re so strong. To have gone through all that and still be yourself. I smile and say Thank you.

Please!

You do not see the coward hiding behind fake smiles. You do not see the actress, passing the part of a satisfied lady. You do not see the cracks that appear when the mental burden becomes much. Of course, you cannot because I keep it under lock and key don’t I? I’m a strong woman that cries herself to sleep some nights just because life has been unfair.

Am I still strong?

My emotional detachment is amazing, I’ve been told. Celibate for so many years. You’re sooooo strong. I laugh.

They do not see the person that yearns for love. That wants to be held too. They do not see the one that struggles with her flesh for dominance. They do not see the one that craves the feeling of being wanted; to feel appreciated even for a moment.

Where is the strength?

No where.

I am a weak little shit.

Who is strong?

Lee, battling sickle cell anaemia is strong. She kicks, she fights. I notice. She is strong because she hasn’t given up yet.

Debbie, battling breast cancer is strong. Shaved head, slim, yet she resonates with strength. She resonates with a will to fight to live.

Chukwudi, your eyes are your problem. The first time you told me about it, I was so sad, I cried a little. You have not let the threat of blindness stop you from doing the things you love, from achieving, from writing. I pray your book makes it because you are strong and strong people deserve a fighting chance.

Uche, you were left with children because your husband decided he wanted to enjoy younger pussy. With your educational achievements in hand and God beside you, you made a way for yourself. You’re strong because you did not let yourself feel self pity for so long. You’re strong because you had a plan for you and your children and you pushed to make it happen.

They’re strong.

I am not.

I am just another pretender, struggling like everyone else.

I am weak because I am afraid of failing. I an afraid of failing again after failing. I am afraid of rejection.

I am just another pretender.

Not strong.

No.

Just…

Pretending.

———————————————————————-

What is strength really?

Day 8


Today is the Sabbath and by the time you’re reading this, I’d probably be in the Temple.
Not sure why i wrote that. Lol.
Ummm… Got a headache so have no idea what to write on.
I’ll do free-form writing.
Good luck!

———————

Her eyes are large, open with wonder.
Eyelids flutter, enjoying the feel of her eyelashes.
Pupils dart to and fro, soaking in every movement, every colour.
Her eyes widen, drinking every image into their watery depths.
Mama. Dada. Her eyes stamp names to faces.

Her eyes aren’t so large. They open in wonder at the images that flutter on TV. They absorb the shapes and forms presented.
Tom and Jerry. Dora.
Stamping names to faces.

Her eyes open in amazement at words; letters. They take in every curve, every slant. They transfer the message to the brain, begging it to teach her hands what they’ve seen.

Her eyes flicker with worry. Numbers.
They try to make sense of them.
Sums. Subtraction.
They dim with irritation and tear up in frustration.

Her eyes see more. Do more. Soon her eyes become adorned with kohl. Dark lines accentuating lovely honey-brown pupils.
Her eyes suddenly begin to notice the opposite sex with interest.
Lashes flutter with flirtation. They water with unrequited love. They glaze with intense pleasure.
They’re beautiful and they attract men to her.

Her eyes see too much. They cry too much. They harden. Glaring in suspicion, leering in cynicism. They see shadows in light. They see devils in angels.
Beautiful brown eyes have become hard as flint; emotionless. That which attracted people to her now drives them away.

Her eyes are lined with age. They grow weaker. They squint to see. Colours blur. They become smaller, rheumy. They hide under layers of sagging skin.

Her eyes take in her lonely home. Suddenly, they remember what it felt like to be huge and new. They cry because they remember what is felt like to widen in wonder, to see the beauty in all things.

Her eyes go dimmer.

One day, her eyes closes.
They would open no more.

————————

Well that came out somewhat…ok right?
Have a lovely weekend! Happy Sabbath!
I’ll see you tomorrow.

Day 7 -Black Widow // Erotica


Hey! Today, decided to hand the floor over to @Tarhyel.
Second time here; another beautiful bouquet of poetry.

—————————————————————————————-

Black Widow

She mourns forever, she’s a black widow.

Cursed by Selene the moon goddess herself,

Cast down to earth a plague amongst men.

Beauty divine, reincarnation of an angel;

Heart as black as the flames of hell.

Lecherous appetite for men,

Looks so seductive yet sinister.

She possesses whomever she wants.

A vortex of forbidden pleasures she promises you.

All she asks is your soul in return;

Such a small price to pay for a night with a goddess.

It is but of course not aleatory that her beauty is peaked during the full lunar. nights

She knows Selene sets out to retrieve what rightfully belongs to her,

The soul of a fallen man.

Such agony she feels for she falls in love with every man she lays with,

Listening to the cadence of his last breath.

Eyes sparkle as tears depart from them.

A new day approaches, a curse rekindled

She mourns forever, she’s a black widow.

Erotica

Eyes of burning desire,

 An Angel’s face with a bed devil’s grin.

 As the night swallows the day, thus a tingling sensation engulfs the body.

 I lust for her, I’m in love with my lust.

 Willingly I give in, and let nature take its rightful place.

Fingers run through hair full of lustre,

 Her skin is soft, and her grasp is strong.

 Pleasure finds pain and together they resonate in harmony,

 Ever so luxuriant are her silent screams of ecstasy.

 She is my Erotica, Reason for my Eroticism.

 Intertwined strings of life’s fate has brought us together.

 Sight, Smell, Touch, Taste and Sound of her;

 All five senses elevated to a higher state.

The Uncanny fusion between Man and Woman,

 Two souls have acquired Oneness,

 A higher Consciousness is attained.

 The realm of the physical is no more.

 The essence of free spirit ascending to the heavens,

 Welcomed by the Cosmos,

 And for a split second, I touch the hand of GOD,

 For this feeling of purity can only be Evanescent,

Hence I marvel at her powers,

 And lie in Awe at her unveiled world of enigmatic Beauties.

—————————————————————————

And that is it from @Tarhyel for today! A fantastic writer if I might say so myself.
Do leave your comments, we’d appreciate that.
Have a lovely end to the weekday!
Cheers!

Day 6


Hey.
Well today’s post is courtesy of an idea by @nosmaass_EFX.
Jaded mood so pardon me if I stop making sense. I’ll be writing on Music.

Those who know me know my favourite music genre is the almighty Rock and Roll. I love Rock.
Before, the opinion about Rock was all ‘OMG Demonic music’ Yada yada. I am not writing to disabuse you of that notion. Believe whatever the fuck you want.
I love  Rock mostly for one this: Guitar solos.
A rock song is like a sacrifice. The worship builds up until the bridge where the guitar solo comes in. That is the highpoint for me; the point where the virgin’s head is cut off for sacrifice. The Crux!
Life fades way for me at that moment. My whole being is concentrated on extracting the nectar from what I am listening to.

Take a song like Sweet Child O’ Mine by Gunz’n’Roses. If you haven’t listened to this song, do. Old skool beauty. When Slash takes up the solo, I am lost.
I feel this crazy euphoria inside me. My heart pounds. My hands shake. My eyes become blurry with tears. My body unites and merges. In my head, I am the guitar and Slash is using his fingers on me. I rock to and fro, I hug myself. I try to dance but my legs feel too heavy. The rhythm weighs me down. I lay down and cover myself, praying for it to go on forever. This madness stops when Slash’s solo is over. Moments like these are the reasons I’ll forever adore Rock and Roll.
Another song Hysteria by Muse. The chorus gets me. Then the Solo. Lord Jesus, the solo! I have tears in my eyes EVERY TIME IT STARTS. I’ll probably go to a Muse concert with a box of tissues. I’ll bawl my eyes out. Lol. Listen to this song. Even if you don’t like Rock. Listen. You won’t regret.
Third song I’ll recommend for good guitar solo, Far From Home by Five Finger Death Punch.
Solos touch something dormant in me. There is a garden of Eden inside us and beautiful music taps into that core. I feel like a baby after a particularly good song; incapable of hate. Of course it fades (because reality is shit) and I have to tap into  it again and again.

Note, these songs are not Metal. I know Metal isn’t everyone’s cuppa so won’t go into it.

That is the beauty of Rock. There is something for everyone.  The genre is so diverse, some sub-genres would soon become genres.

As much as I love Rock, I love other genres as well; Jazz, Old Funky tunes, Old Skool Head bobbing hip hop.

The thing with music is that I am attracted by instrumentals. Heavily.
I am not a lyrics person. Couldn’t care (most times) what is being said. I just want to immerse myself in the melody; the harmony. The discordant arrangements of music that somehow manages to blend in the ears.
It’s all about the background music to me. In fact, I do think the singers are the background noise; they’re the accompaniment. They can shut up and the song would still be as beautiful.

My music list is a weird mix: Death Metal bands like Kalmah, vying for space with James Brown, Elvis Presley and Tom Jones.

I was going to talk about how Music acts as a spiritual gateway for summoning celestial beings but I doubt you wanna know about that…or If I wanna write about it just yet.

That’s it really. Hope I feel better.
Have a good day.

 

%d bloggers like this: