Monday 14 March 2011

*sigh*

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.

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