Thursday, 23 December 2010

Musings. December 23, 2010. 4:11 am

So like I'm sitting on my bed earphones blasting, I haven’t slept all night, I feel so fucking proud and tired. I feel like not going anywhere, write the day away, chat with the wifey for a long time and a few other of my kind, go and have breakkie somewhere new and keep it moving. But I'm glad I went out yesterday, I needed the fresh air, I needed the sunlight. The sunlight always suits me.

My kind, those words always make me laugh, I mean, I don't feel any different. You breathe, I breathe, but a long time ago I learned that I was different, people always told me, said there's something about me, but nah, nah, there's something about you. I'm just me, what else is there to be? What you pick up on is originality. That's all. And a bit of random craziness.

Christmas is here. At this point in my life, it's honestly either, be normal, or get famous. I’m trying to finish school. Will my parents be happy when I’m done? Will they smile with an underlying glee at finally birthing a beautifully unhappy educated version of me? Will I finally like myself when I graduate?

It’s crazy how things are so wrong for me, and still, I smile. I have nowhere to go, I’m living like a vagabond, but still I feel so loved. So at peace. So calm. Someone told me yesterday, that when I break, she won’t be overly jealous of the person who would take the piss. I finally finished my screen play yesterday. I feel like there’s so much I need to bestow unto this world and the next generation.

Like maybe become a shrink?

Maybe, I’m so zen because I’m bored? But not in that 'I have nothing to do but lay here and be aimless' type of bored, nor that 'I'm so rich, I've seen everything, nothing entertains' sordid type of way either. I’m was bored with people, such an interesting strain of boredom, when you are such a n internet junkie like me, you see such measures of humanity that somewhere down the line nothing surprises you any more, you neither hate or love, you just observe, you just watch. Get?

And so an idea occurred to me. Why not entertain myself. Look for old music. Or share my journal with the world?

I've dealt with a lot of people, who see my face and stature and forget that I could possibly have a soul, I'm really short and small I know, it took years to realize this, to grow into this, I'm still growing, ever changing, ever vast but I've found that the more I learn about myself within the more it reflects in the aesthetics of my world. It discourages though, to have your intellect and your soul thrown out so quickly to make way for something as basic as your appearance. It hurts more than anything else, but then I have to understand, really and truly that they way they think does not affect me, it only condemns them, the power of underestimation is very strong. I just want to learn. This concept is lost on so many, when I'm quiet and I just watch, I am learning, I am understanding, you can learn so much from a human being within a simple span of 5 minutes, their mannerisms say so much, the subtle changes of facial muscles, the tweaks of an eye, the hints of a smile, the tone of voice, the gait in their walk, learn and understand the habits of your people, see truth, see lies, see all and understand.

I'm actually quite reclusive, I haven’t been around this world so much, and during most of my travels I have been with my parents, so this solitude is new to me, I want it to be in fact, the daily norm in my life. I’d flourish in it. I don't club as much anymore, I don't like to club here, I'd rather, sit, chill, smoke and learn. I hope that won't be a problem, and if it is, you're simply a victim.

During my thoughts in assessing those around me I find myself asking "What Would Kanye Do? I dunno why I’m becoming so obsessed with taking musicians whom I never really liked before, dissecting them and trying to find out why they act the way they do. Kanye. WizKid? Tomorrow I might do something destructive, but then again I might learn something beautiful, it all depends on how you see the world. Are you a glass empty or glass full type of person?

I'm the second choice, I never understood the glass empty point of view, I mean, did you make the glass? Or the contents? Who are you to discourage its existence? Who are you to say what is and what is not enough? You are not the architect of this universe, who are you to be so morose about a piece of this world you had no part in creating?

There is beauty in everything. Everything. Even me.

I’m going to share my journal with the world. Watch Out. Its, Me Who Knows You So Well.

Let's Just Touch The Sky For A Bit. The Sequel.

She woke up without opening her eyes.

The streaming light played on her eyelids. Softly. She felt her legs twitch. Her thighs, itch. Still, eyes closed, she turned her eyes away from the steady flow of light, not expecting to see him lying beside her. She smiled silently as she remembered last night. The ache in her thighs seemed to reach her temples, as the pounding in her head seemed to lessen with the intensity of the rising sun. Little rivulets of moisture escaped her eyes as she tried to open her eyes and get up from the bed. She wondered where he was.

Her own thoughts seemed to clash and confuse her. Squinting, she stood up, picked out a hooded top with the words “PUNK” emblazoned across the chest and rolled up. She needed to calm down. She thought of wearing shorts but decided against it.

He sauntered into the room with a cup of steaming whatever in his hand. Obviously amused by her appearance, he smiled a weak smile.

“You shouldn’t smoke so much.”

Her fingers stilled over her blunt for a moment, measuring the right things to say so as not to offend. The truth was always hard to swallow. She felt blind sided, but the truth remained. There was no truth to be made known. Was he just one of them? She raised her feet from the floor, shivered, folded her legs and sat up on the bed resting her jaw against her knees. She tried to respond.

“I don’t –“,

“It wasn’t a question”. He interjected from his standing poise against the door.

He walked towards her. His gait was slow and steady, unsure in it's approach, yet familiar and confident in the same sense. He had been here before, she knew his type, she had grown up fucking his type, yet this history within the arena didn't enable them to see what she wanted to do, it only blinded them in a sense. He was a different person; he drank from a different well. But she knew him all too well, had always known him, so no matter how brightly his light shone, he was still only a light. One of the many.

She watched him, curiosity had built up this moment to be greater than it needed to be, he had confirmed her original prognosis of his character, and the satisfaction left a tingling sensation down her back. It might've been the liquor laced with Mary Jane lindy hopping in her cranium creating those physical impressions, but she felt it's power all the same.

She had rolled up. Lighted and started smoking.

He sat facing her, in the path of the smoke and she continued to watch him, she remained quiet as her intoxication deepened. Creating peace within her being, the magic moved through her fingers, as she watched and relayed thought. He was still a man.

A man. A simple fuck.

She was in essence unpredictable. But at the same time ever so simple, she did what she did to please only herself, she wore what she wore because it was what she was comfortable in. This was her favorite hoodie, her breast's playing peek a boo with the slight darkness of the morning, noticing this she simply covered it, at the same time wishing she wasn't wearing clothes at all.

He wore only briefs, which were worn the other way round, with a black crucifix hanging from his neck. A knowing smile playing on his face. Where would she place this guy in her “list”? She had fucked them all. The tall one, the short one, the spoilt one, the nice one, the liar, the faker, the player, the chooser, the winner, the loser, the proud fuck. But, was she just fucking this one? Or was he the one fucking her? She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, running her free hand across her scalp. Nonchalance would win this battle, other men were hilarious in their predictability, and that was the only true power she had over all. But was this a battle? Why did it have to be a battle? Was it her penchant for pulling things apart and putting them together again? Was it time to let things just work? She murmured, eyes low, peering at her brown skin, remembering kisses running up and down them. A smile accompanied the nostalgia.

His lips were moving, but she hadn't heard a word he had said, he looked at her expectantly as if awaiting a reply.

“I'm sorry love, I wasn't listening”

“Are you fucked up?” She smiled at his humorous tone.

“Blissfully so”.

He took the blunt away from her, and replaced it with his cup of sugarless Lipton Tea. She stared blankly at him while sipping the almost bitter liquid. The blunt looked mighty cool in his fingers. He wore a string of black beads on his wrist. He stepped into the bathroom, leaving a trail of smoke in his wake. She followed him, and met his staring at his reflection in the wash hand mirror. She looked at his eyes in the mirror.

Light kisses replaced words. Clutching at the wash hand basins edge, she felt the blood rush to the tips of her fingers. As he worked his magic up her torso, she threw her head back and thought, this was not a battle. She would run. She caught her breath as his warm tongue caressed her already erect nipple. She made a mental note to remember to ask him his name. He gently laid her on the floor. He looked into her eyes, and ran his hands through her hair. Unblinking, he brought his lips down to hers, paused and kissed her fully in the mouth. He had a tongue ring. He played with her left ear, grinding his waist unto her already liquid middle. She parted her legs and wrapped them around his back. His already stiff maleness brushed against her sex.

She shivered. With this man, it was time to give herself a name.

The Helpless?

Wednesday, 22 December 2010


So I've decided to give up sex. Which means a great deal considering how much I used to enjoy it, but in the face of all this movement there's a huge sense of displacement weighing heavily on my back and I found that sex neither contributed or took away from this. It had no effect on my being at all, so what on earth is the point of even partaking in it? It's lost it's meaning, even the fleeting sense of serenity has passed. It is unimportant, it's meaning is diminished. I need to fall back in love with it. Or simply fall more in love with myself. Or her?

I've been pack ratting all the literature on Meditation I can find, second hand books, mostly under the bridge adjacent computer village, are wells of knowledge, and now that all my books are in, I feel as though this is a time to regenerate my library with a more conscious mind. I look forward to this future, this 'adult' life. I look forward to the lessons, to the growth and to the hearts broken, the band aids ripped off.

I'm excited about the knowledge to be garnered. I feel less concern with the idea of going out, of socializing, it is not important, only work, only writing and reading, only real meaning and the path to the enlightenment matters to me now.

I feel the clarity. These past couple of days here had certainly discombobulated me, I was unsure what to feel you know? Happy? Sad? Resentful? I was still confused, would wake up from a nap thinking I was in the airport about to miss a flight. A harrowing ordeal indeed.

Yesterday I realized that I'm totally an intellect racist, I don't try and make friends anymore, I feel as though if we were meant to interact we would, there's no need for a conscious effort on my part, the light will shine on you if it is meant to, but if I perceive your actions and general state of being as idiotic you will be treated like the plague. With an understanding smile with an undertone of pity.

Shallow minds.

I met a girl yesterday who told me she didn't like reading books. I never responded to her.

Investing in your own slavery.

Adorning your physical with all these treasures, forgetting the true masterpiece is within.


Its Me, Who Knows You So Well.


They lay next to each other, body's molding within each other's crevice, within each other's souls. Everything felt so simplistically brilliant. There was no tomorrow as her fingers traced his tattoo's, there was no yesterday as his hands caressed her curves. He was looking at her, she was looking at him, but their third eye strong looked in the same direction. She smirked with glee at the thought of this new hidden treasure, this new connection, she was used to great sex but he had used a word in the morning that came upon her like a cold splash of water.

“I've never been so into it before, felt like I was making love”

“But that's the best kind of sex”

Creation of energy, the laws of the universe says energy cannot be created or destroyed, whoever wrote those laws clearly had never had sex with her. Sex is such a gift, that connection between two human beings surpasses any amount of orgasm's you can garner, her awareness of self shielded her from any pathetic sense of entitlement she could've possibly attained from this encounter, she knew herself, she knew her body, she had made love and that love was to be carried within her for the rest of the day. That positive energy was a gift from above. She silently thanked him for this as she placed another kiss on his lips. He in turn kissed her forehead. A movement she had come to adore.

It was just so simple. No questions asked. I like you, you like me, 2+2=4. Nothing else in the equation, with other's there was always something else, something pressing, something emotional, something unnecessary, at times even someone else came into the mix. But this purely human instinct, this unadulterated joy could only be spread within two parties.

He closed his eyes and she looked to the ceiling, remembering scenes from the night before, all through out the night actually, did they ever actually sleep?

Her smile widened.

Next time there should be a photographer, this 'Original Sin' type of fucking looked just too beautiful to be kept to herself. She wandered what other's would say when they found out, would feeling's be hurt, would this connection between them ever surpass the comfortable level it perched on now? Did it have to? Did she even want it too? She looked back to him, noting his sharp cheek bones, his slightly tinted pink lips and weighed the option.

“Wouldn't be too bad I suppose” she murmured to herself.

What she really meant to say was, “I could imagine fucking this every day. I could definitely get some head from this every day. Lord. That head”

But of course she had to pretend she wasn't so focused on the sex. She was a spiritual being, she was enamored with the feeling that sex with this particular human being provided. Clear, white energy balled up in her hands, she spread her fingers wide and far and hovered them over her body, covering all avenues with the blessed light.

She wondered what he'd say if she tried to explain this to him, his brain looked brilliant, a lot of potential but could he actually understand any of this? Or would she have to teach him? If he did, then she'd more than likely end up marrying him, if he didn't.

“That's the way it goes.”

But then she remembered how he kissed her legs, how he gripped her waist and his closed third eye was instantly forgiven.

She was interested, in the potential of it all, that she couldn't deny. She wouldn't deny anything in fact, there was strength in awareness of self. She liked him, but it based completely on instinct, she was just listening to her cravings, smelling the human pheromones attracting her to the honey within.

And that honey was just too sweet.

The potential. Not the money.

It always drew back to the potential.

Even if it was her best friend's lover.

* I sighed. And I wishd that was what she was thinking.*

Tuesday, 21 December 2010

5.15 am.

It 5:15 am.

I have to sit down on my bed and wrack my brain for something, anything to write. Does that mean I have nothing to write at all? No, it only means, my mind is jumbled, the way is unclear, and ironically the only way to clear it, is to write. Smoke maybe? I’m on a fast. And I’ll stalling on ending that fast till I get someone, anybody, who is ready to smoke, mind fuck and make the fucking fast worth it.

My life should be an epic Greek-God bedtime story.

Those are some pretty heavy words, but everyday does feel like Friday the 13th, blazingly sunny days,, friends, dogs running through the streets playing, powerful black oily faces shining in the sun.

I'm homeless.

I’m guessing this is me growing up, really knowing what I want, and finally gritting my teeth and admitting what exactly I have to do and not do to get what I want. Something’s are unhealthy for you, emotionally, physically, stay away from trash.

I've had some pretty harrowing experiences in my day, and worry and lust led me to all of those dragons. Led me into the mouth of all those monsters. I've survived, but as always, you learn from your actions. Control yourself, control the world. My adventures are expanding. My tongue stings and burns, vivid pictures from my the piercing keep crossing my mind. The blood, my life. The randomness of the piercing. The total senselessness of it. Which lead’s me to what my Dad said when he saw the piercing.

Femi, you need a friend. A friend who would love you and tell you the truth.

I'm a very passionate person, at least when in the moment, loneliness has always been my portion, I've wanted nothing until I needed nothing, so to go without is not an issue, but I can appreciate those around me, I can feel deep love in those actions.

But my kinda love is untranslatable. When you're here, I'll feel you for hours, when you're gone, I'll remember with a smile. There is no pain in my heart, there is no longing, there is no lust. Just simple appreciation for the gift that is 'us'.

Two human beings intertwined underneath the sun, two souls speaking familiar words of eternity, creating energy to be carried for the days to come. Why can't we connect like that anymore? Why is this so rare? Why is all about, wifeys, and babies, and boyfriends and girlfriends? Why can't we just retire to the feelings that have been transmitted between the two races of the human species for tens of thousands of years?

Why can't we just love?

I'm actually very romantic, but I always find my romance shackled by our modern day interpretation of this word. Just because we talk, skype like shit. Just because I enjoy kissing your neck, just because I enjoy holding your hand, tangling my legs with yours, burrowing my face in the crook of your back in the middle of the night, tracing your back with idle thoughts of your deep power plowing my soul...doesn't mean...that I want to be your boyfriend.

It just means that I love you.

Now when I say I love you, it doesn't constitute marriage, it doesn't constitute restraints of any kind, it just means that my soul loves your soul, my energy fits well with yours, and I love you like I love myself, it just means...that I love the person that you are, and the person that you will be, it just means that I’m in love with your energy.

Love has no script, no restrictions.

At least not in my world.

So fill me with your love, fill me with your thoughts, fill me with that pulse of power and lets create a new language. Have me speaking in tongues. The smile is back on my face, and I wonder if you'll last, or if the magnitude of my vision of this world will go over your head, and you'll be lost to the masses. All I can do is hope I suppose.

Hope that you understand that I don't need you. I don't want you.

I just enjoy you. You should enjoy me.

My tongue hurts. So Long. So Long.

Its Me, Who Knows You So Well.

Friday, 17 December 2010

Sky. Again.

Imma be doing a sequel to this. So i thought I should remind y'all of this. Part 2 this week. :|

The wetness in her thigh’s felt as if it reached her knees.

It wasn’t just another night with another boy. He’d watched him from a distance all night long. She’d picked him. He didn’t pick her. Good as hell. Other nights, she was busy warding off penetrating gazes from lustful guys to even concentrate on a glass of tequila.

This, she’d set up herself. She picked the characters, herself, and him. She wanted it to be her script. Her movie.

She’d watched him sleep. While the heat welled up in her thighs, again and again. She’d sighed so loudly, he woke with a start. Lazily, wordlessly, He cupped her face in his arms, and kissed just below her jaw. Not sure if she was moaning or sighing, she threw her head back, eyes closed and fought desperately to take control. Just that effort made her break out into a sweat. As he traced out a pattern down from her throat to in between her breasts, she felt his finger on a vein on her neck. She felt that pulse pick up. The touch from his tongue was so fucking light, she almost pressed her body against his tongue. He never really went straight for her nipples, like most men do, he merely skirted around it, almost teasing, almost annoying. Flirting.

Tempting. Enticing.

Placing her arm around his neck, she willed him to take active control. She’d shaved the day before, and her hairs were just a bit prickly. That same touch from his fingers. Gosh. The hairs seemed to stand as if they had a mind of their own. She could not take it anymore. She wanted him to fuck her. Hard. But she had too much pride. Too much self-control. Too much power. A confusion of thoughts devoured her as surely as his mouth now devoured a\her already alight center. Wrapping her thigh’s around his head, her head turned to the left. Clutching the sheets, her back arched. She was loosing it…

What was she doing?

She was staring at a road with an obvious dead end, wasted energy she could be expending on another potential, on another road that might just lead her to the tip of the galaxy, but instead she’s enjoying one of the many temptations she so desperately denied. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t moan. She tried to let off a sound, but she couldn’t.

She opened her eyes, and discovered she was blind. Noiselessly she came. Flooding all over the place. Thighs twitching. Fingers digging into her mattress. Tearing out her brains. Simple head, yet so thunderous. She collapsed into the bed, feeling weightless. Placing a hand over her left breast, he lay beside her.

Didn’t he ever talk?

She longed for him to say something. Just as eagerly as she yearned for the other guys to shut their fucking traps. She longed for him to fuck her. Forever. But her pride. She sighed. She was hungry.

I’ll carry you.

He carried her, naked, into her kitchen. Strong, but thin and wiry. The kitchen cabinet was cold against her ass. Her thighs, still warm and moist. He stared at herin the darkness for a brief moment, and kissed her shoulder. Entwining her legs, and using her hand to cover her still naked body, she watched as he buttered slices of bread. She watched his still doped out half-closed eyes. As she continued to watch him, remembering all the things that had made him attractive in the first place, She imagined walking through a field of pleasant nostalgic daisy's, all representing the memories she featured in. In her mind, she’d pick one up, and begin to pull of the petals. But before her finger even touches the first one they all blow away, the truth is undeniable. It wasn’t ever real. She could go on and on.

She reached into her drawer and began to roll up.

Do you smoke? He smiled. Jah Motherfucking Bless. As if she needed to ask.

He stared non-chalantly into the darkness, placing his free hand around her neck while she drew in the smoke. Reaching for her ever growing hair, drawing and straightening her now tousled hair. She fed on each of his actions, drank on each of them, and inhaled them with the smoke.

Let’s Fuck.

He chuckled. Dropped the half eaten sandwich. Again, lifted her into his arms.

This time, she rested her jaw on his shoulder. He carried her like a doll. Tousling her nearly straightened hair. His hand was cold on her burning skin. She shuddered. Stealing a glance at the ever retreating city, She thought:

Excuse me world, while I touch the sky.

------ P.S. Its Me, Who Knows You So Well.