And so, I type again. I don't know how to start this. What should I say exactly? This feeling is so foreign to me now, typing on a fully functioning keyboard, actually allowed to share my thoughts as fluidly for me as possible. There's just so much that needs to be recorded, I won't say that these are the best years of my life because no one will ever know tomorrow, but we remain thankful for it still.

I’ve stopped tweeting. It feels good to work on something new. After all that seems to be what my entire life is about right now, the pursuit of "new", perhaps I shouldn't generalize it so, I mean on average I can be satisfied by the simplest of means, perhaps I meant to say is that I am on the hunt for something "new" in my percentage of human interaction. I'm always fucking with this person or that person, with no malicious intent of course, simply out of pure boredom. Human beings are the most dazzling of puzzles one can amuse one’s self with.

And I've always loved puzzles.

My life is very interesting right now, there are a lot of big fucking intrigues, a lot of scandals and a lot of laughter (stemming from one human), honestly every day I wake up I think "What will show on Gossip Girl Femi today?"

I'm going to write about all my exploits, it needs to be recorded before it is forgotten.

Moping achieves absolutely nothing.

I don't know why we keep on employing the use of it.

I'm determined to give myself everything I deserve, I won't lose, I won't let anyone win, all I have to do is ask and it will be mine, I understand that small part of this gigantic world, I understand that part of my soul. Ask and it shall be given. The age old tale of success within ones self.

There's not really a lot to say once you've said that.

A lot's been going on man, And I find myself just standing and watching as it all flows around me. Like in those speed shots where the world is buzzing and this once human being is just standing there staring. I've become easily detachable, easily bored and more unwilling to invest in other human beings emotionally.

I haven't had successful sex in like a million years. It'll be the icing on the cake when I finally get some.

Too many niggas and not enough hoes.

Funny enough... I miss you. But I'm gonna be strong. Cause I want nothing but honesty.

So here, I'm back.

On the verge of going to a party, my closest friends party, that I actually don't want to go to buying all those those ciggs and drinks, not because I'm looking for a fix but because I think I'll look good with a blunt between the delicate finger’s of my brain. You know why?

I'm a poser, I'm always posing unconsciously. Even when I don’t want to.

I kid myself. I’m never just that ONE person.

You never will know or understand me.

Am I scaring you?

Good.

That fear drives me more than anything else, your inability to understand why I can smoke, why I have no qualms about wearing bathroom slippers to a big function, why I'm so terribly mentally attractive with an underlying tone of repulsiveness.

So you 900 or so people who don't even know me, sitting there making all these assumptions about my life like I give two thousand shits what the fuck you think of me, wanna know why it's so easy for me not to care?

From experience, I’ll stop having great sex at 70. I have less than 50 years to have great sex. Why the hell should I worry about you when my time is so limited? What the hell are you contributing to my life?

And this is why you can't stop watching me.

This is more than you.

This is going to be something your children will know.

Your children's children and those after that.

And the eternal question will always be "Why?"

And you'll never realize that that's also the answer.

Nuevo Bueno.

It's Storytime.

He felt the chocolaty cum velvety taste of the cheap Rubis Wine in the close recesses of his throat. The sun warmed up his closed eyelashes, seemingly transferring all the positive energy he needed for the week into his tired body. Lying face up in the deep end of his uncle’s pool, he felt the sudden urge to yell. Like a primal beast, his blood throbbed as if it boiled. He felt a shadow fall over his face. And a giggle. The giggle.

Um, I’m sorry.

Huh. For what? She straddled him and placed both hands on his chest. You look so adorable when you apologize.

Er, *ahem*, You Welcome?

OK.

He made as if to say something else, but she placed her middle finger on his lips.

He wrapped his fingers wrapped around her waist, one hand slowly tickling the left side as the other played with the zipper on the right. His left hand travels higher, long fingers brushing up against the underside of her breast. His eyes never leave her's. There is so much written there, and he finds himself enamored in the moment, he finds himself controlled. His left index drew tiny circles around the peaks of her chest, the sensations sending electricity to her core in short spasms. She felt hot fluid pool inside her essence. He had never mattered more.
You’re staring, and you want to make you kiss you.

Yes. Is that bad?

She giggled. But its cheating, shey you know?

She took her hands and traced the outline of his face, grabbed his and shared her sensual energy with his body. No one said a word, eyes stayed locked, she almost quivered as his hands went further.

He seemed mesmerized by her very presence and she felt the power of his veneration in the restrictive abode of his folded up jeans. She couldn't help but smile in the face of the long journey ahead.

His fingers found her core, she swore she would drown.

She threw her head back as his lips caressed her throat, soft kisses enticed and satisfied temporarily. She felt the buttons of her shirt come undone, she felt the cold air touch her naked skin and she laughed.
He looked up in question.

“It tickles” She whispered and he smiled in return.

A smile full of explicit intentions, a smile she adored. He was clearly besotted with her. His eyes spoke so much, so much she couldn’t decipher. She was sure he himself couldn’t decipher some of the words in his own head. Like she too, couldn’t decipher why she wanted, needed to kiss him so badly. Fucking hell, she had predicted it. Herself.
How much of this do you want? At last, he didn’t hesitate when he talked.

As much as you want to give me?

He searched her contact’s covered eyes, and he had his answer. Filled with trust and desire. Are you certain?
“Don’t worry”, she said, touching the sharp peak of his upper lip with he finger tip, “I’m not that kind of tease”.
Slowly, she bent down and tasted his lips. Lightly, tracing the curve of his smile with the tip of her tongue, probing gently, asking for more with every flick of her tongue. With a broken breath, he gave his mouth to her. The warmth seemed to create a kind of ethereal hunger deep in her stomach. She took his mouth with such savage hunger, she was subconsciously worried she would draw blood… But that thought was as fuzzy as her already mushy brain…

Which wasn’t surprising when she found out that her shirt was already open. The tips of her breasts hardened as they brushed against his seemingly inflamed chest. Instantly, the kiss changed. Becoming hard, deep and urgent. A savage mating of mouths that was almost violent. And she was with him all the way, demanding and giving equally, inciting him even more. Finally, he managed to end the kiss.

He looked drunk. She looked stoned. She tried to manage a weak smile.

He sighed.

Are you okay? She asked, genuinely worried. Did I hurt you?

“Ha”. He laughed. A deep throaty laugh. “No”. Or Yes? Maybe? I’d wanted to take you even before I met you. He stared into her eyes. They were hot, smoldering, just as her kiss had been. Their kiss?

“I’m not fighting you”.

“Maybe you should”. His hands stroked her laps, dangerously close to her core, making her realize how much he was not lying. A small tremor rocked her body. That, did absolutely nothing to calm the storm raging in his loins.

“Well, I hate you right now”, she said coyly, at least, you make me violently female.

That’s… Bad?

“Shut Up”.

“If I don’t get into my pockets now, I never will”. Smiling, she dipped her hands into his back pockets, grabbing his ass and pulling out the condom.

I Love You, Um, not romantically of course. You know?

She touched his already stiff maleness gently, slowly.

Arrrgh. I know. I’m a bad liar. But, I’m not going to be lying if I ask you to hold my shoulders or you’ll drown.
In a flash, he pulled her into the pool, and vanished underwater. Her knees buckled as she felt the warm sting of his teeth on her belly, and the wild heat of his mouth between her legs. He held her suspended between his hands and his consuming mouth, burning her despite the water swirling around her. The water around her thighs seethed and boiled as the world turned dizzily around her. When all became still, she fond herself astride him, her mouth desperately looking for his mouth. She tried to call him name, but all that came out was a broken sound… He curled his left hand around her hips, and caressed her body like he was caressing her mouth until he held her sex in his palm. She gasped as he inserted one finger into her.

She went still.

Then she started rocking against his finger, her nails digging into the small of his back. Swiftly, he doubled his presence inside her, stretching her, preparing her. Caressing her. He sucked on the lobe of her ear, and gently whispered, “I thought you said it’s cock or nothing”.

Her reply was a low moan. A shiver ran through her as a gust of cold wind blew against her already hardened nipples.

“I like the sounds you make”.

“Stop copying me, that’s my line.” Her voic was low. Almost unreal. She wondered if it was her’s.

“Put it in me”.

“Now.”

She fumbled with the thin, slippery foil that was protection. The fact that her hands were shaking made her job harder. Finally, she got her revenge by taking her time to put it on, fussing and slowly caressing his engorged maleness until she actually thought it would burst.

“You liked that didn’t you?” He asked grimly.

“Every last bit of it”. And then, the giggle.

“You’re a fucking tease”.

“Literally? Fucking Tease? Ha.

She was going to say more, but she couldn’t. He had filled her up, she was so ready for him, she didn’t not feel him, until she moved, pressing into him, until they were so deeply joined that neither knew whose mouth kissed or whose arms caressed or whose voice cried out.

There was only one body, one rhythm, one voice.

He tried to call out her name, and it sounded like his. Very much like his.

February 18, 2011.

And so, everything is well in my world again. Positive energy and sincere words have the ability to heal all wounds.

Always do what you mean, and mean what you do.

A very simple cure for misery.

It's 1:36 AM on this side of the planet, and I am determined to sleep like a normal human being tonight, dash my vampire nature entirely and abide with the day walkers. If I was sure of anything I have done or that has been done to me perhaps I wouldn't be so happy. It’s terrible that I can't be sure of anything that has happened, anything that will happen. It is terrible that I find it hard to trust.

It was something I was so wonderful at.

What is falling in love like? Is it at all present? In between all the declarations of “great sex” and the belittlement of my masculinity, I find the idea laughable at best.

Which brings me to the next question. Am I falling in love? My instant answer would be an unequivocal no because this is irrefutably not how ‘love’ normally works, it’s not so damn exacerbating but then why does her whole being “nice” effect me in such a fatalistic way?

Why then. Why can't I let her go?

Or maybe this isn’t about her at all.

But my pride will never allow me to admit that. I find it almost sickening how much my attraction to her drives my decisions while she sits back with that smirk on her face lounging about freely, I find the idea that I am here for her embarrassing and deplorable. But I cannot deny it anymore. Maybe if I fully accept this reasoning I will feel better than I do, maybe I wouldn’t feel so disappointed with my situation or my weakness.

But funny enough, its not annoying, not depressing. In fact, Its liberating.

I really don’t know how to do this and it really doesn’t alleviate any of my worries.

None of them do.

I’m Truly and completely gratified, because I am damn tired of faking love.

But that isn’t it there is certainly much more that is bothering me.

There is too much ego in this school, too many big girls with nothing big to do.

That is something even I can’t distract.

It’s very strange knowing how easily you could be ignored; it’s not something you get used to. I’ve never had to deal with a girl putting herself or anything else or one before me; I guess that’s my punishment for staying single and free for so long. I’m unhappy in this, but I can’t say no. No matter how hard I try.

Oh god and those faults of mine? You don't really know how bad they is do you?

I am once again disparaged.

And the more it happens the more morose I become.

I like her so much but I have a feeling this may not be worth it.

And ironically enough I know it’s not worth it and yet I can do nothing about it.

I don’t think the favor can ever be reciprocated. I love her too much.

Don't you dare judge me or my actions. I do what I please in an attempt to make myself happy. I wandered from bed to bed in attempt to make myself feel again, because that's just who the fuck I am. Because at the end of the day, I am desperate for some kind of emotion, some kind of release from that torture.

Maybe that's why I've stopped lusting so terribly...because I've turned into this robot and I can't reach the switch to reverse the process.

I wish I was simple enough to be content in some vapid relationship, it'd be ridiculously easy to acquire one, I'd have couple facebook pictures, romantic notes and bullshit 'I love you so much' tweets. I'd go through 'em like there's no tomorrow.

But a relationship has never been something I've been able to fabricate. I am far too complex of a person to be able to fool myself or somebody else for that matter in such a way. I’m too intense for that.

But sex? Sex I can do.

You all have your coping mechanisms and I have mine. Don't judge.

He who is without sin should cast the first stone.

Estic Viu.

N.B: There are no mistakes, only lessons. Love yourself, trust your choices, & everything is possible.

Repair.Is.Needed

So.

It happens that I am going through a period of great unhappiness and loneliness right now. All my life, I’ve heard people speak of finding themselves in the acute pain of lonesomeness, bankrupt both in spirit and body and I never understood what they meant. To loose. To have lost. To be lonely. I used to believe these visitations of darkness lasted only a few minutes or hours, or that these saddened and lonely people, in between bouts of lonesomeness, were occupied , as we all think, with the useful presence of acquaintances? Or the useful monotony of happiness?

But really, as I have come to discover, happiness is nothing but a lucky ice cube that your carry in your head. It takes all your cunning to hang on to it. To keep it solid, but once it melts, you have to move on, try to freeze it back, and wait for it to thaw.

I kinda have a new life. The beginning of this year, I decided to count my blessings. I was too much of a fucking pessimist, I thought at the time, and that I had a billion and one things to be thankful for..

But so I thought.

And I discovered, that the only thing I can be truly be thankful for is my writing. Or tweeting? Or talking?

Or maybe, thinking? Right now, most of what I do comes devoid of any human interaction. I made a conscious effort last year, to stop partying, drinking and smoking (which by the time you will be reading this, would be a thing of my fucking past), and all I do is go to classes, go back to my pad, stare and sleep. Thing is, I have so many people I randomly talk to, but you know that wall? That limit to which you can open you mouth to say certain things to people without “coding”? Yeah. That’s what exactly keeps me lonely.

But then, I’m not interested, the way some people are, in being sad. I’ve had a look, and there is absolutely fucking nothing down that road. I used to reply to people who saw me thinking in the past few days: I’m thinking about my happiness and my unhappiness. The nakedness of that train of thought, leads to a huge void, that can never be filled. But what makes me happy? What lifts my mood?

Nothing.

Why, because nothing can amaze me anymore. Nothing is new. Nothing is special. Nothing is… Nothing IS.

But then, the rhythm of typing and thinking seems to calm me down. Seems to soothe me. Who would have thought that this old habit of mine would become a strategy for maintaining a semblance of an ongoing life, and un-asked for gift? On days when I exactly don’t know which foot to put in front of the other, I can type my way to becoming a conscious being.

I began moving out of my dungeon today. Nothing feels as good as this. Although I know the roughness of the journey that awaits me, the brusque feeling of fear and freedom after rebellion is sweet. I am thirsty, but I don't want to get a drink, I simply don't want to cross the path of the self consumed self victimizing monster that has taken over your most beloved once.. When he's in these slumps he forgets that he isn't the only one affected by this fuck up.

Do you know what it feels like to have your entire life, your entire personality be defined by your mother/father's romantic mistakes? It is the most belittling feeling on this earth, to be summarized in one small and jaded action, time and time again. People who know me see me and think "He'd be normal if his family was".

But my pain is forgotten, because I choose to forget it, I keep myself happy, not only for myself, but for the people around me, because after all smile's are contagious, but they're getting harder as the silence wears on. I know this will all be over soon, I know this solitude, this massive wave of loneliness will seem like a faint memory in the life of Femi, but it is my now, and my now is all I know. My now is deep and vast, every feeling amplified, every sound holds meaning, every thought a justification for my misery. Over analytical and morose Femi. The creative genius rears her ugly head. As words flow like poetry through my fingers into this metallic vessel, I sneer at the mundane, I spit on the average.

My throat is so dry. The silence is so loud. And the light isn't bright enough.

And then my thoughts mull over the thought of a person. My thoughts confuse me. Sometimes I see them as a small child that I watch with amusement, he/she looking up at me occasionally seeking encouragement for whichever toy it has created but it mostly ignores me and continues to play in it's own imaginary world. And I sit, on a bench, with a drink and just watch and wait for something to happen.

These past weeks it has brought my attention to the thoughts of a woman, a dear friend, a dear friend I didn't know well before she left, a dear friend who shouldn't have made the cut but for some strange reason did, it continues to bring this woman before me. And I remain seated and look up at her, scrutinize her, scrunch my face and stick my tongue out in aversion at the idea, she kicks my shin, pulls at the knickers of my heart and forces me to stand.

And now I am facing her. A questioning look of skepticism on my countenance. She smiles, and there is a slow flutter in my stomach, weak but strong enough to make me wretch. It is not his own physical being that incites such distaste, it's the whole affair in general.

But then I find that thinking of her makes the silence easier. Cushions my thoughts, paints a smile in my now. Thinking of her helps. Thinking that perhaps she might read this and wonder if I'm writing about her, perhaps she might think I'm being emotional, maybe it'll scare her, if she draws that conclusion she doesn't know me very well. But then again, I might not even be talking about a person, I could be talking about a thing, about an action, about a place, about a certain space on this planet, just something that makes me smile.

Cause that's all I need really. A hug and a smile. That's all I ever need. It's easy to keep me happy, because I keep myself happy, so external forces are rarely needed.

I'm like a self cleaning oven in a way, just press a button and in 20 minutes I'm sparkling.

But today? Today?

Repair is needed.

Finito.