Monthly Archives: October, 2016

Forbid her hurts…

It is soundless in this house, with the snores of my grandmother which propriety would beg of me to classify as gentle, coming from her room. I plead insomnia and the weather, but more is the story I cannot get out of my head. distaste is a short story that has haunted me throughout today, hounded because I cannot get my mind off this, so maybe I should talk about it.
There’s something going on in our world, a sort of game; boy meets girl. Boy likes girl. Girl doesn’t. Girl likes another boy who likes another girl instead and no one ever gets who they want.I play this game too, have been hurt in this game as well and everyone knows what’s happening but we cannot help our selves, because you cannot like what you cannot like. In distaste, a magical world collapses, a carefully constructed world where a woman, previously unnoticed and unwanted gets to bare her soul through little tales.Love makes us bold, can create a new personality,or maybe just makes what was hidden rise up, but perfection is suspect. We can only have minimal doses of it until someone or thing sends the shock through our spines.
I have decided that I am a classicist and not a romanticist. So I am a potential realist lover and maybe that means I will be a great,old spinster at fifty because who is willing to indulge my ‘ high tastes ? But even so, I understand what it means to connect with people, numerous people in ways that make me feel I have been understood and I am not alone in this world; soul mates exists. This is what happens to Miriam in this story who was encouraged by  Sarala to register on an online dating site. But those wonderful intelligent conversations that lit up her world were not from a man who for the first time made her feel romantically appealing, but from Sarala herself. Who knew that this woman who ate stale biscuits with her sad life as punching bag to a lousy husband could be so ingenious…
Lesbian love whether wrong or not is an attachment.Rejected as it was because of how ugly it had become  when acknowledged, creating a shift in the relationship between these two women is painful( from two equal women to one worshipping the other and not having that reciprocated).That feeling , no matter your thoughts about it, is not something that can be erased by the snap of the finger. It should be acknowledged and understood that the pain of having a ‘no’ slamed on the face is valid. And so, I felt hurt for both women. 
The more available things are, the less we acknowledge them. The more easily we devalue them and soon relegate them into nothingness and casualness. This can be observed when a lover has the other in his or her hand. Wishes became the significant other’s commands and soon,being taken for granted is the order of the day. This inevitably will happen in every relationship, and it is with tact and maturity that we extricate ourselves from such situations and  reduce eventual repetitions. The question, do men like coy women? Will you value a woman less if she goes straight for you when she likes you? Do you suddenly find it disgusting when you are praised and celebrated by people you were dying to notice you? All these is explored in this story.
This story has made me want to acknowledge every feeling, whether pure or immoral, and every obsession I have as valid enough and only then work towards removing myself from the ones I know will harm me eventually. But acknowledge them to myself is what I will do and if i trust enough, maybe I will talk about them publicly, because I don’t know how many hypocrites exist in our world who will never confess to having same sex attractions before, even when they have, but are ready to jump at others, curse them and desire their death.

Distaste here : read the story

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The tragedy of growth…

 And it comes with a pruning, grafting, destruction. In fact what comes with it is like a steam engine, fast, noisy sometimes; ruin,desolation and a change.Bent beneath many options and voices, like the ones that call us to be humble, to come down as it were from our horses, to see that all men are but dust and greatness or lack of it is lighter than air. Lighter than air. Yet, there is substance in us, because it is matter that has weight and can be deformed or formed into something else; a hybrid, a better you.

I am at loss many times on how to complement Christian forgetfulness with human development and improvements.What I mean is, in Christ we are found. we are something only in Him and outside of Him, as Zac Poonen likes to repeat, we are zero’s. Which means all our praises, possessions are not what define us and whatever we have was not meant to separate us from others, but to be used to uplift others, as a service, because more means responsibility, more servanthood terms and not a chance to become proud and separate. To cut out and form a clique. Yet, at the same time, there is a separateness between me and the ones unlike me; disinterested parties who do not share my hobbies, my amusements, and not just disinterested, but unable to; illiterate. How does one reconcile the commandment to love with a need to find one’s own tribe? does love of such people who are different from us mean we do not have to enjoy their company because they cannot offer us anything stimulating–stuff we are used to? and does this merely mean that love is not hurting people by intruding in ways that makes their survival difficult?

My questions spring from the way I have separated myself from people and how messages similar to Zac Poonen want to make me ashamed and guilty. It’s been a cycle. I usually ‘repent’ and later try to keep in touch with such persons and five minutes later, regret the decision, because in the end we do not match, and if truth be told, we irritate each other, or actually just me–I cannot stand their company even though I would rather that I could. Our conversations do not revolve around the same things. After confirming that they are fine and I am fine, I want to race off, because I know another five minutes of sustained interest is impossible. How then do we practice love and fellowship? Why does this always feel worlds apart? What do we do with people we try to avoid? polite smiles as we try to engage in naivety? How do we cope without being jerks and losing our consciences? Is this not the tragedy of growth?

Early musings…

Last year, I was shown some pictures of a well known photographer from my state and I don’t remember much of what I saw, but a story has stayed with me since then. This photo story was about a young woman in her mid twenties, an intelligent woman with interesting and witty answers, until she said that she liked watching Telemundo and that was her guilty pleasure. Telemundo has a reputation amongst sapiosexuals as a place where Iq’s come to play London bridge is falling down, and there is no resuscitation, so I was intrigued by this intelligent woman who felt unashamed for enjoying proudly what is seen to be trashy. That day changed my ideas about I felt should be follow ups in people. So many times I’ve seen people who I’d consider to be academic with tastes in music that feel like opposites and my curiosity has not led me to any answers but just a lingering fascination and in a way that has given me permission to be. To just be.

Many times, people wonder about how I switch from old lady mode to very naughty and unserious.The latter is really my favorite mode to be in. It’s like being bilingual, because sometimes I could be in one and at the same time, operating in the other mode on some level. I’ve tried for instance to be one of them for a while, but I always succeed in interrupting myself and have to accept that I am just a mix and do not want to be anything else. Cannot be. 

I’m beginning to enjoy the benefits of aging in a way I’ve never really before now.More because I have increased consciousness of what is happening, I think. I’m beginning to notice that variables can be constants and vice versa. The way I engage with my thoughts and ideas are different. One thing I am losing is intensity. This is something whose status I’m not really sure about; can’t say if it is positive or negative and how much. A hypothesis of mine is that this might be as a result of over exposure to same things. Just like billionaires in a room see nothing extraordinary in themselves, and peers in the same field, excelling at almost the same level understand each other’s brilliance without feeling as intimidated as someone outside that circle,or another one; celebrities who are separating from other, when the rest of the world are dying to buy the sand they’ve walked on and pay a lot to touch them ,this is the same way I am beginning to feel about about things as they continually become common place and ordinary. ‘Deep’ things like a girl staring in the distance from a window, a guy with tatoos and smoke coming from his lips,  an artist dancing with the expression of agony on the face, have lost their meaning to me. 

I had no new year resolutions and if I did, I do not remember them. One thing I know however is that the power of visualization is real. It’s worked for me and that’s one thing I will be using more often. It is as the word on faith, on believing what is not yet seen.There have been silent episodes of what I’d call my mischievous journey with God. Calling Him mischievous doesn’t feel proper, but I’ve had an experience this year where I could not control myself in an area, and this has nothing to do with self control for a sin with the conclusion that I probably don’t have the Holy spirit and that is why I have this problem. The thing is quite unique and I understand the lessons I am learning from it, about the way I interact with myself, with people and how it must be to wear other people’s shoes. Forgive the vagueness of this story…

If there’s anything I’ve learnt this year, it’s that there is a lot I don’t know. It’s that I am young. It’s that I can wear my heart on my sleeve. It’s that I have the ability to hurt people and it is also that I can accept that some people do not like me. This again is part of growing up and being able to let things slide..

No chill 

I am approaching middle age. 😂😂

At age 22.

Today, we finally installed the wood system( still can’t find the English equivalent for the radiator run on gas, so this is what I’ll call it) I peed in a cup( no, I am not drunk. I really typed this)as well as stayed hungry from morning( well I ate pieces of chicken and two tangerines) till just about two mins ago because the kitchen was occupied with all those work tools. Doesn’t explain the peeing in the cup, right? But at least the hunger explains why I sound a little high. I always do. I remember this hungry time when I went to obudu cattle ranch and ended up turning red towards the evening because everything was hilarious by then. Dehydrated and very high. Hungry high. This is not to mean that whatever I am about to say is unimportant  or anything similar. Well, I’ve been planning this particular blog post since yesterday and seeing I’ve had a slice of bread, I can finally give that pep talk, so grab your seatbelts and look for billy. Billy, my goat. Or read the next paragraph.

I am tired, tired of my newsfeed. So tired I could delete people. In warri style way, but I still remain a pacifist. I think I am one of the few who find it irritating the situation with the Nigerian president. Not the president, but the people. For one time in my entire political career(amen), I feel like holding a placard with #I stand with Buhari. I stand with Aisha and I stand with Buhari, and you heard me right. Unfriend me. Beware of me lol. Let’s get serious.

It is no longer news, I believe that I have unfollowed about 80 percent of my Facebook friends, which leaves about twenty people I read from( don’t take me figures literally) and the rest are pages I check often and this is how I found out that recently, the President of Nigeria made a comment to Angela Merkel, a clapback of some sorts after Aisha Buhari said she might not be campaigning for and with him in the next election. The president said his wife belonged in his living room, his kitchen and bedroom and before you could blink ,ette and mma feminists took this matter up their wrappers. To say I’m annoyed is like putting a moustache on my face and asking me to smile. Actually I am enraged and seeing I and Raheem have been discussing demon possession a lot lately, you might think…

Okay! Back to the matter at hand.First, I have no problem with what mister president said. I really can’t fake that I can see anything misogynistic in his comments. It is very convenient for offended Nigerians to ignore that he said living room and ‘ the other rooms and pick on the kitchen. And no one is pointing out this conditioned bias? Someone said to me that the idea that Aisha has to even belong to a room is offensive. Now that is a valid point I could take into consideration. If we are okay with her belonging to the other rooms and weirdly uncomfortable about the one room; the kitchen, the we are not as honest as we claim to be. 

Today there was a follow up video where the president said he meant what he said in the previous video thereby disappointing Nigerians who felt it was a joke.He said his wife is supposed to take care of him and somehow this has become a bad thing to say. Again, it was very convenient that the journalist did not ask the president if he thinks his function as husband includes taking care of his wife(It is very obvious of course that he is taking care of her and his children whether through legal or corrupt means but these people want a terrible context to find fault in his words) but no, that was left out so we could have a pseudo tragic moment of reflection after watching the video.
For people to want to claim that this man has disregard for his wife is fueled for the need to make their ideas relevant; feminism and the rest, ignoring the interesting facts that this is a Muslim woman who felt comfortable enough to be too revealing about her husband to an extent of almost being antagonistic. Is this behavior of a woman who is being enslaved by kitchen ideology? Does her knowledge of the inner circle of her husbands politics not show that there is intimacy in this relationship. And no, I am not trying to do thatanalysis or claim I know anything about how they really relate with each other but I feel it’s very unfair to turn a blind eye to visible things about this family. Why are we ignoring so many things that classify as nuances; the man’s age, upbringing, hers, pettiness, religion. Really though, are we all going to deny that the religious culture of this man has groomed him to be a man who feels his wife should be his support in ways that again his religion has propagated. This woman is not an oppressed or suppressed woman.Why have people resorted to calling his way of talking slow and imbecilic? Really? Okay, let me say it now, I like how buhari talks. I like how northerners speak. If your only hope to make an argument is to insult the bodily functions and characteristics of a man, you need serious help.

P.S. I am a feminist but I am sick of seeing how everything turns into a feminist debate. Everything is scrutinized in ways that the range of topics for new discussions is almost nonexistent.

So I hear that some people will unfriend each other because they cannot help disagreeing on this matter, and so on. Like Chimananda who most probably would not agree with my ideas on this Buhari issue says regularly, so will I. I am not interested in being liked or disliked because of my ideas on things . If you have a counter argument, share it, but I think I am coming to terms with knowing that one day you might drop low on someone’s scale of reasonable people and maybe this day is my day on yours, but if relationships have to be sustained by such fickle things, then I am disgusted and would rather not waste my energy on someone or people who would easily turn someone off without giving a sound counter argument. And you are not the most important person on earth, neither am I, but the most important person liked me and He likes you too and that’s fine enough for me , so agree or not, but there it is.

To the sting of death…

For you my rainbow

I called you my rainbow

You were my promise of sunshine

My chocolate

A bond between a mother and daughter

To the conversations we will never have

To the changes in my face and body you’ll never see

To the years I might live longer without you than with you

Grief cannot be explained

Reopened wounds have no end

Reoccurring like a cycle

To the surprises only your milky skin could give

Those hugs, unplanned gifts

My love

The only real love of my life

To the tears I cry

The ones unplanned for

The ones I cry this night

My angel

My mum..

To one more day without you

To days I will survive still.

Dedicating this poem to Nonso who just recently lost his sister. Everyone grieves differently, I know, but maybe it helps to know someone else understands just what you mean when everywhere you look, you find something to remind you of a lost, loved one. Comfort and healing is what we pray for. 

From your daughter…

And Father…

In Douglas reynholm’s voice

It’s not arbitrary is it

The choice to make me

Because sometimes it feels like

A lot like being a misfit

Wrong place, wrong time

A mound of talents

But so many wooden fences

And it’s nice, father

That it’s easy for others

Really nice when success is thrown in her face all day long

And all she wishes for is a break

To not breathe 

It would be easy. Just one day and inhale, exhale not

None of that happens.

And I know this is privilege talking

Privileges she can’t see

Because all that’s close is just what she could have been

So close..

So bloody close..

Now sitting to mock her

What to do, what to do?

She wrings her hands.

Just place me right.

Tired of being a misfit.

Father. In Douglas reynholm’s voice

On black women and black happenings…

  I am an angry black woman. Yesterday, few minutes before I finally slept, I watched this tedx video of Suezette Robothan on being her authentic self at work. Suezette is a black woman who looks really great in red and her hair was lovely, couldn’t take my eyes off her. She said that she felt frustrated when she had to ” cover” , a term she used for moments when she found herself agreeing with people she would not agree with  if she were her natural, authentic self—without needful deference and related inconveniences.Relating this to what I really want to draw attention to—authenticity is great, so watch the video, but Suezette made a specific observation which I’d like to focus on;whenever her white colleagues would disagree with and articulate bravely their strong opinions , this would be seen as normal, but whenever she did, she immediately fell into the category of black, angry woman.

I believe stereotypes earned their places and were not the result of artificial social construction. The black, angry female does exist, and her popularity is not the result of spiteful, white circulation. True,that can and has been a factor, but she has earned her reputation by being just that. many times. Fine, there can be the argument that she is not like this by default, but has been pushed into being who she is because of constraints placed upon her; anger against racism, living with her abusive black husband—sometimes transferred aggression on his part, and many disappointments from children, broken dreams, really, it could be anything. My point is she exists and unfortunately the numbers of such women  seemed and maybe still seem to be higher than the white, angry female, and further, than the soft spoken black woman, hence the stereotype. This should not be seen in anyway to negate the usefulness of stereotypes, just an idea on how they work.

Few days ago, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, author of many books like half of a yellow Sun and americanah, recently gave an interview explaining her silence over the song flawless, by Beyoncé. I have ceased being a fan of Beyoncé music, not because I don’t think she has an excellent voice range and can hit those high notes without autotune. The woman is a beauty with perfect symmetry, but still, her songs stopped being what I look up to songs to be; uplifting, new, strange but interesting, and let’s take a break with sexiness, please. Beyonce is very much sex goddess, sex inspired, sex propangandist and I was very disappointed( no exaggeration) here, when the voice of Chimamanda was used to promote feminist ideas in that song. I was confused. I share the sentiments of people who say they are not buying the throwing in of popular ideas into her music to make them authentic. I don’t believe using the voice of a feminist writer, lining up popular female achievers in one’s music video makes it more feminist if in the end they are all shaking their bums and aligning their bodies to give the other idea; man dominate and be enticed by me and ultimately, have sex with me. Chimamanda said her feminism is different from Beyoncé’s:

Still, [Beyoncé’s] type of feminism is not mine, as it is the kind that, at the same time, gives quite a lot of space to the necessity of men. I think men are lovely, but I don’t think that women should relate everything they do to men: did he hurt me, do I forgive him, did he put a ring on my finger?
And the internet went wild. Bella naija style. I think people complaining of this being a shade and an example of a black woman trying to bring down another one are obsessed with color and do not know Chimamanda’s way of talking.I think it is a pity that people would complain about her giving others advice on how to be feminists and point out that she is happily married, again reinforcing the idea that in the end, our arguments lie with what we are doing with men, how we are treating them and if we are good to men. The woman is known to be blunt, call her cocky if you wish, arrogant because she states her mind clearly without being pretentious. A very open kind of honesty we are not yet prepared to deal. Even I will confess that I am sometimes not prepared for her bluntness, but I have chosen to value the input of this imperfect woman who I know I will disagree with but more often than not, should agree with. My only hanging question is ‘ why give permission for your voice to be used, if you did not agree with the person’s views on a topic you are well known for?’

Toke Makinwa recently gave ‘interesting’ advice on her vlog, directing most parts to young people below the age of 25. It is Toke’s desire that we do not take life too seriously. Her list of words that would describe this not taking of life seriously included: party for days, kiss a stranger, have a one night stand, live off your parents, get a tattoo.

One moment of silence. In Nigeria?! Kilode?

I like Toke’s personality, and I have admired her from the first time I saw her on moments with mo, and after her divorce. Toke appeared to be strong and sensible that this recent advice sets me off, going eh ehn. It would have been nderstandable if her message was the don’t kill yourself slogan or the take it easy type, but her choice of words are unwise. I am 22, and on the other non- Toke Makinwa’s hand, I hear and read about amazing and responsible things people my age are doing, getting more degrees, jobs, inventing things, revolutionizing the world. As much as this last message from Toke would be great for me as a slackness approval, I feel it would do me no good. So, again, I was disappointed.

I am offended. For the first time in a long while the desire to call humans stupid was very high. I recently stumbled on Dr. Stella Nyanzi’s fb post on facebook, about the fourth gay pride that would be taking place in Uganda. Stella shocks me but Stella is a force to be reckoned with. I do not follow her though because I don’t want to, but the post caught my attention and I decided to read the comments and they were horrible.many humans are finding it difficult to reject the idea of homosexuality without demonizing the individual or to put it plainly, without wanting to kill. This for the first time infuriated me. Take Bobrisky, the Nigerian male barbie. A certain warri human made a video threatening to beat Bobrisky if he ever sets foot in Warri. In a better country, this human should be arrested. Like look at you! How many sins have you been beaten for! Bobrisky is an intelligent beauty specialist and I feel angry at how his humanity is being peddled for entertainment value. I think this is what causes religious people like me to ‘defect’ and be seen as fighting for gay rights when we do not actively support their activities. Right now, I am concerned about the safety of these people from rabid humans in our countries.

Teaspoons of disillusionment…

  These few days already, I’ve had some people point out to me that I’ve been behaving strangely, that my tone has been cold and I sound serious as  ahem*. I have been curt, disinterested many times, gracefully ennui :). Sometimes I think my short hair is to blame for it . Echo Samson.Other times the weather, and yet still is the school work I have to read up. This semester I will be studying lexicology more indepthly, translation will be taken more seriously as well as the literature of the romanticists. So, what has been in my head has been words, lots of them, dissecting words, and sounds. I have gone back to listening to BBC radio four, the woman’s hour because of the comfy way I feel listening to their voices and again, it’s really about women. I used to pick the heart and soul as my choice then when I had the podcast app, but I don’t want to go so deep into the religious topics anymore, so women’s hour is it for me now. And that’s how I found kizzy Crawford whom I’ve been playing on repeat now.

My relationship with music too has changed the way I feel faster than anything and it’s complicated the way I switch from one style and genre to the next, without cleansing my taste buds, so you can imagine how strangely chaotic it is with my moods. Strangely chaotic because …lol I don’t know why I used those words.

Why is this blog post titled disillusionment? I think it’s because somewhere inside me I feel disillusioned about things that I cannot articulate right now and maybe because I have been spending most of my in between reading time and watching short clips and reading quotes on thinking about how anything we pay too much attention to becomes something that has control over us. We become a slave to it, as Paul would say. I read somewhere that you should not give anyone the power, not even you, to make yourself feel small, less than you really are. More quotes include that you are enough and so enough, you have no idea just how much you are enough to yourself. This is not how the quote read, just paraphrasing and it doesn’t sound like standard English. Which makes me think of  the speech topic I have to prepare on whether we should encourage English as a lingua franca or people should be made to speak (strictly) standard English…

The post does not talk about disillusionment one bit 😅:)..you would think I’m conversing with my alter. Wait till Raheem reads this? Lol

Goodnight.

Broken blues…

   I am mixed race and even though it is one of those things about me that I sometimes doubt the authenticity, because all I think I am is a nerd, and nerd is not a race. Surely not. But one of the things about being partly Nigerian and being raised there up to my late teens is that I had my own share of Nigeria, and this is very broad and diverse when you really think of it. Nigeria is home to multiple ethnic groups, we wonder why we should not become smaller, separate countries. One thing you cannot avoid in Nigeria is the ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child’ revolutionary idea that has spread across the Nigerian educational system, and not only that, but homes and again, not only in Nigeria, but all over the wolrd. Depending on how you read the line that can be found in the Bible, your ideas could be demure ,based on conversationalism, and helping to teach your child to see the consequences to his or her actions without the use of force or violence or it could be first grade spanking, bordering on child abuse.

As a teacher in training who has had some experience with teaching and whose mother was deep in the educational system, this topic interests me, because as much as I want to follow my Bible and as much as I now currently understand that Bible interpretation should not be understood in a cultural void, this recent post by HONY made me reconsider or at least focus more on what my ideas are on this topic and I can say that I am not in support of any kind of physical exertion on a child. I had to look back on my own childhood to see if indeed spanking helped to make me a better child, and to be honest, it did not. As a child, my parents frequently talked to me when I did something wrong. The few times my mother used a ruler on my knuckles did not make me a better person. The one time my father used a belt on me when i was about five and regretted  did not make me a more obedient child. If I remember correctly, my mother whom I had offended that day(can’t remember what I did) ended up having a miserable day dealing with the scars on my skin and my dad did not have the time of his life either. He never touched me since that day with as much as a ruler.

Now the logic is that spanking does not harm and this new generation are blowing things out of proportion, and that if a child is out of line, we should hit it with just a little tap here and there. It sounds harmless until you consider why you would not use this method on a grown adult. As someone commented there, following previous logic, when justifying spanking, we say things like this was just something that made me stop being naughty and it is nothing close to abuse. If it was abuse, then that would have been a different game entirely. Now say that about a wife. I only spank my wife when she does not obey me , nothing serious, just a little one here and there, nothing like her ex husband who took off her teeth with his blows. Does this sit well with you?

One of the regrets I have about schooling in Nigeria is the fear I felt during various classes, where the flash of a cane was enough to make me forget what it was I was supposed to be learning even though I was top of the class. Very few teachers dared to touch me because I reported all of them and my mother would not take it. My classmates knew me as the one who could keep no secrets and who would not be loyal to anyone. I was a Justice freak and helped to get one or two teachers sacked. Yea, confessions of a tell-tale. This way of running a classroom really stunts feedback and interaction between students. It always gives a North Korean aura to a classroom, whereas learning is supposed to occur in an environment that is ready to accept your flaws and help you develop and not make you a sneaky lizard.

 

Lights out…

My nails were painted in the color of this car

Untold the mysteries, of how many steps it would take to reach that point when it would no longer be needed. Please, wake up, I need to use the torch. Can you please give it to me? And night after night, because of the electricity problem, in the dark, where the loudspeakers were a noisy kind of protection, but better than gunshots anyway. Noisy, but much better than gunshots, she stood, walked those steps with sleep still cruising through her eyes. Innocent little steps, but the one who counted the number of hairs on her head knew just how many she would need to walk before the end came. When she would no longer need to touch the body of the woman sleeping close to her, snoring, but there.Present.

Talk to me, talk to me, let me in..Y’akoto

Yaga ye yeah…

For when you need to worship. For when it’s hard to not fall down and worship the mind of someone. For when you need to focus on the good life, na na..

But I imagine you calm and solo. Riding this thing solo? They broke up, not sure which of them, but it’s familiar; the solo thing.And girl, you’ll be sniffling and feeling all balanced and permanent. Sturdy. Sturdy, but when I think sturdy, I think legs. Calves to be precise. Not the kind I had in mind. Not that strong, or farmerly, but just sturdy, like immovable. Not easily swayed by the wind.

This is the south.Welcome to the South. Here, we wear our sunhats and we smile. We smile and the cotton fields just look lazy.Retro for the cameras. Retro for me and you. If I was a child, I’d give anything to see my father dance with my mother again…

Then, I sat down close to the second window and I drew. I used to draw with watercolors and poster colors with a radio close by. 90’s kid. I was the real deal. But steps. One step, two steps, three steps, and you don’t count. You don’t think it’s important to count steps. Very dull activity, this step counting of a thing. But they are important, for the one who knows the future has them recorded. Life alters itself suddenly, but if you’re like me, you know it didn’t just happen like that. It was step by step, one unnoticeable step after the other and lights out.

Ain’t nobody watching me?

I heard the man in the sky, he fell asleep?

Nope. 

I said my prayers.I said my prayers, charley. Charley,darling, lol.

Blessed.