The Janusaneni Guide to know if you have found the LOYL

When I picked up my laptop this afternoon, it was to type something, anything. Just have my fingers play on the keyboard. You see, unlike last year when I practically lived my life behind a laptop screen averaging something like 80-100 words a minute while watching TV, since this year and my new job which only requires I handwrite descriptions, type the occasional email and spend the rest of the time relating verbally while reclining in ergonomic seats, I have not had to type as much. As such my belly has gotten flabby(-ier) and my fingers now make mistakes with every sentence, even though I am staring at the keyboard as I type. Smh. Thus I needed to write something, anything at all and it was not so difficult to find the right topic. Continue reading “The Janusaneni Guide to know if you have found the LOYL”

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Why Writers should wear lab coats

I was thinking on my way from church this afternoon. It was one of those deeply introspective moments where you are staring out the taxi window at the passing gala and La casera hawkers while your stomach roils with ASH.

ASH (ay-sh) (abbreviation)

meaning: After Service Hunger. The mysterious hunger known to afflict churchgoers every Sunday immediately after service. eg. Omo na to go Bola house go chop after service o! This ASH no be here

Continue reading “Why Writers should wear lab coats”

The Four things to do when Y.A.C.B.F.A.B.H

There must have been fifteen different alternate beginnings for this post before I finally went “Simbelah it!” and typed this one anyway. It’s been an irregular past couple of years on this blog and too naturally a lot of the regular readers have fled (ja lo sibe?). As you might imagine, I spent a lot of time this evening thinking of possible posts I could drop here that will bring my readers back.

So I checked my drafts.

posts for blog.png
Nothing really stood out for me…

 

Continue reading “The Four things to do when Y.A.C.B.F.A.B.H”

Changing for Enore 01

The reflection holds power over the actual. Breaking the habit is more about what is given back to you than about what you do to destroy it. The luckiest thing that would happen to you is finding that person who would reflect a different image and thus give you the chance to break away.

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The first time is never the last time

turning and cycling,

a revolving door fitted in with mirrors,

the same event reoccurring in rapid successions of

mobile static reflections.

Continue reading “Changing for Enore 01”

So, who’s the rant king now?

 

So, I held a pen last night and didn’t stop scribbling till I slept off. NB: This was after the lamp I was using had died. If this piece ends abruptly, it is because I cannot read most of what is at the end and I am afraid I cannot get back into the same zone as I was last night to complete in one breath. If this piece does not end abruptly however, then I confess, you are most loyal of all readers and probably more brilliant than I.

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“How far have you fallen? How far have you fallen,” the wingless bird muttered to the wizened tortoise squatted above him. “It’s easy sitting there pretending to be sagacious when you haven’t felt any pain. Not the pain of loss or incompetence”

The tortoise stared back, her lined face expressionless in the gathering gloom of the forest dusk. Then she turned away and ambled out of the grove and through copse of trees for the rocky cliffs beyond. The bird stared, wet eyes glazing over as they strained to focus through a haze of pain. As the mist came down upon his eyes, washing on both sides in the same hue as the spreading blood around its form, he saw at the end of his tunneled vision, a hunched back figure striding to the cliff’s edge to plunge over to the rocky bottom.

Continue reading “So, who’s the rant king now?”

30th May, 2014

I wrote the first half of this post almost a year ago, and I stumbled upon it a couple of days ago, and what I read touched me in some way, revealing answers to questions I was currently asking myself. I hope it does the same for you.

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30th May, 2014

“Do you stop because it seems futile or do you give up? Half of the time you ought to consider your actions before you perform them, the other half the time, you just act. In recent times, I think I have been doing too much of doing, there has been no real action. For every ten or twenty movements, only two or three have been by my will. The rest occurring as if one kind of tidal flow, with the events and scenarios and me; I have just been moving. No thoughts as to why or the end. Or perhaps some thought, but nearly enough.

Continue reading “30th May, 2014”

Butterfly

Tears are not enough
What did you assume, little fool?
You think your spine is curved for no reason?
Wailing will profit nothing
sobbing and weeping will not suffice.
As your eyes can never empty
the curve will never straighten.
Embrace the wet dust
then you’ve only just begun.
If mucus were wine
surely you’d be drunk.
Keep at it, furrow your brows
Calluses and scars
Blood and sweat
Wrinkles and age
These be the only propitiations you can make
Because tears will never be enough.

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Every time I am under duress, my already small voice becomes smaller, fading away with each blow life or the devil delivers, until my mouth produces squeaks barely audible to whichever perplexed person is listening and I eventually become mute as I stop talking altogether and become wrapped in my misery.
I like to think that I am not a lazy person but sometimes when challenges come, my first reaction is to stop and let the lamentations spill through my eyes, like a few days ago when I was just celebrating a successful August and looking to shock myself and colleagues by steadily climbing higher this September, and then all of a sudden, a brick wall just sprang up in front of me, right in the face of my joy. I hate that I cry at these times. I hate the weak feel it gives and the frail person it projects me as but try as I may (and have in past times to no avail), my frown always gives way to salty leaks.
Ironically, I feel better after a good cry. So much better that only after tearing up can I function normally again. Only after sobbing and thinking of how the universe is against me am I usually more alert, as I am now, barricading my feelings and emotions, preparing to wave off future blows.
My smiles these days are more from self-pity. I keep comparing myself to friends that have achieved what I am still dreaming of but I find that I am being ungrateful. There are thousands in this country that will be happy to have even half of what I own so I try to replace my stupid self-pity smile with one of gratitude and hope.
I’ll keep pressing forward, bending my back to the full glare of the sun with SZA’s Omega and Sia’s Titanium sending me to sleep when it has set.
Lol.
Look at me talking like I have a choice.

Shalom.