Thursday, 31 March 2011

March 31.

6:00 am.

Back in my ususal zones. Im a bit on the edge now, but im not angry, just slightly amused. I just checked my mentions ... and WOW. On the same topic I mean.

So I've not been in school for about 2 weeks now and unlike my last semester here I have been as serious as possible, my entire life has been about work, school and "her" because I am trying to build a future. I rarely go out, I mind my own business and I keep to myself, completely out of the lime light, that's if you don't count the working and the writing, but at the same time that falls in line with my career so I cannot be judged because of that.

I have been a relatively good boy, a freaking monk some might say, at least compared to what I could be doing, at least compared to what most of YOU are doing. But despite all this.

People still find something to say about me.

And I get that, it's twitter, you people have nothing else to do but talk, I feel for you, I do BUT, if you're going to spread malicious rumors about me, even go as far as mentioning me in some damn tweet that has absolutlely nohing to do with me?

At least come up with something original, something juicy, something worth my aggravation.

Because I am so tired of this shit.

The last time I had a close girl friend, the same things were said, but those words were given to me in an attempt to force me to disassociate with said female. In the end I did.

Now, I have a best friend girl, and she also plays the role of my mother and sister when the situation calls for it, and because I never fight with her, because I refuse to stab her in the back, because I defend her when I hear slander.... then, I MUST be sleeping with her?

Must you corrupt everything?

I don't understand this. And you don't see the ignorance in any of this? Or the stupidity?

Why me?

Continue to slander me if you must, there is no such thing as bad publicity in this point of time in my life. Keep talking, it'll just get me more writing contracts, facebook friends etc but if you must talk, if you must fucking talk...-

At least come up with something worth my time.

For real?

And even if I was fucking her? And so the hell what? What is wrong with that? What exactly about who I fuck designates the need for aanyone to give a fuck about?
And most of the people who spend so much time talking about the life and times of the 20 year old Babafermie Smith have NEVER met me in person.

It's just so pathetic. And you don't even realize it.

Pathetic and incredibly sad.

You should fucking see my inbox.

Do you understand what I am trying to say?

When you spread rumors, in a way you are lying, therefore creating the most negative energy possible for yourself and your future, you fuck yourselves up without even realizing and because you've sown the seed of fuckery everything you touch will crumble, you'll find far too much unproductive free time on your hands and you'll continue to gossip, while the people you go on about transcend you in ways you couldn't ever have imagined for yourself.

Now do you understand what I'm trying to say?

If not, just please create some better stories ok?

This shit is just boring now.

In other news, today has been an emotional roller coaster. There are a lot of decisions I have to make about my life, decisions with consequences I don't generally support but must be done. I love Nigeria you know? Because it's home. And after being out of my nuclear home for a couple of months, the idea of home is extremely valuable to you.

I never really had a definite "home" so if I can sit down and say, this is my heart, this is my home. I'm happy. But to achieve the things I want to, I might need to leave. Ultimatums are being brought forward and I'm resentful, cause in honesty, I want to have my cake and eat it too.

I'll bounce back though, the light will illuminate the path before me. I'm just at crossroads, I have so many options, I just don't know what to do.

I really will hate leaving Nigeria, living in Australia, being alone in Australia. But I now have the resources to go back and forth whenever I please, and a psychology or business degree from an Australian accredited institution would be a lot more lucrative you know?

I think my decision is already made, but I hate it.

But at the end of the day, it's for the better. You gotta live today for tomorrow. You gotta be smart with the big responsibility that is your life, cause if I fuck up now, if I slip up now, I'm the only one that'll suffer, I'll be the only to blame.

I can't risk my future.

When she presented the idea to me, I was upset, I was terrified, I basically cringed at the idea of moving again, but hey, I'm young, this is the only time I'll ever get to do it. And she's right. Admitting that is the hardest thing I've done all day.

But I feel better. The idea sucks, but I feel better.

All zenned out and shit.

Peace and blessings.

Don't be afraid of discomfort, especially if it turns out be lucrative. You have to have a balance you know? Nothing worthwhile comes without work, nothing real, nothing lasting comes without difficulties.

Do what you have to for your future and your legacy.

And ill still will the Pulitzer.

May the grass be green under your feet.

<3. Peace.

Monday, 28 March 2011


-It's old. But there ain't anything like some re-blogging love.

I remember how you used to make me feel and at the same time I draw a complete blank, like I can't bare to recall that joy when you're so many miles away from me.

I remember some other things though.

Your head bobbing up and down my dick with your chain round your neck and your tongue having a brain of its own between my legs.

I remember some mother fucking things.

Because for some reason, no matter how much I told the world I hated you, and I still tell the world that, when you came around me I glowed, you made the muscles in my body tighten up in anticipation of you.

Time against us. Miles between us.

Somehow you remained and now you want to take that risk with me?

What planet am I on baby?

Because even though we had our days of just lighting each other on fire in a room filled smoke. Even though you loved me in a way that fit me so perfectly. The freedom you gave me, the honesty you fed me. We all have our secrets and I had a couple of dread headed ones myself.

We were 97% honest with each other.

But I think of you now, unbuttoning my shirt & whispering “I don't want to share you.” against my neck. One hand works while the other dives. I think of how you'd squirm. What you'd say. I think of the ocean your body would make for me to leap in. I think of the way you’ll wind your hips against my person.

You always amazed me.

I always loved you. I couldn't help myself. I still don't understand it to this day, but when I think about you kissing the birthmarks on my right shoulder, nothing has to make sense.

You'd come everyday, never fail and I’d shoot you with that AK full of bullets filled with liquid joy.

I never thought we would last though.

There were others that came before me, that I understood held priority, that I might've even used as a reason to continue on with some of my more major sexual eccentricities.

'She' was my safety net.

So that no matter how hurt I ended up? No matter how badly I needed you?

I never failed to concede that you were never mine. So the pain was fleeting.

I knew your game too well, I could lead sheep to the wolf in your name with ease and the fact that you trusted me too? Meant so much to a dude like me.

I know you love my crazy little person. Still DO.

And when you came back?

You had to, to still want me, after all those months? Isn't that terrifying to people like us? We've seen the world in between our sheets, freedom is our oxygen, infidelity our bread & butter. How else could the sex have been so damn fantastic?

I think about where you'd hold me, where you'd touch. What would you kiss first? What would you want first? It's been so long, my body has almost forgotten all about yours.

But there's this one string inside my solar plexus that lights up when I think about me plowing you. It gets hotter when I think about that night you kept drinking powerhorse, like you meant some serious business.

You said I always amazed my body. I loved it like I owned it.

And for a while, I think I did. But then life catches up with you and youth doesn't survive the pressure. But that's what time is for. Second chances.

I wanna take you around for another spin baby.

I want you all up in my zone.

All up in my core.

All up in my fucking pores.

I want to make it Thunder.

All over me.

So hard, I'm just sitting here thinking about you, hoping, that you're sitting your somewhere, thinking about me, hoping that I'm sitting my somewhere thinking about you.

I mean..

You just make it so easy for me to fall right back into place with you. But there's an ocean between us and these hazy high nights get lonely for a person like me. So, you get subbed.

I wait to conquer you.

In the meantime, I'll keep on playing my little games.

Musings. A lot.

It’s morning, and I’m awake. And thankful.

I’ve been going through the motions for the past few days, my innards are threadbare. I’m fucking tired. As tired as shit. Abuja, inasmuch as it is exciting, is tiring. But, yeah, I’m zooming past all stagnation. Hustling my way to the fucking top, and zooming past the fuckery.

Oh, and I feel really good today. I've been feeling good all week actually, so good that I don't remember what bad feels like and that is truly a blessed feeling. See, I gave up. I relinquished control of my world to the unknown.

The same unknown that I am sure created the world. I am a child of chance, a victim of fate. I have the power to take that step forward, but not the sight to see where it might lead me in the end. No matter what impending doom is around the corner, I have to take that step forward, I can only hope to move my arm and it moves.

Hope is all I got.

I trust in whatever beats my heart to look out for me.

I do what I want, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.

What else can I do?

Many things have happened, I can’t seem to be able to adequately find time to document all these mysteries in the life of Femi, but I will, and it shall be documented. But one thing cannot be brushed away so easily. I feel like I'm losing a friend. There, I said it, it's out in the open, what's been bothering me this entire while. I know how easy I am to adjust, so the idea that if this said friend does suddenly find herself no longer in the friend zone with me not very eager to bring her back in the safe zone worries me because I know how possible it is.

Every time I talk to this person I feel like there's an elephant in my chest and I just can't handle it, seeing it now on paper like this the solution is making itself awfully clear but in an effort to change I'm resisting it. Perhaps I need to learn that resisting what is natural to me will only make me uncomfortable and I will only suffer in the end.

And I have been pretty uncomfortable lately, extremely so. I'm fighting my nature for someone else's definition of friendship. And I keep telling myself: Just be yourself, don't be afraid to listen to yourself, no matter what anyone else tells you, no matter the rules on how you're supposed to act. How do they know how YOU are supposed to act?

Who knows you better than you?

And you know, this is the same friend I was jealous about.

But then, It is what it is.

But how is everyone? You all good? I’m so fucking self-centered, I rarely ask if you guys are doing good. Well, I'm young. I'm black. I'm a fucking genius.

I’ll make sure I see someone who hasn’t made up her mind whether or not to eat sushi today.

I need to kiss.

My brain is in all sorts of places…

You’re not supposed to work for your own happiness.

I love you, die.

I love my family, die.

I love weed, die.

I love myself, die.

Friday, 18 March 2011


Her: cn we c tonyt?

FS: Er, It’s raining.

Her: its stpd raining.

FS: Where’s your worship centre?

Her: Nyberg, pls come…

FS: I don’t want to see you.

Some people don’t just get it do they?

You should know i'm in a frigging lazy mood.

Because of all this writing i'm doing. Apart from the book work, school work, and all the blogging, getting to meet some of those I'd never met but chatted with, has been totally awesome and sometimes awkward.

You want to know something interesting?

I didn't smoke, or drink my entire Secondary school.

Thinking about it now, the path to my metamorphosis was quite astounding. I mean there was no clear signs that would point to the person I am today, there was no direct route, no obvious outcome.

I've just always been myself.

I've just always done what I wanted to do.

I didn't want to smoke or drink. So I didn't.

I wanted to have sex with a prostitute and I did.

Then all of a sudden. I just didn't. It's kind of like when your favorite color changes. Preferences change you know? You go to a buka or restaurant you've been eating at for years and all of a sudden decide to eat something you've never tried before.

Change in a change you know?

So after I graduated Sec. school.........all of a sudden.

I was drinking, I was smoking , I was cheating on the "love of my life", I was changing....

I was growing and to put it simply.

I was doing what ever the fuck I wanted.

Because that's me. That's the mystery behind Me. I do what I want and I don't hold myself back. I was talking to an old friend who informed me of a conversation he had with another old friend about me, where the second old friend said that she was afraid to speak to me now because she wasn't sure what I would be like, would I be nice Fermie? Or crazy Fermie?

And I can't help but laugh at the innocence of that question.

Because when you think about it, not that much time has passed it's just that the amount of shit I've managed to pile in such a small amount of time has forced me out of...well...myself.

That Fermie? That Fermie was a doppelganger of this Fermie.

That Fermie is no nicer, no happier, and was no more at peace than this Fermie.

There isn't much difference; the wording of my translation has switched up is all.

And maybe it's in a different language as well.

I can do what I want and have it not reflect badly on my life because in the end I'm not a bad person.

I'm just trying to die happy.

So if you want to have a nice little chat with me go ahead.

I won't bite.

As long you don't expect me to be nice. And if I’m in a nice mood, Enjoy it while it lasts.

But In the end, it turns out I’m just ME.

Nobody ever comments on my shit. Do I scare you? Or leave you speechless?


Monday, 14 March 2011


I just got off the phone.

And it's 3:39 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.

But I can't get the phone convo out of my head. I just talked with someone I now have mad respect for. I have mad respect for someone who can see past my stupidity into the depths of my being, that means we're of like minds. I'm all about like minds, about souls of the same nature. Not even on a romantic tip, on a human being tip, those type of people are trust worthy, those are the type of people you can learn from, the type that won't lead you in the lair of bullshit. I don't like to mess with that lair. It's not really my cup of joe.

So I was going through my old facebook pictures, a year can make a very large difference, growing up and then realizing you've grown up are completely different sensations you know? It's scary, going back to the same place, but knowing that you're a completely different person. I'm not gonna feel the same way I did about things a year ago, I've seen a lot, I've learnt a lot.

In a way, I've found myself, gets my head all big, my ego pumped up with positive energy, knowing that now, that culture won't affect me like it used to, cause I know myself, I know my destiny. I know Femi.

What the fuck you think I was sitting here doing? My ass has been learning. I haven't been tweeting. I haven't just been sitting down. And anytime my mind goes back to twitter and all the friends I have there, about everything and everyone... I begin to get afraid.

Our generation has been blessed with the gift of limitless information, information that is only a few clicks of a mouse away, information that rivals that of Alexander the Great's own fabled library, information that once nations and empires ravaged the planet for, and yet my generation wants nothing to do with it.We don't want to do anything about and with it.

As children we are raised to be better than our parents, to be an advanced variation of their souls, to be the 2.0 of their legacy, and yet we waste away and disappoint them. Why is it that now that we are free to learn and encompass all, and truly be all that we can, we waste it? Waste it trying to become "social icons" by spitting out verbal diahorea on the internet to people who don't actually give a fuck?

Why are you content in your stupidity? In your ignorance?

1. I love girls, I love weed, I love music.

2. I love psychology, I love history, I love philosophy.

Why does #1 make me a normal human being and #2 make me a nerd freak?

If I say my expectations for my generation are too high I would be insulting my very own creation, I would be insulting my very existence, I would be insulting anyone that ever fought or died to give us this edification.

A lot of the times I am looked at like an alien because of my wide range of interests, when someone walks in on me watching The History Channel or Africa Magic or Discovery or Afmag Plus, the first question they ask is;

“What the fuck are you watching?”

And at this point I honestly think that I am what my ancestors wanted our generation to become, I am the full embodiment of what we are supposed to be. And yet, I'M the strange one. You're walking around with shackles on your brains and you don't even realize that you've bought into the mass mental slavery that is 21st century marketing.

You're basic cattle infected with mad cow disease and you've have been ravaged by this infection for so long that is has become a part of your life so when you come across another animal sans the affliction you are so blinded and taken over by your physical filth that a healthy representation of your race is deemed unnatural by your sensory neurons.

Im Sorry.

This generation is suffering from a mass case of the Stockholm syndrome. You trust and love your captor, you see anything else as foreign and unwelcome, you see knowledge as the enemy.

There is nothing wrong with opening a book and reading it, that is what they are for, there is nothing wrong with knowing how much venom a rattle snake holds in it's fangs, there is nothing wrong with knowing the exact coordinates of your home or workplace, there is nothing absolutely fucking wrong with waning to know how twitter even works, and how they fucking make all those billion you'll never make a tenth of? There is nothing wrong with being a genius.

And there should be nothing 'strange' about being smart. Why should intelligence be special? Why can it not be the average? You're so busy searching for Music videos and Free Music on Youtube and ForShared when you could be traveling through the universe with Professor Lee in HD. (sic)

Why does my generation choose ignorance over wisdom?

I don't want to care, and in any other situation I wouldn't. But I want to raise my kid in this world, this world that seems to be crumbling around me socially, everyday we lose another bright young brain to this monster, everyday the light lessens and it frightens me because if my generation has been degraded to such a level...what about the next? And the next? And the next?

You have to understand, that from this point on in human history the resources we have, the resources we can use in our development have never been seen or implemented in any of the generations before us, we are truly different on all levels.

We are the forefathers of the information age, we are the beginning.


How can there be hope for the next?

But for some strange reason, I still do have hope, it's tiny, absolutely miniscule but it's still there. It's sewn into my soul, it flows in my blood, because I can't succumb to the fear of this mental disease. I can't surrender to this deception.

Because somehow I will survive this mass cerebral genocide and my endurance will be proof enough for that little flicker of hope to pull through. Because we're made up of the same material, the same number of atoms, the same number of cells, and if I can supersede this you can too.

"Life without knowledge is death in disguise"

Amen, Thank you Jesus. Nexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxt.

I really want to write for a Magazine.


And so, I’m back.

Not like I went anywhere before, I’m just back. Why do I always do this to myself? I never write, I let life pile up & then when I sit down to pen a piece I'm utterly speechless. I wouldn't call this writers block, I'd call this laziness.

Utter laziness.

Luckily I have weed with me, so I’m chilled, and I’m thinking. Wait, sometimes I despise it when people worship me, especially in person, especially when I'm high, because there's not much you can say without sounding conceited & it always takes me by surprise. Do you know how many people I run into with the words “I love your blog”. It completely shatters the ice for me, and then I can't even introduce myself, or say my name.

I never realized how much I liked introducing myself to people until the option was taken away from me.

And that’s one of the reasons I stopped tweeting. Like it or not, we have all become stereotypical attention whores and I simply couldn’t stomach it anymore. It's like we're all trying to have the sort of distant accepted reputation we don’t and might never ever have. I stopped having friends. It’s kinda really hard to explain, you know? For most of these last year, most people I knew knew me as Hey, that’s Femi, my favorite tweeter". Not like they said it actually. Honestly, I’d like "That's a human being whose name is Femi.". Not too much for me to ask, yeah? Yeah?

I was becoming too fucking egoistical; it began to fuck with the part of me that always goes: You’re not all that you know?

Anyways, I’d want to be a happy person you know? And in the spirit of being happy, I can't seem to get you out of my pores.

I don't understand. Cause I haven’t even seen you? Ever? Shouldn't my dick be wrought with some fear?

But it wants you. Everything wants you. My toes. My knees. My fingernails. All want you.

It's troublesome. It's meddlesome.

I think I might be a little obsessed... with the fact that I haven’t had sex in a while. Who does that? I'm not sure if I've been drugged or this is some kind of spell but honestly the thrill of keeping my desire in check completely overwhelms me. It might be scientific all have to do with my hormones but honestly at this point I doubt it.

Because there's only one recurring thought. Over & over. Just one face.

I'm alarmed at myself. I'm not sure if it's because I've been retired for so long that a fresh young dudette got me a little too tweaked or if I've actually been drugged.

I'm banking on drugs. And sugarless bread.

I've fallen back in love with sex. And it flabbergasts me. Why? Because, I haven’t even had it yet. At this point, honestly, I’m blissfully confused.

I feel a little new. A little younger. A little fresher.

And yeah, I’m beginning to actually love myself. I'm finding that a little bit easier to believe now a days no matter how ludicrous it remains. Thing is, I’ll explain. I used to terribly disappoint myself. Over and over again.

I found out that I used to be a complete moron in the face of pussy. I began to abhor it, I began to then abhor sex, and then women. I began to look at myself like a drunkard. And hey, I loathe drunk men, you know the ones who can't stand straight to save their lives? Yeah, fuck them. That's just disgusting, why on earth would you want to have so little control of yourself?

Well, Pussy is and will always be the kryptonite of penis. Great minds lost completely in the tornado that is fresh vagina, conversations dwindled to mummy like dust that tastes so bitter in my mouth all because of fresh vagina. I simply couldn’t stand how easily I used to lose control of my senses in the face of vagina. All logic, thrown out the window and to be honest? It disgusted me. And then, humans with vagina’s came across me as sneaky ass people who came that powerful weapon, and good grief, I didn’t want to have myself emotionally involved with a walking vagina. I couldn’t hate women tho, because that'd mean I hate sex and that's such a fuck up, because I love sex. But god-damn-it, It became hard.

And right now, I think I’ve mastered the art of keeping my brain standing straight while my dick stands straight, and not allowing my thinking pattern to wilt in the face of vagina. But then, that kills the vibe you know? That emo vibe? That keeps your brain from thinking? It’s safer.

Is it just not meant to be?

Am I simply not meant to have sex?

Is my mojo gone?

See the cycle? See the path you can go down so easily? I think I think too much. I fell into that hole yesterday and weed pulled me out. Thank God for weed, I just don't know what I'd do without my own space, a joint & music.

I just don't know what I'd do.

So I think I’m ready. I’m ready to stop thinking. To have sex, because I like it? To not think? About the future? About keeping my ego in front of pussy?

I'm young, free & eternally high.

What more could I ask for? Imma keep dancing.