Category: nonsensical



 

Lucifer adjusts his robes as he perches himself on a stool.
Uriel glances at the celestial time and sighs, impatient to be about his business.

“Honestly, I did’t do anything THAT BAD”
“Udonmeanit…”
The sarcasm flies over Lucifer’s head.
“Serious o. I only said me too I want in on the good good na. You know what they say…”
“I don’t…”
Interrupts.
“What’s good for the goodse, is good for the gander! See what i did there? See?”
A big smile on L’s face.
“E for Effort”
Lucifer frowns and smacks his teeth. “Abeg abeg. Na wa you sef! Anyway! Back to my side of the story! Yes ooooo. Small tin like dis. Oga come dey vex! Allova sudden, I don turn Devil. Juslaidat!”
A raised eyebrow. “If HE was angry, then it was not a small thing
He eyes his companion. “So you been dey dere wit me wen e happen abi?”
His companion sighs. “Carry on”
“Ehen. So I say me I want my own throne. Me sef i want my own praise. Ahn ahn! I don dey shout Halleluyah since HE make me! E never do? Me sef why i no go siddon, dey drink cold water?”
A shocked look on Uriel’s face. “You said what?”
“Ear dey pain you!? I tell am say, Bros G, Me sef i want seat. E no need big like your own. Juss small ting wey i go take siddon beside you so we go share the praise. Not even 50-50. 80-20 na im i talk. Oga come vex”
Uriel’s mouth drops open.
“Hayyyyyy! You have no fear?? Are you mad???”
“Ahn ahn! Is it because I’m telling you something you are now insulting me anyhow? Take ya time o! Anyway! He sha was vexing for me and said i should get out. Ah. After all my loyal service. This life sha.”
Uriel shakes his head. “See, I have 12pm Hosanna duty and it’s almost time. What exactly do you want me to do for you? Beg HIM?”
Lucifer laughs, playfully slapping Uriel’s shoulder. “Beg ke! O ti o. No beg please. Why i go beg am. A whole me! Lucifer! Finest boy in H Town. Baby boy of Life! Ehhhhhnnnn”
He dusts his shoulder.
“So..what then?”
“Ehn. Mo nlo! I dey port! I’m porting outta here so i came to give you proposal, you know we are friends na. Egbon mi!!!!”
Uriel huffs, irritated. “Get to the point! Goodness!”
“Ahn caam daan na. No be Halleluyah you just wan go shout? E no dey tire you sef! Anyway Come and follow me o! I’m going to Earth to control everything! Controller general and tinz. Your boy is gonna blow! If you follow me, i fit make you Deputy Commander because we don be padi for long mehn…”
Uriel stands to his full height.
“Lucifer! Lucifer! Lucifer! How many times did i call you?”
“Ahn ahn na wetin!”
“E be like say you don crase finish abi! So you look me upandan finish, think say na me go follow you chop eternal punishment. You tink say i no know dat be your punishment?? Eez like ya a mad somebody. Belly don dey run you abi? So you look Daddy G.O throne finish and e dey do you WAWUUUUU, you come go challenge am”
“Eiiissss…”
Uriel interrupts. “Ehn! I no wan hear! Do me a favour please. GERRARAHIA! GERRARAHIA RIGHT NOW!”
“Whoolup nigga! Whoolup! Ahn ahn dem no dey follow you play again?”
“Abeg! Carry your play dey go! DEY GO!”
Lucifer angrily gets up.
“Oya dey here na! You too dull sef!  You don fall my hand, guyyyy. Ahn! You don forget na me and you dey hustle for Ojuelegba from day one”
Uriel sharpens his sword on the floor. “You still dey here???”
He lashes out with his sword at Lucifer and he flees, cursing.
Uriel chases after him.

Minutes later, Uriel comes back and sighs deeply and looks at you, the reader.
“E don be for una sha… That oloriburuku go frustrate una die. Ehyaaa…”

————————————–

In my head, the Devil is a disgruntled Nigerian civil servant.

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Ma Sullivan


She sidled up to the front aisle and sat down, her thinning grey hair covered haphazardly with a scarf. It did not stop stubborn wisps of hair bent on freedom from escaping. She sat and waited for the remaining seats to be filled up apprehensively. Her calloused hands gripped the clutch of her favourite bag and she rubbed the filigree design with her thumb feeling every bump; a habit she was wont to do when extremely nervous.
The room to be viewed was still empty of people, the only occupant, a big metal chair She stared at it, as if concentrating trying to pry it secrets out. Soon, it would be taking the only thing she had left away from her. Her lips dried and she licked them reflexively. She heard movements behind her and knew the pew had begun to fill up.
She did not turn back, avoiding to see the faces.
It wasn’t shame or fear.
No. Ma Sullivan knew no shame.
She just did not want to explain her presence; or offer apologies she knew would be ineffectual.
So she sat there, hair tucked haphazardly in her scarf, back ramrod straight, staring right ahead.
Quite a number of people wanted front seats, and as she made way for them, they saw her and gasped.
She did not avert her eyes; No Sir!
She looked them straight in the eyes, taking in the ill-disguised look of disgust on their faces without a twitch of her facial muscles in reaction. They always dropped their eyes first, shuffling past her. She heard them whisper amongst themselves and pass her name around.
She heard the murmurings behind her but refused to answer them; she had every right to be here.

Soon, the lights dimmed and the main stage area lit up, distracting them.
Guards came in and walked to the chair, checking the straps and bolts. When they were done, one of the officials gave a speech.
She did not listen. She tuned them out.
She came for one thing only.
Soon, they brought him out.
She stared at him as they pulled him to the chair and strapped him. Ignoring the bondage, she stared fixedly at his face.
He had grown softer around the edges. His eyes looked rheumy. He looked older than ever.
His once full head of hair was shaved completely bald and looking like that, sitting there, she could not help but be reminded of his father.
His father had once sat on just the same chair.
She had watched her younger son sit on the same chair.
Now, it was his turn.
As if feeling a stare, his weak eyes looked to the audience and seeing his mother, there was a sudden light in his eyes.
Not one of happiness; of anger, of resentment.
He sneered at her.
She watched him impassively, unprovoked. Seeing as he couldn’t rile her up, his swore at her, red in the face.
Unfeeling bitch.
Like she hadn’t heard that one before.
Was this his way to finally get the attention he always craved from her?
Well, he got in. She was there watching.
He flipped her a middle finger before he got completely immobilised and smiled at the little frown thst crawled up her eyebrows.
The bitch wasn’t carved out of stone then!

Soon the ceremony, as she dubbed it started.
The official stated his name; stated his crimes.
Ma Sullivan did not flinch as the list of murders her son had committed rolled out.
Murders against women her age; women that looked like her
Murders meant for her.
He had had her face in mind every time he strangled them; he said so in court.
His real victim was her but since he could not get her, they had to do.
No, he wasn’t molested ss a child.
But the fucking bitch was made of stone, all my life!
She sat stoic then, listening in the court room.
She was doing the same now; sitting there, stoic.

Soon it was show time,
They fixed the cap on his head and there he sat, looking as stupid as his brother had looked with that cap on his head; as stupid as his father had looked too, seated right there.

They killed him.

The others gasped as the electric currents fried him. She said nothing, merely watching her son’s jerking body as his brains fried.
It almost reminded her of his birth; the light flickering in the dinghy backroom of a motel. The smell of death and decay that she had been unconcerned about.
She wondered for a second if his electrocution had hurt as much as she did, pushing him out of her
It would have been fitting if it did.
Come in screaming, leave screaming.
It didn’t matter now anyway.
He was dead.
When he had been confirmed dead, she watched them roll out his dead body.

The show was over.
The murmurings began again.
How could she come to watch?
How could she bear it?
Just what kind of a woman was she?

She said nothing, walking out of the stifling room to the open air, grateful for the gulps of fresh air.
She made a beeline to her car and when she was safely inside, she rested her head on the steering wheel.
Tears coursed down her cheeks and she did nothing to wipe them away.
Where had she gone wrong?
Why did they all end up the way they did?
The media touted her as evil. ‘Matriarch of the Evil Sullivan”
It did not matter that she never participated in their crimes; or that she had kicked all three of them out of her house before they had gone on a bend.

Could she have stopped it?
She had failed.
As a wife; she married a lazy psycho, a lunatic.
As a mother; she was too busy to love them. She herself never received any love from her mother.She had worked hard to provide money for anything they wanted.
Why hadn’t they been enough?
Her lunatic mistake of a husband then bred them for evil.
As a human; she had been too afraid to stop them.
She kicked them out instead.
She had been a coward.

She swallowed a sob and decided on what she would do.
She would absorb all the blame; from the families of the victims, from the general populace.
She would absorb them all.
Then she would take it with her to a place where she knew she belonged.
To hell.

————————————————-

If this doesn’t make sense, welcome to the club. Didn’t make sense to me either.
Reading a book titled Talking to serial killers and this is the result of a half-formed idea.
Are people born evil? Or is it solely on upbringing?

Let’s think about that.

Down The Pike


It is like my eyes are suddenly opened and I see them, a host of them, in numerous queues that seem to stretch on till eternity. All sorts of people are lines up; people of all ages are lined up – from the ancient olds to floating masses of what should be fetuses.
How many of these lines there are, I cannot say because I cannot count.
‘As vast as the sand on the seashore’ is the first thing that comes to mind.
‘There are about 7 billion people in the world’  think to myself. ‘Surely, all of them are here today!’

I look forward to see where they’re all heading to; or herded to. There are checkpoints at the start of each queue manned by being  I cannot properly explain so forgive me if my description of them comes off as vague. In fact, if it is possible for a thing to look vague, then these beings are vague.
They wear dark cloaks, or maybe dark clouds as the cloaks seem to swirl like mists if you stare too long. They are hooded; the only visible parts, spindly black twigs knotted to form arms. In one hand of a being is holding what can be most aptly described as a huge scissors; although one cannot be so sure, seeing at these tools pulse with inner light, as if alive.

My eyes ache when I look at them so i return to study the host and that is when I  notice something truly odd. I blink to make sure I am not hallucinating. Slightly above each person is a floating string made of what I can simply describe as Light. Each Light is different in hue and my eyes widen in wonder at the numerous colours that have congregated over numerous heads; from the brightest of yellows that leave a lingering giddy feeling in my body to the darkest of blacks that make me look away, shuddering instinctively. Although  colours are similar, each string of Light is unique in a way I cannot put my hands on just yet.

Suddenly, I understand the function of the scissors held by the beings that man the checkpoints. I turn to watch them snip at these strings as each person is presented before them. Immediately a string is cut, the scissors absorbs the light, incandescent, so bright it dazzles the eyes that by the time you are able to see again, the person snipped is no longer there; replaced by another.
I watch in fascination as spindly fingers hold strings delicately between what would be a thumb and index finger of a human.
It takes me a whole minute to realise what is happening and my amazement is replaced with dismay…and fear.

“Death!” I cry out loud, turning back to the people queued, as if wanting to appeal to them to turn back. The ancient olds walk on, look of pure serenity on their faces. The disfigured and sick (obvious only by their skeletal bodies), trudge on, gratitude written on the harsh planes of their faces. There are the young;  healthy and smiling, oblivious. And then there are the scared, the afraid. They are aware of what is ahead. Their saucer-wide eyes, shimmering with tears; their lips trembling, as they try to stifle screams.
‘If all these people die, then who lives?’ I muse to myself and the answer comes to me just as quickly.
Some have been on these queues for years…for ages. They would not all die immediately.
While some know what lays ahead, a great deal do not and they would continue living unaware, until it is their turn to get their strings cut.

Hands push me forward and I turn back in surpr…
“No..no…no…nono” I murmur, my limbs suddenly losing their locomotive function.
I am on a queue.
I feel sweat bead on my forehead and armpits, and i break out in violent shivers.
I turn to the blank face behind me. “There has be..een a mistake” I stammer. “I do not belong here”
I am ignored and I try pushing my way out.
“Please, let me go. Please. I still have time. I don’t belong here. No. Please”
I choke on a sob, chest heaving as I am clamped into position by a mass of bodies.
I look ahead and my heart stops at the checkpoint that is just a few bodies away.
Tears streak down my face and my legs shake unable to bear my weight. I do not crumple to the ground, still carried onwards by the mass of bodies behind me.
I struggle!
I cry!
I scream!
I pray!
“God no…No please..not yet…still got a lot to do please No No” I mumble, terror settling in the pit of my stomach like an unborn fetus made of lead.

Soon, it is my turn and I stand before my executioner.
“There…has.. has been  mishtake..” I stutter, hiccuping. “It’s…n..not…ti..time. Pl..Please…”
Ignored, spindly arms hold my light and my teeth chatter as my eyes follows the path of the looming scissors.
At the first snap, my heart lurches as if being pulled forcefully out of my chest.
I open my mouth to scream.
The scissors glow green, so bright tha-

———————————————————————————————–

I am reading Insomnia by Stephen King and I was inspired by his depiction of Auras and Bald Docs #1 #2 #3 (Read the book and you’d understand what I’m saying 😛 )
This piece crept into my mind subtly and evaded my faculties till i was so distracted, I had to stop reading to write it down on paper, before continuing with my book.
(And it is a good read so far, I’d recommend)

Hope you enjoyed and do comment thaaaanks!
Have a lovely weekend!
Jana!

P.S.A + Rapunzel


So two years today, I was in front of my ragged Toshiba laptop finally registering for a blog after coming across stories from Terdoh and Toolsman’s blogs. A lot has changed since then; for one, I’m not using a Toshiba laptop anymore. Lol.
More importantly, I’ve improved immensely in my writing, If i might say so myself.
Most importantly, I’ve met a lot of interesting people that have all inspired, intrigued and also irritated me (Sometimes, all at once!) This is a thank you to everyone that has stuck with Phantompages; old and new comers. I’m grateful.

Readers, I thank you for the time you’ve spent reading my cravies and good and bad stories. For the constructive criticisms, I thank you. And for the love and adulation (Real and imaginary on my part), I thank you.

Writers, I thank you for the Messages and emails asking if I didn’t mind having your stories up here. I thank you for the help you’ve all rendered, keeping this blog alive.

Ah, as usual, special thanks to a couple of people (I could swear I gave these same set of people special thanks last year!): Eddie (For helping me handle the blog when I almost deleted and for being my close friend and Mother all rolled up in one!), Pemi, Ekwe, P.Mantis (Professional Asshole), and last but not the least, my Fire.

Blogging is a pain in the ass you know. And if there’s anything more painful than blogging, it’s being referred to as a Blogger.
I am a writer; I write. I will be an author one day, when my materials and good and ready to be published.

Umm.. run out of things to ‘say’. So, was running through my STORIES file and came across one I wrote for Achiva’s blog as part of a series. Made me chuckle so decided to brush it up more and put it up here.

Thank you once again for all the care and support.
Watashi wa minasan o aishite imasu!

RAPUNZEL

There lived a man and his greedy wife. They were very much in love but they had no child. The man did not leave her, despite the fact that his mother insisted he did so because his wife was a ‘useless woman who used abortion to scatter her womb’. He was in love and he would do anything for her. Of course, his mother didn’t approve and he could bet she has been ‘Casting and Binding’ sine they tied the knot as man and wife.

Beside them lived a Lagos big girl called ‘Aunty Dollars’. Aunty Dollars was notorious for her diabolical means of making money and bringing customers into her hair shop.
Aunty Dollars has this mango tree in her compound and her neighbors could see it. When Aunty Dollars went to Dubai for holiday, the man’s wife, greedy woman, decided she wanted the mango.
She cried and went to her husband.
“Honey I really want those mangoes at Aunty Dollars’ house”
The man was confused. “I can buy you any mango in the market my love. Must it be her own?”
“Yes! If you love me, you’ll get them for me”
The man was unsure of what to do.
His wife’s long throat increased the more time he wasted time. “I will die if I don’t eat Aunty Dollars’ mango o! I will just die here and you will bury me!” the woman wailed.
‘See me see wahala’ the man thought to himself. ‘On top mango again?’
The man tried to endure but the man eventually got tired of his wife’s nagging and deliberate bad cooking and decided to get her the mangoes.
With his heart in his mouth, he jumped fence into Aunty Dollars compound and got the mangoes.
He thought the matter had ended there with his wife.
For where!
The greed in the wife was something else. This woman started behaving like she was the Patroness Saint of Mangoes! She wanted more!
“Your mates are having children and you’re here looking for mangoes! Is it not thunder that will fire you Idiot!” he shouted one day in a rare display of anger.
He ate burnt, bottom-of-the-pot jollof rice and black dodo that night and with repentance in his heart and hunger in his stomach, he stole the mangoes.
Anything to keep his ‘darling’ wife happy; and keep his from purging his intestines out every night.

Until one day…
“Oho!” Aunty Dollars screamed at the base of the tree, cutlass in hand, catching her thieving neighbor unawares. He hadn’t known she had come back!
“Mr. Man! Aha! So you were the one stealing my mangoes ehn? You don die today!”
She sharpened the cutlass on the floor while the man, scared, stayed on the tree, mangoes in hand, pleading the blood of Jesus.
“Please” he begged. “It was the Devil! She sent me!”
“You will go and meet the Devil today. Ole!”
The man begged and begged, promising anything and everything.
Aunty Dollars, diabolical and crazy woman, thought about it and decided to take him up on his offer.
“Seeing as I haven’t been serviced in a while, I want you to sleep with me for a month” She smiled in satisfaction at the shock on the man’s face.
“B..but…But I am a married man!” he protested weakly.
“Oho! Now you remember you are married abi! A married man that steals mangoes abi! Oloshi! Do you want me to call the whole street to gather and burn you?”
The man begged for another bargain, anything but sleeping with her.
Truth is, it would have been easier if Aunty Dollarz was pretty but OH NO!
Aunty Dollars looked like the ugly twin sister of Eniola Badmus; a walking, breathing two bags of beans with legs.
How was he, a lean man, supposed to survive with such a heap of fat in bed? And what if she decided she wanted to ride him? Would cellotape glue his broken bones? Who would pay for his medical bills?
Oti o!
The man pleaded profusely but she was adamant.
“Neighbors o!!! Come o! Ole dey here! Bring tire!” she screeched, her fat buttocks quivering as she ran around her compound.
Fearing jungle justice, the man quickly apologized and agreed to her demands.
Without telling his wife, the man who climbed to steal mangoes, climbed to play his away matches in exchange for a month as was agreed. He would not admit to it but the sight of Aunty Dollarz’s ample mammary set his flag pole straight; compared to his wife’s lemon breasts.
Like a pulsing G, he scored (Proving his mother right that the problem wasn’t really from him). Before the month was over, Aunty Dollars became pregnant.
After nine months she gave birth to a beautiful girl with very light skin.
Thinking to give the girl an exotic name, she named her Rapunzel, after the fairy tale story. As the girl grew, Aunty Dollars noticed her hair was so long and black.
Aunty Dollars had an idea.

During this time, the prince of the land was going through hard times. He had spent his money on women in Saudi Arabia and his father had stopped his allowance permanently. As he was walking, contemplating on his life, he passed by Aunty Dollars’ house.
“Rapunzel! Open the door!” she shouted with impatience.
The Prince was amazed when he saw the beautiful girl that opened the door for the crazy woman everyone in Lagos knew. More so, he couldn’t believe how lovely and long her hair was. It was so long, it actually reached to her knees!
“Haaaaay! Asanwa baby! Obianuju!” he exclaimed to himself. “Erichaamichaaka!”
The Igbo blood in him sang and in his head, he devised a method to make himself rich.
After weeks of monitoring Aunty Dollars’ movement, he knew when she left the town and that was when he decided to strike.
He crept to the side of the house and knocked.
“Rapunzel. Beautiful egg of Life. Open the door please.”
Rapunzel, shocked to hear the voice of a man got curious and opened the door. When the prince entered, he viewed the beautiful Rapunzel and fell at her feet.
“My goddess! Is your name Maggi nne? Because you’re looking spicy!”
Rapunzel blushed.
“To tell you the truth, nne m, if i die now, I want to come back to this world as the dress you’re wearing just to feel your skin on mine AsweartoGod!”
He licked his index finger and touched the ground.
“Stawpeeeet” Rapunzel gushed, flicking her hair.
“Egovine! Tomato Jos! Omalicha! Rapun Rapun! You have stolen my heart, Please take it but give me the change of your love baby!”
Rapunzel, having never been washed like dirty boxers before blushed and fell in love with the prince.
“Am I really spicy?” she asked shyly.
“Yes baby m! You are o! You’re finger lickin’! So beautiful! Oh can I have a piece of your beautiful hair? To remind me of you every day!”
Rapunzel drank the zobo of Life and like a mumu she agreed and the prince chopped off her hair.
The next day, the prince sold it off as Brazilian hair to his vain sister. He smiled as he counted the money.
“Nna mehn! Lekwa correct business!”
And thus, the hairomance continued.

Rapunzel being a part-time mammy-water grew back the hair in no time and seeing this, the prince decided to open a saloon.
When Aunty Dollars came back from her trip, she was shocked to find out about how badly her business was faring. She enquired and found out that the Prince had opened his own hair salon.
Baffled, she went home to contemplate.
Rapunzel being a mumu in love couldn’t help telling her mother about the prince. She told her mother how they had planned their wedding already.
“Mummy he said he will give me the world!”
“The prince? That useless Emeka boy? That Igbo riff raff?”
“Mummy he is so great and romantic! He asks for a piece of my hair as a token of my affection. He’s sewing a shirt for himself made out of my hair. How cute!”
“So he cuts your hair! That explains it! Ori e o da!”
Rapunzel was confused and asked he mother what she meant.
“Idiot! He is just using you! He has opened a hair salon with your stupid hair!”
Rapunzel was shocked and hurt.
“It can’t be!”

She waited for the next time the Prince would come and she confronted him.
“Where’s the shirt of hair you’re sewing darling?”
“Ah My Akwa Ugo! My tailor is a mad man o! He hasn’t finished!”
Rapunzel smiled sweetly, her eyes hard. “Let’s go meet his now.”
“Now?” The Prince became nervous and Rapunzel knew her mother was right.
With anger, she threw the Prince out of her room window and the prince died.
Rapunzel also found out about how her mother was using her too to make money and she blamed her for the Prince’s death. Everyone knew Aunty Dollars’ reputation as a witch and she was arrested for murder.
Rapunzel decided to go into business for herself.

The neighbor, seeing the resemblance between him and Rapunzel one day added 2 and 2 to make 5. His Math was bad but he knew she was his daughter. His wife already had to children from him, both girls.
He told Rapunzel about her parentage and after DNA test proved him as her father, she moved in with him and handed over her business to him.

He later died, and somehow, along the line, her name changed from Rapunzel to Cinderella.

If you get what I just did there…

The End.

——————————————————————–

Have a lovely week people!

Random Thoughts…


LOVE WAS…

Love was the first kiss we shared at the back of an empty 21 bus bound to Newington Green.
Love was the sparkle in your eye as our kiss broke and stared at each other anew.
Love was the fumbling fingers that almost dropped the ring when you formally made me yours.
Love was the tears when we found out we would never have children because I was barren.
Love was forgiveness when I found out you fathered a child outside home.
Love was the hand that fed you when you were ill.
Love was the hands that held yours when we found out you were going to die.
Love is the hands that is removing you off the Life Support machine.
Love would throw clumps of sand on your casket.
And Love would…
What would love do now?

THE INVOCATION

Hands raised high in anticipation;
Sharp inhaled and exhaled breaths,
Betraying my early frantic gyration.
It is time for you to come.
The Invocation of my Demon Brother.

MUSE

Muse sits down and crosses her legs, feet tapping inside my head.
‘It’s my turn! Pay attention to me’ she seems to say.
Quickly, I drop all I am doing and try to embrace her.
As a lost lover, or friend perhaps.
Her mocking laugh, jeers
As she turns into wisps of smoke.
I grasp at empty space.
Disappeared.

UFO

The journal said we were originated from Earth.
Earth.
We thought we came from Urai.
Urai lays abandoned now, in ashes.
We thought we came from Jyupi.
Jyupi is a wasteland, torn asunder.
But no, we are from Earth.
We are going back there.
My brother and I,
To destroy Earth.

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

Spur of the moment shenanigan.
Random is as random does.
Have a lovely weekend break.

Show Me


I ramble. You read.

SHOW ME

I wish I could see what you see; see what you saw.

I want to see what you wish you could  un-see; how deliciously defiling would it be?

Show me the good times, the bad times -especially the bad times- my pretty.

My mouth waters at the thought of your eyes brimming with tears.

I lick my lips at the thoughts of your eyes widened in horror.

Tell me! Show me!

I want to revel in the horror your eyes have feasted on.

Can I peel them back? Peel your eyes back and stare into them, I mean?

The eyes are windows to the soul.

I want to break your windows without a care in the world and crawl in like a thief.

Desecrate all you hold sacred; bring to light all you clench down tightly in the darkness.

I want to know what you had known; what you wish you didn’t know.

Don’t spare me, tell it all!

Can I lick your eyeballs?

Maybe…just maybe I could taste your memories.

I want to know.

I need to know.

Show me!

I do not care if remembering would break you down.

I do not care if it makes you scarred.

I do not care if remembering would DRIVE YOU MAD!

Or me mad?

Aren’t we all mad?

TELL ME!

SHOW ME!

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.

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…

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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!

Tell Me Your Dreams


First post of the New Year and it is going to be a random.
Sorry guys. Lol.
Restless (as usual), and hysteric.
I should say happy but ever been so happy you want to scream and cry and it becomes almost like a physical pain? Yup, that’s hysteria and that’s where I am now.
Also battling the oddest waves of chest pains that bring on panic attacks of me thinking I’m dying which in turn brings on my heart palpitation which according to Google, means I’m either suffering from anxiety, got kidney failure or I am a walking heart attack.
Yea, I pick anxiety, thank you.
Not writing this to bore you about my predicament (or have you worry. I am fine)
Just need to dampen my hysteria a little.

Tell me your dreams.
Literally.
I’ll tell you a few of mine. Of course, my bad dreams.
Feel free to interpret or psychoanalyse or fear for my sanity.
Lol.
This is me, opening a doorway into my mind.

I begin.
First dream that comes to mind right now is a crazy one that had an odd ending. I say odd, because I lost consciousness in the dream and in real life I suspect. And for the life of me, can’t figure out how it ended. I hit blanks when I try to remember.
They chased me. Six men. I ran but they chased and caught me.
They weren’t exactly men; creatures, lumbering creatures.
They took turns hitting me and tore my clothes into pieces. I screamed and screamed.
They held my arms and feet,dangling me in the air and the first thing got ready.
Once I saw him fumbling with his trousers, I knew what would happen.
Somehow, I forced myself to lose consciousness. Still cannot remember what happened from there. I cannot remember waking up after that dream.
So vivid and just at that spot, black.
Forcing myself to remember used to get me panicked and I’d have goosebumps so I stopped trying to remember.

Another disturbing one, I’d blame on my dabbling into the Occult.
Before you panic and say “Hey! Witches and Wizards!”, calm down.
Occult simply means hidden or secret knowledge.
I am a believer in the spiritual, the supernatural. I am curious so I always want to know.
What lies beyond this world. What we can’t see. But some things are called Secret for a reason.
Anyway, I have a lot of mystic, esoteric texts.
The infamous 6 and 7 Books of Moses (which is overrated in my opinion), Book of this and that.
I read these books. I wanted to know, not practice.
Wasn’t interested in summoning anything. I thought I was safe.
The dream.
I was at the door in the night and the Devil asked me to open up.
How do I know it was the devil? Because I was scared.
My body was shaking.
Pitch dark and swirls of red.
“Open the door” he said.
I couldn’t even pray. I couldn’t speak. I was cowering in a corner, teeth chattering, tears.
He spoke to me in my mothers voice; my brothers voice.
Even cried like a baby.
Open the door.
Then he pulled me.
I was getting up without meaning to.
I wasn’t in control of my body.
I was screaming incoherently as my hand reached the door. I kept screaming as I slid the bolt.
I woke up.
I woke in tears. My body shaking. Cold sweats. Covered my mouth to stop myself from screaming. Eyes wide.
Shook like a leaf for an hour our more.
Didn’t sleep for the rest of that night.
Terror.
Funny thing, I used to hear screams. Not asleep. In the day time. Busy with work and suddenly screams of tortured people. They spoke in different languages. Mostly Chinese and German.
Somehow, I understood what they were saying.
Save us! Save us!
This isn’t a dream.
Anyway, i quit with the books. Curiosity killed the cat.
Lol.

Mind reacting to that. Heart pounding fast.
Deep breaths.

Was gonna tell a third but meh. These two are enough.

Psychoanalyse me?
Tell me your dreams.

Day 30 -Senseless


Dionysus is here.
Enough said, if you know what i mean!

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SENSELESS

Everyone went to Monday like Shiva was elected the Goddess of Damascus.
Memorable it was, how the ocean washed away the roaches; the eagle left clutching at the sands of time.
My eyes opened to a beautiful nightmare as I imagined a big ball of light  taking me away from the grips of Scylla.
Faced with life, I exhale oxygen and breathe fire into Charybdis, Hephaestus is pleased.
The phone rang as the bemuda triangle showed us the circle of life, alas, unfettered by the restraints of freedom.
Call upon me he said, the lizard nodded its head as it laid eggs into the deep dark void.
Temptation sedates my curiosity; I solve it one at a time, twice amidst the erupting volcano.
As the drums whisper to me, it seems I am chasing the dragon; heavy clouds pour out their venom and stain the sky.
What sort of theft is this?
Stealing a young man’s sorrow is like throwing the wind to a pitcher.
Head spins and the chimpanzee cannot understand why Prometheus destroyed the clay.
If only he could make love to me, she said, I’m running at a blank as to why I cannot remember the last time that I forgot.
The sage said to embrace the embryo, forever eliminate the competition for the possibility of emancipation is the destruction of the biosphere.
As the fish tried to breathe on dry land, the water made fun of it while it choked.
Bathe me it said, Bathe me but what is a fisherman to do when he cannot sit on the sun and catch fish from the cloud when it rains?
200 miles per hour, it’s how fast I go in this traffic.
A paladin is not after me but I dived out of the plane only to land in a pool of breast milk.
First and foremost, the last thing she ever wanted to do was visit the moon with me.
The tears freeze my eyeballs and as I fall to the floor, they shatter.
Television was watching me and my channels started to change.
I was showing them how Abel killed Cain with cocaine.
So you tell me that you are unsure of not knowing but how can you feel what the feline says when it meows?
Is it not certain that the strength to pull Excalibur out compares not to the waterfall gushing out from a pleasured woman?
The toad hops in this strange miasma and the sun causes the stars to melt in broad daylight.
It’s like the pain is too pleasurable, tell me how I can unbear the pleasure.
If the cornflakes makes the chin chin jealous, how can it ever live to know the difference between sameness?
I know that you think that you do not know what I am not telling you but how can you be so certain?
—————————————————————————————-
If you read this from the beginning to the end and you’re like WTF did I just
read??? My Job is done!
————————————————–
LMAO!! Dionysus is a problem i swear! Why would chinchin be jealousing Cornflakes? LMAO!
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