A reason, sort of

When I first began blogging (feels so good to say that, like I've been at it for ages instead of a lousy four months) I had visions of having a wide, diverse readership, of writing such powerful, thought-provoking pieces, influenceing the world with my ideas and ideals, providing a forum for the misdirected, uninspired louts from whose ranks I had risen, to be heard everywhere around the globe...(well, apparently, that ain't happening) But I did want to be able to write all the things that happen to me on a daily basis. It's such a damn shame to see that even doing that has been impossible for me. Not becasue of discipline problems, no. the main reason is me. Me being who I am. Everytime I post a new entry I rock some boat. Some boat in which I'm in, though I don't know in what capacity (sometimes I'm the coxswain, sometimes just a passenger happy to be along for the ride) . Thing is, I'm many things to many people, and even more dangerous, I'm the same thing to quite a number of people and that gets me in trouble a lot. For this reason I have refrained as much as possible from using specific names except where it is absolutely impossible not to. And I've left the juicer aspects of my life to comment on mundane subjects totally unrelated to my daily life.

I guess I just have to be stronger (and that, frankly, is not one of my, er, strong points). I've been a successful dodger much of my life. Facing challenges cause me physical pain. And I don't like pain. Mainly because it hurts.

Well gotta go now. (I can imagine the number of text messages I'm going to recieve for this)

the pen is mightier

you want commitment

take a look into these eyes...

do they promise
only Hurt
and Hate
and Lies?

do they tell you
that your Pain will be supreme
do they make you afraid
to dare
to dream?

I do not need to say
"I love you"
because I do

or that I want to be with you
because you know that too

I chronicle my feelings for you
before we drift apart
when I cannot speak my mind
I write my heart...

don't ask
what I cannot yet afford
don't pre-empt
my pen
is
mightier
than your Word

Broken Resolution

I got to work early this morning with a burning resolution - I'm not going to do anything frivolous today, I'll meet all my deadlines, go through every damn document I'm supposed to, make the necessary comments and recommendations I'm supposed to, meet with clients without procastination on my part and definitely, most definitely and importantly, not go online to do any of the following: blog, chat, check my gmail for mails from overeager young girls, look through Hi5 or facebook or google such alphabet combinations as xxx in the hope of hitting on something mildly erotic.
It gives me so much grief to report that it didn't take long for me to jettison these very noble ideals. What really happened was the internet icon was blinking when I turned on my computer signalling extraordinarily fast connection. It took me all of 2 minutes to throw aside the Vessel Charter Agreement I had piously decided to study and buzz about 5,6,7,8,9 friends on messenger. Annoyingly they buzzed back. And then it begun.
Now I'm usually not this fickle. I usually make a resolution and stand by it without fear or favour, whatever the consequences and all that. But these days it's getting more difficult. It's something, I guess, to do with my compulsive consumption. I can't seem to get enough of what I take a fancy to. Which, these days, have become alarmingly numerous, and not proportionate to my available resources. So now I'm in all sorts of trouble - financial trouble, relationalship trouble, physical trouble, everything. For a normally well adjusted individual its driving me up the wall.
But I shouldnt bore you with my misadventures. It seems thats all I ever do.
Lemme get back to my er...work.

Half Drunk

My friend, Tolu (will tell you about him later) took me out after work yesterday where he proceeded to fill me up with Guinness. He insisted on me drinking despite my heated protestations. I hadn't had anyhting to eat all day and everything went straight to my head. I sauntered home at past 11pm, barely alive. This was the outcome...

TIPSY

This is me –
All muscled and strong
Conquering the Earth
And traveling beyond
This is me –
A knight in the wild
Rescuing from dragons
A lady and child
This is me –
The pretty girl arises
He looks in her eyes
And soon realizes
It’s Nia Long
She holds out her hand…
This is me –
A part of the band
Singing the songs
The rolling stones sang
This is me –
Star of the game
The soccer crowd cheers
Screaming my name…

The strong muscled traveler
At night in the wild
Rolls the stone
Off the pretty girl child
` a part of the band
who conquered the Earth
screaming the name
for all she is worth…

this is me –
warm and tipsy
dozing in front
of cable T.V.

Writer's Block

The real reason I haven’t blogged in a while (save our recurrent internet problems at work) is cos lately I haven’t had much to say. Or maybe what I mean is, I have got things to say but I don’t know how to go about saying them. A million or so times in the past week I’ve opened up this page and started to type something, then watched in hopeless confusion as my words became inadequate, my expressions clumsy and my meanings fuzzy. Typically, at this moment I’d lean back in my chair and take a deep breath, humming the tune from Aaliyah’s Try Again. Then I’d sit forward and plonk on the keyboard in a cool manner suggestive of self confidence and the assurance that I’d conquer anything I undertook (it’s a trick I learnt from one of those meditation books, one by a certain fellow Mahitri Jan or something like that). With a smirk on my face I’d recline again and study the huge amount of type on my screen. My response to the results at this point was almost always the same – I’d blanch. Almost collapsing I’d stare in pure horror and total terror at the gibberish I’d written. Besides the worst examples of spelling mistakes and grammatical errors, the text was usually peppered with overused clichés and plain, incontinent reasoning. Urgency overtaking my senses (and the lessons of Mahitri Jan) I’d rush the keyboard again, typing feverishly in an effort to drum up the Muse. But by then it was too late. My head already felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool and my tongue felt thick and heavy.
Sinking into instant, readily available depression I’d bite my nails and claw at my head.
It’s a wonder I haven been fired yet as these incidents have been occurring with maddening frequency. My colleagues still haven’t got used to my sudden splurges of near insanity. I console that these are the travails of a not-so-young writer trying to cut his teeth (and nails and hair) on cutting edge prose (and the office console). My paranoia comes only when I fail to express myself the way I want, or say things different from the way I intended them to come out. Which, oddly, I’m kinda feeling like now. Hmm.

Well here (hair) goes the bite-the-nails-and-claw-the-head routine…

My weekend

I'm getting weary of events and occassions. A few weeks ago it was my birthday. I'm still reeling from the after efffects of that, and then comes my mom's birthday AND my uncles's wedding on the same day. Needless to say, it was a daunting prospect I faced as I gravitated towards Ibadan that Friday morning, like almost all my family - matrilineal, patrilineal, extended, distended and all that. I had a major part to play in both events. For my uncle I was the Bestman(thank you, thank you, thank you, you're far too kind) and for my mom...well, she's my mom so I guess the obligations are more obvious. I didnt know whether or not I'd live up to expectations. To be frank I didnt even know what those expectations were. I had a vague idea -

BESTMAN: stands behind the groom all through the ceremony mimicking him ridiculously and swatting flies off his head.
SON OF BIRTHDAY MOM: Call mom very early in the morning and make cooing sounds.

I implemented both with as much aplomp as I could muster. My uncle's wedding was by far the more spectacular, with dancing bridesmaids and sexy guests. I was trapped though. For the most part staring at the back of my uncle's head and wondering what my friends (circa, Deolu, Eroms etc) were up to. I for one, was totally inactive throughout the entire weekend. I didn't get a single phone number. The girls I spoke to didn't seem to be favourably disposed to me and I inevitably found myself conversing with species with a preponderance of pheromone.

Lemme get back to this post. I'm losing my thred of thought.