tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73000088458812465532024-03-14T03:55:19.329-07:00One More StepThe world through my bespectacled eyes...poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-24364930784704374782011-02-28T07:25:00.000-08:002011-02-28T07:41:38.412-08:00EATING POETRY<em> <blockquote><span style="color:#99ffff;">“Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.<br />There is no happiness like mine.<br />I have been eating poetry”</span></blockquote><span style="color:#99ffff;">(from “Eating Poetry”, Mark Strand)</span></em><span style="color:#99ffff;"><br /></span><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">Some of my favorite lines ever written are from Mark Strand’s <span style="color:#66ffff;">“Eating Poetry”.</span> I remember doing imaginary cartwheels in ecstasy the first time I read the first stanza of this poem. The vivid imagery, the endless possibilities, the sheer beauty of the words… I stopped reading the poem for a whole five hours, for fear that if I went any further the rest of the poem may somehow spoil my rapturous worship of the mind that could have conjured up such perfection by merely stringing words together. Hours later, I feverishly picked up my anthology and reverently thumbed through the rest of the poem which, I must mention, completely lived up to that first stanza.<br /><br /><br />A poet today is confined to fewer words than a pure prose writer, employs fewer colours than a painter, has none of the sculptor’s clay but must produce art as moving, as authentic and as unmistakably beautiful as any of these artists. Gone are the days when “Aristotle’s Poetics” sought to define poetry and dwelt extensively on a common practice of the classical and neo-classical age which was the use of poetry in other literary art forms – poetic drama, prose-poetry etc. However these days, poetry is a bit more restricted by the assumption that brevity characterizes poetry as lengthiness does prose. Poetry has nothing to do with length it has everything to do with language being used just for its sheer beauty to evoke emotions or deep feelings. Sadly, this genre today ostensibly belongs almost to an exclusive club.<br /><br /><br />Often times, I am told the words “I do not understand poetry” accompanied by a dismissive wave of the hand while my darling poetry is scorned for other art forms. As devastating as that may be to a poetry lover, it is nothing compared to a deep-seated anger felt towards pretentious charlatans who spew out dribble in print and have the repugnant audacity to christen the incomprehensible, incoherent or even downright childish slobber “poetry”. Apparently, claiming a love for poetry is like being in a school fraternity, you can look down your nose on the uninitiated even if you have never read a word of Wordsworth’s genius, been Shaken up by Shakespeare’s ingenuity or been left stranded trying to make sense of a Mark Strand poem.<br /><br /><br />You know you are authentic when you think in poetry, when you look around you and poetry stares at you, when life to you is one long poem. It was Gracie Harmon who said the immortal words “I even shower with my pen, in case any ideas drip out of the waterhead”.<br /><br /><br />It saddens me when I read profiles of literary agents and publishers who emphatically state “Does Not Accept Poetry Submissions” like “Don’t even think about it”. I understand it though. Nobody wants to read poetry. Poetry does not make money and (this may come as a surprise to some writers) publishing is money making business too. I have two thoughts about this. What then has happened to the whole so-called community of poets and poetry lovers out there? Are they too busy writing “poems” but not reading any? (Insert wry smile). Secondly, isn’t this reluctance to publish poetry an evil cycle or isn't it having a ricocheting effect if you wish, thereby even further driving the nail into the coffin of this finest of arts? Where will poetry be a hundred years from now? I shudder to imagine. There probably will be no need for the disclaimer “Does Not Accept Poetry Submissions” for no one would be submitting them anyways.<br /><br /><br />Poetry is my life. It means more to me than cleverly put together words. It is my outlet. An expression of the world I see. It is with wide-eyed wonder I study poetry to learn more of this vast place of possibilities called the human mind. Trying to make sense of beautifully strung words even where sense isn’t intended is so stimulating you have to feel it to know it. I am sorry if you do not understand it, or are too lazy to task your sleeping mind any further than to figure out how to open and shut your eyelids. I’m sorry if poetry is too deep or too boring or too whatever your excuse could be for not venturing. The point is for as long as I have a blog, for as long as I have a mouth, for as long as I own a computer, have a functioning brain, can read and write there will always be extensive fodder to feed the poetry gobbling monster in me. I will chomp on all the poetry I can find on print, in prose, in paintings and all other art forms, as well as, in life around me.<br /><br />Do not be shocked if you came across me and you saw thick glistening ink running down the corners of my mouth – I most definitely have been eating poetry.</span>poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-74833924450819378972010-10-25T02:41:00.000-07:002010-10-25T03:05:53.872-07:00What makes me unique?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC6oAzsqPTV4DeOzqcNYrl9riCrkIPlJn8UM9dGYU_FvQm49qZ_eBF2LAuO89GA5ucBRhSuo0Eq1g7IbT2X5EN7KcYCZ4ZLVGSQ8Cb_NMJsDzrFmkcXvZB8rewtSSSPs-1CLpYcqznhqQ/s1600/backview%5B1%5D.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 108px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531922662873209746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC6oAzsqPTV4DeOzqcNYrl9riCrkIPlJn8UM9dGYU_FvQm49qZ_eBF2LAuO89GA5ucBRhSuo0Eq1g7IbT2X5EN7KcYCZ4ZLVGSQ8Cb_NMJsDzrFmkcXvZB8rewtSSSPs-1CLpYcqznhqQ/s200/backview%5B1%5D.jpg" /></a><br /><div><em><span style="color:#ff99ff;">"...A storm’s come and a tree’s snapped<br />A bone’s broken and a page’s closed<br />A life’s changed and a prayer’s said<br />I’m stronger and I’ve come of age."</span><br /><br /></em><br />Most of the separate characteristics that make up my personality are generally repeated everywhere and throughout the ages. There is a wide spectrum of human behavior which are amazing in how they are reproduced and can be found in any geographical or chronological setting transcending culture or even tradition.<br /><br />People use the cliché “No two people are same” very often without thinking about it. However, there is more to being unique than just having a unique set of DNA. What makes a person unique then is the unique mix of these generic traits and a person’s approach to life. Though human behavior is generic, no two people find themselves consistently in the same set of situations or face the same set of opportunities. The way your nature reacts to your own personal and peculiar emotional and physical environment is what makes you unique. Uniqueness is that one thing that makes you stand out from the crowd, that one thing that sets you apart.<br /><br />In order to determine the particular trait which makes me unique, I have asked myself a few questions to determine what it is I do differently from the crowd around me. What is that unique thing that I do which gets results each time? I have come to the conclusion that what makes me unique is in my uniqueness itself. Being myself is what makes me unique. Being myself is what gets me results each time.<br /><br />Sadly, when we look around us not too many people are true to who they really are. A lot of people want to be accepted and even loved, as a result, they display behavior which they assume would make them more likeable. Most people are afraid of rejection and ostracism. Some of these people end up achieving the opposite effect. It is interesting though to note that those few who have learnt to be true to themselves and their innermost convictions shine like bright lights in a dim world of deception and pretentions. My uniqueness is in the fact that I am ‘me’. I have recognized that there is only one ‘me’ and have decided to do those things which come naturally and feel right in my heart.<br /><br />The one trait that I think is most evident as unique and peculiar to me is my resilience. Resilience as a character trait is not unique on its own, however, no other person has had to face the same set of difficulties or opportunities that have been peculiar to me. I am RUBBER-BAND.<br /><br />There have been situations when I could have easily given up but then decided to see the situation through to the end. If I had a personal maxim, it would be “if you stare at a problem long enough it will blink first”. The interesting thing is no difficulty actually lasts forever. One day it will become history, your own personal history, to talk about, to write about or to educate people about. I have found that each time I find myself in a difficult situation what keeps me going is the realization that it will be over if I applied myself and thought of the best way and method to deal with it. My thought processes in the face of difficulties are unique in themselves. I may be faced with a really generic situation however my methods and the decisions I make are mine alone.<br /><br />I am also convinced that it must have been this peculiar resilience of mine that saved me from dying years ago when I was ill and at the point of death. I reached deep within me and decided that I was not tired of life yet and was not ready to give up on the world. This positivity kept me going and was indeed strong enough to help me fight back.<br /><br />There have been a number of situations such as the ones mentioned above. I have been in the dumps a number of times but what keeps me going is my one desire to not give up because one day I would help someone by recounting my own story. I sincerely believe that the difficulties I face would be for someone’s benefit someday and if I gave in I would be in no position to be of help or make an impact in someone else’s life. In times of difficulties, this is a recurring theme in my mind. This is how I am able to achieve the tremendous staying power which keeps me going till date.<br /><br />I must reiterate that people deal with their situations differently. We may achieve the same results at the end but our methods vary based on our individual personalities and inclinations. I try to be the person I really am with no airs or affectations. Reaching out to people around me to encourage them to be true to themselves is something very dear to me. I live as though I would die someday and would not like to die as though I never lived, easily forgotten and not remembered for the impact I have made. This is what drives me and informs the decisions I make. This is what keeps me going for there is yet so much to do. Giving up is not an option and the person that I am does not give in to difficulties which would come anyway. The danger is not in falling but in falling and never rising.<br /><br />I have observed that people who are renowned for one extraordinary trait or the other is because they gave themselves a chance to be who they were meant to be. This is why there is only one Mahatma Ghandi, one Mandela, one Michael Jackson, one Mohammed Ali, one Barack Obama, one Mother Theresa, one Fela Anikulapo-Kuti and one me.<br /></div>poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-12144546910409014222010-09-21T08:06:00.000-07:002010-09-21T08:24:13.667-07:00Half a life..."...I dreamt of love an armful of roses<br />Of non-ending ballads and autumn leaves<br />Perfumed breath, a feathery touch<br />A never ending sea of peace..."<br /><br />*************************************************************************************<br />What is Emotional Abuse: Abuse is any behavior that is designed to control and subjugate another human being through the use of fear, humiliation, and verbal or physical assaults. Emotional abuse is any kind of abuse that is emotional rather than physical in nature. It can include anything from verbal abuse and constant criticism to more subtle tactics, such as intimidation, manipulation, and refusal to ever be pleased.<br /><br />Emotional abuse is like brain washing in that it systematically wears away at the victim’s self-confidence, sense of self-worth, trust in their own perceptions, and self-concept. Whether it is done by constant berating and belittling, by intimidation, or under the guise of “guidance,” “teaching,” or “advice,” the results are similar. Eventually, the recipient of the abuse loses all sense of self and remnants of personal value. Emotional abuse cuts to the very core of a person, creating scars that may be far deeper and more lasting than physical ones (Engel, 1992, p. 10).<br /><br /><strong>Abusive Expectations</strong>• The other person places unreasonable demands on you and wants you to put everything else aside to tend to their needs. It could be a demand for constant attention, or a requirement that you spend all your free time with the person. But no matter how much you give, it's never enough. You are subjected to constant criticism, and you are constantly berated because you don't fulfill all this person's needs.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffccff;">He wanted me to be with him all the time. Saying the only time he was happy was when I was with him. He said my presence made him feel whole. He picked me up from work and dropped me off at work everyday. He couldn’t get enough. I had to be totally dependent on him. He moved in with me practically, when I asked that he went to his own house we had arguments over my not caring enough…<br /></span><br /><strong>Aggressing</strong><br />• Aggressive forms of abuse include name-calling, accusing, blaming, threatening, and ordering. Aggressing behaviors are generally direct and obvious. The one-up position the abuser assumes by attempting to judge or invalidate the recipient undermines the equality and autonomy that are essential to healthy adult relationships. This parent-child pattern of communication (which is common to all forms of verbal abuse) is most obvious when the abuser takes an aggressive stance.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffccff;">There was a lot of name calling, a lot of direct insults. Calling my friends on the phone and telling them what a “whore” I was. Phrases like “f****ing b***h” where never far away in an argument. When I kept quiet and didn’t respond he yelled more and said I was ignoring his anger and trying to belittle him<br /></span><br />• Aggressive abuse can also take a more indirect form and may even be disguised and "helping." Criticizing, advising, offering solutions, analyzing, proving, and questioning another person may be a sincere attempt to help. In some instances however, these behaviors may be an attempt to belittle, control, or demean rather than help. The underlying judgmental "I know best" tone the abuser takes in these situations is inappropriate and creates unequal footing in peer relationships. This and other types of emotional abuse can lead to what is known as learned helplessness.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffccff;">He wanted me to be completely dependent on him and got mad when he was unable to provide things he believed a man should. I didn’t care that he didn’t have any money and was willing to support him till he achieved his dreams. I gave him my rent money to help get a loan to pursue his dreams. However, he seized every opportunity to criticize me for it. Always telling me how I was stuck up and thought I knew everything. “who do you think you are”?, You are nobody do you hear me?! You are nobody?!” </span><br /><span style="color:#ffccff;"><br /></span>Constant Chaos<br />• The other person may deliberately start arguments and be in constant conflict with others. The person may be "addicted to drama" since it creates excitement.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffccff;">There was always an argument or the other. A lot of drama - Check these out:<br /><br />Event 1: We went to a friends house. While there a conversation started about how everyone needs a love object a relationship beyond family and friends. My contribution to the conversation was that yes I agreed that in order to be a balanced person you needed a support group but that support group doesn’t necessarily have to be in the form of a romantic relationship. That is just a want. So m y friend said, so if your car breaks down on “third mainland bridge, who will you call, would you not call……?” and I said not at all, I would call “Triple A”. So as we drove home and I sat at the passengers seat, he started yelling at me. He said “so you don’t need me right?! You don’t need anyone?, I wonder what you think you are, going about disrespecting me in front of our friends and making me look stupid. Let’s see if you are afraid of dying and he goes ahead at high speed and rams my side of the car into a car driving beside us! </span><br /><span style="color:#ffccff;"><br />Event 2: He comes to pick me up from work and I was in a meeting and not ready. When I eventually make it to the car. He yells at me from V.I to third mainland over how I let him wait for me downstairs like he was my driver. How I want to make everyone know he has no job. How I had no regards for him. He yells obscenities while driving at top speed and when I tell him to please drive carefully he stops the car in the middle of third mainland at 9pm, steps out of the car and slams the door and starts walking. I drive beside him for a bit and then ask him to get back in the car. He did and I then drove all the way home.<br /><br />There were a million and one events like the ones described above</span>.<br /><br />Denying<br />• Denying a person's emotional needs, especially when they feel that need the most, and done with the intent of hurting, punishing or humiliating. The other person may deny that certain events occurred or that certain things were said. confronts the abuser about an incident of name calling, the abuser may insist, "I never said that," "I don't know what you're talking about," etc.<br /><br />Withholding is another form of denying. Withholding includes refusing to listen, refusing to communicate, and emotionally withdrawing as punishment. This is sometimes called the "silent treatment."<br /><br />When the abuser disallows and overrules any viewpoints, perceptions or feelings which differ from their own.Denying can be particularly damaging. In addition to lowering self-esteem and creating conflict, the invalidation of reality, feelings, and experiences can eventually lead you to question and mistrust your own perceptions and emotional experience. Denying and other forms of emotional abuse can cause you to lose confidence in your most valuable survival tool: your own mind.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffccff;">You know differently. The other person may deny your perceptions, memory and very sanity.<br />On different occasions, we argued over what we argued about or over what was said or who said what. Surprisingly to me my recollection of those events rarely matched his. Which only led to further arguments. </span><br /><br />Dominating<br />• Someone wants to control your every action. They have to have their own way, and will resort to threats to get it. When you allow someone else to dominate you, you can lose respect for yourself.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffccff;">He wanted to know everything. Go everywhere with me, do everything with me. He hated for me to be around other people and gradually I stopped seeing family and friends. For over 6 months nobody knew where I was or what I was going through. He hated all my friends and said I sounded too familiar on the phone with my male friends while my female friends were all “the wrong sort”. He hacked into my facebook account and constantly looked through my phone.<br /></span><br />Emotional Blackmail<br />• The other person plays on your fear, guilt, compassion, values, or other "hot buttons" to get what they want. This could include threats to end the relationship, totally reject or abandon you, giving you the the "cold shoulder," or using other fear tactics to control you.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffccff;">He always apologized, said how much he loved me and was sorry. He made excuses and said he was frustrated because of his financial situation. He wished he were more a man to be able to give me everything I wanted in life. He wished he could give me the wall, and felt I was slipping away whenever I went out with other people. I felt like I was in prison. I couldn’t even articulate what I was feeling and cried for no reason sometimes.<br /></span><br />Invalidation<br />• The abuser seeks to distort or undermine the recipient's perceptions of their world. Invalidating occurs when the abuser refuses or fails to acknowledge reality. For example, if the recipient tells the person they felt hurt by something the abuser did or said, the abuser might say "You are too sensitive. That shouldn't hurt you." Here is a much more complete description of invalidation<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffccff;">He said “you are tough nothing reaches you, nothing touches you”<br /></span><br />Minimizing<br />• Minimizing is a less extreme form of denial. When minimizing, the abuser may not deny that a particular event occurred, but they question the recipient's emotional experience or reaction to an event. Statements such as "You're too sensitive," "You're exaggerating," or "You're blowing this out of proportion" all suggest that the recipient's emotions and perceptions are faulty and not be trusted.<br />• Trivializing, which occurs when the abuser suggests that what you have done or communicated is inconsequential or unimportant, is a more subtle form of minimizing.<br /><br />Unpredictable Responses<br />• Drastic mood changes or sudden emotional outbursts. Whenever someone in your life reacts very differently at different times to the same behavior from you, tells you one thing one day and the opposite the next, or likes something you do one day and hates it the next, you are being abused with unpredictable responses. This behavior is damaging because it puts you always on edge. You're always waiting for the other shoe to drop, and you can never know what's expected of you. You must remain hypervigilant, waiting for the other person's next outburst or change of mood. An alcoholic or drug abuser is likely to act this way. Living with someone like this is tremendously demanding and anxiety provoking, causing the abused person to feel constantly frightened, unsettled and off balance.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffccff;">He hit the standing fan down, broke things, punched walls, crashed the car all in anger. He broke the side mirror off the car, shoved me roughly, yelled constantly and even threatened to kill himself and me. I never knew what he would do next. </span><br /><br />Verbal Assaults<br />• Berating, belittling, criticizing, name calling, screaming, threatening. Excessive blaming, and using sarcasm and humiliation. Blowing your flaws out of proportion and making fun of you in front of others. Over time, this type of abuse erodes your sense of self confidence and self-worth.<br /><span style="color:#ffccff;">He called my friend for two hours and told him I was a whore and he picked me from the streets. He called me names constantly. Held me down and asked “so who did you sleep with today”. He said horrible things I may not be able to repeat now. </span><br /><span style="color:#ffccff;"></span><br /><span style="color:#ffccff;">=====================================================================</span><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">Basic Rights in a Relationship<br /><br />If you have been involved in emotionally abusive relationships, you may not have a clear idea of what a healthy relationship is like. Evans (1992) suggests the following as basic rights in a relationship for you and your partner:<br /><br />The right to good will from the other.<br />The right to emotional support.<br />The right to be heard by the other and to be responded to with courtesy.<br />The right to have your own view, even if your partner has a different view.<br />The right to have your feelings and experience acknowledged as real.<br />The right to receive a sincere apology for any jokes you may find offensive.<br />The right to clear and informative answers to questions that concern what is legitimately your business.<br />The right to live free from accusation and blame.<br />The right to live free from criticism and judgment.<br />The right to have your work and your interests spoken of with respect.<br />The right to encouragement.<br />The right to live free from emotional and physical threat.<br />The right to live free from angry outbursts and rage.<br />The right to be called by no name that devalues you.<br />The right to be respectfully asked rather than ordered. </span>poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-22559713263911882332010-09-17T05:14:00.000-07:002010-09-17T05:19:29.140-07:00The dream"...I dreamt that then a time will come<br /> Of fame, fortune and fawn in tow<br /> Straddling a star, my name on it<br /> Waving my love to adoring fans..."<br /><br />*************************************************************************************<br /><br />~Self Therapy – Learning about myself~<br /><br />I got depressed thinking of the gap from where I was to where I knew I dreamed to be. I looked at my circumstances and wanted to throw tantrums, blame someone…no… everyone for my anguish. From the mother who I felt didn’t teach me better to the man who made me waste 2yrs of my life, from the rapist to the boyfriend that ditched me because I was too much for him. ‘From the foolish people at work who didn’t promote me when they were supposed to, to my bloody landlord who increased the rent though he knew I was broke. From the downright ridiculous, to the insane, from the pain to all the tears I shed over non-issues. From all the people who said “you are strong, you can handle it”, to the people who acted like nothing was happening...<br />Instead of throwing tantrums and blaming whoever I chose a different path. The path I walk to this day. I may walk another path years from now but right now I choose to walk right here. Where shame has taught me it is just fine to be me, guilt has taught me it is just fine to make mistakes and pain has taught me strength has nothing to do with muscles.<br /><br />I am who I am. The things these eyes have seen, this ears heard and this heart felt are the ingredients, I am the soup. I am the scoop. It is all about me! I’ve no idea if my way is best; I have never given a thought to it. What I do know is it works for me. It has quelled the tears and stopped the fear. It has given me a new reason to wake up and a long-lasting one because for as long as I live there will always be me. I wake up for me, people. Every morning I wake up for me. Everyday I think to myself, “how can I make me happy” – the answer could be “by making someone else happy” or “by going clubbing and dancing till my feet ache”. I ask myself “how do I justify my existence today?” and the answer could be “by talking of my experiences to a group of youngsters seeking a career” or “by stopping every now and then to smell the roses”. Not dramatic or cast in iron, but works for… you got it… ME. <br /><br />Not everyday is happy but everyday I inch closer and closer to my dreams, same ones that began when I was a little girl. They haven’t changed, I have.<br /><br />*************************************************************************************<br />I met him at a vulnerable time, wondering if there was something wrong with me, knocking on 30’s door and wondering why no one taught me desirable enough to want to spend more than a drunken date with me. A time of uncertainty. Why was I the one everyone wanted as maid of honour… Then I met him? I chose him because he was normal (or so I thought) because he seemed sane and seemed-okay. Maybe it had been my fault all along, maybe I was too choosy. It was time to begin a relationship and stay with it. Deep love will come as you spend time together. <br /><br />So I dreamt of me in my CEO skirt-suit and him in his pristine pilot’s attire, both of us the ultimate “power couple”. I dreamed the dream…poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-52192869427648739782010-09-15T06:37:00.000-07:002010-09-15T06:54:22.913-07:00COMING OF AGEI dreamt that then a time will come<br />Of fame, fortune and fawn in tow<br />Straddling a star, my name on it<br />Waving my love to adoring fans<br />I dreamt of love an armful of roses<br />Of non-ending ballads and autumn leaves<br />Perfumed breath, a feathery touch<br />A never ending sea of peace<br /><span style="color:#ff0000;">A storm’s come and a tree’s snapped<br />A bone’s broken and a page’s closed<br />A life’s changed and a prayer’s said<br />I’m stronger and I’ve come of age</span>.<br /><br />===================================================================<br /><br />I vowed to not write until I have written a story I must tell. It's time to tell that story. I must tell it in the next post and the next and the next until it's done. Until I'm purged of it.poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-36625762900683968342009-08-24T13:51:00.000-07:002009-08-24T14:06:25.132-07:00Devil May Care<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsup7YTvRexB2hJI1LkYz8_QVOrsxat1eT6Avn_nb2DN2mufzSPQYbPEnrdJ_RMjs58Nxo999LMhyphenhyphennx4csqmUi3OSziyZmg8i4In0NW2gzMKdLjl9K0GXLOy9tjGy4t17DvDvgqXenDSo/s1600-h/praying+hard.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373638993850205202" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 130px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 87px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsup7YTvRexB2hJI1LkYz8_QVOrsxat1eT6Avn_nb2DN2mufzSPQYbPEnrdJ_RMjs58Nxo999LMhyphenhyphennx4csqmUi3OSziyZmg8i4In0NW2gzMKdLjl9K0GXLOy9tjGy4t17DvDvgqXenDSo/s200/praying+hard.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="color:#ff99ff;">Warning:</span> BLASPHEMOUS POST. If you have issues with your religious convictions please don’t read, if you have no issues read at your own peril. If you wish to have issues, by all means read!<br /><br />Have you ever walked into those SME-like private hospitals where at 7.30am the nurses and cleaners, cooks and doctors gather to sing praises and pray profusely for the good lord to enrich, multiply and <span style="color:#ffff33;">“bless”</span> the works of their hands? I would have told you more if I could understand the various gibberish like tongues in which they are wont to speak. Sorry, can’t help you there. In fact, you may be able to help me if you have the gift of interpretation. I actually seriously think that some Christians get competitive during group prayers. You see, there’s a language of new generation prayer (and I don’t mean speaking in tongues here), there is a register which only the initiated can pull off without biting off the tips of their tongues. Those who are fledglings in this art resort to spouting gibberish tongues which, by the way, is also an art, but then, I digress. Maybe some other post…<br /><br />So I was wondering about those prayer sessions, what exactly does this kind of prayer mean, Ehn?!, seeing that the works of their hands are dispensing medication to people who are ill. Another almost clichéd situation would be the coffin maker who prays for business every morning. How about at work? The dog eat dog situation we all face, now check this: imagine there’s this guy who’s been “Deputy Whatever” for years, sometimes “Acting Whatever” when the Big Kahuna travels or is on vacation but is unceremoniously stripped of all power when Kahuna comes back. Now, it is clear Kahuna is going nowhere in the nearest future, see, Kahuna is still young, nowhere near retirement , so elimination by retirement is out of the question. Kahuna is not likely to get a new job anytime soon what with the recession and everything. Is it mere coincidence then that “Mr. Deputy” prays much more vigorously in church on Sunday for divine elevation just when there is “gist” from a “reliable source” in HR that there may be job losses in their company. Pourqoir? Pray tell.<br /><br />All these make me wonder, how does the good lord keep it all straight and fair? Selfish prayers are difficult to answer I suppose. Does he go on a ‘drop ‘em’ spree as soon as <span style="color:#ffff33;">his beloved son</span>, the coffin maker, cries to the heavens about being broke! Or does he feed the coffin maker the bad nuts, those who’ve never bothered to cry to the high heavens over… well… over anything? Or an even better scenario, what if he just allows the evil one get ‘em while he does his bit by directing the steps of the dead man’s relatives to this particular coffin maker?<br /></div><div>I really don’t know how it’s supposed to work when people say selfish prayers with no thoughts as to who might have to be stripped in order to enrich them…<br /><br /><em><span style="color:#ffcccc;">Disclaimer:<br /></span></em><br /><em>This post is the direct consequence of lack of sleep for three nights straight. If you have any unfavourable comments</em> kindly address it to <em>“PT’s insomnia” thanks.</em></div>poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-84702472395417635852009-07-15T03:35:00.000-07:002009-07-15T03:42:05.729-07:00Tug Of WarThere’s a tug of war in here<br />Oh there’s a tug of war<br /><br />You make me cry<br /> <span style="color:#ffff33;">You make me laugh<br /></span>You drink my love<br /> <span style="color:#ffff66;">And spit at me<br /></span>You slap my face<br /> <span style="color:#ffff66;">And stroke my hair<br /></span>You light my flames<br /> <span style="color:#ffff66;">And chill my bones</span><br />I say goodbye<br /> <span style="color:#ffff66;">And cling to you</span><br />I rue the day<br /> <span style="color:#ffff66;">I kissed your lips<br /></span>I speak your name<br /> <span style="color:#ffff66;">And feel the shame</span><br /><br />And fight this war<br />Inside of mepoeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-39838840557515161942009-05-28T03:26:00.000-07:002009-05-28T03:52:48.107-07:00Checkmate!<span style="color:#ff0000;">Mate</span> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5XDcyE_lWxxhGiXqFNjTa0PliK9aJViIfV33Wr1pyv5AIugmUYq-ybzAeFrGqQHNMiKk6UIlY98NFibo0KIJIK_rj0ekgh3qxsSkyTIrk4qKFSg9zUwewUjnktXuTsB7JHYrL0IH1rFk/s1600-h/checkmate+image.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340825227893620882" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 143px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 100px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5XDcyE_lWxxhGiXqFNjTa0PliK9aJViIfV33Wr1pyv5AIugmUYq-ybzAeFrGqQHNMiKk6UIlY98NFibo0KIJIK_rj0ekgh3qxsSkyTIrk4qKFSg9zUwewUjnktXuTsB7JHYrL0IH1rFk/s200/checkmate+image.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><span style="color:#ff0000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#ff0000;">Wait</span></div><div><span style="color:#ff0000;">The game is up</span></div><div><span style="color:#ff0000;">So you can stop</span></div><div><span style="color:#ff0000;">Did you think that I was blind?</span></div><div><span style="color:#ff0000;">Did you think I wouldn’t mind?</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ff0000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#ff0000;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#ff0000;">Mate</span></div><div><span style="color:#ff0000;">Hate</span></div><div><span style="color:#ff0000;">Is what I feel</span></div><div><span style="color:#ff0000;">So here’s the deal</span></div><div><span style="color:#ff0000;">'Won’t play with you for one more day</span></div><div><span style="color:#ff0000;">My mind is made up, come</span> <span style="color:#ff0000;">what may!</span></div></div>poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-1354700301031979882009-05-20T06:51:00.000-07:002009-05-20T06:55:05.743-07:00I saw a dead body today...There she was, lying on the tarred road, in an undignified pose of which no right thinking photographer would have approved, well except for those modern and artsy photographers deeply into the garish and macabre. Her legs were grotesquely bent askew, her neck twisted at an impossible angle. She wore a brown skirt which had ridden up her well-shaped thighs and a matching top which I couldn’t see clearly. When I looked closer, I saw she was light-skinned and wore one of the more expensive weaves available in the market. She had make-up on. She was once a good looking woman clearly full of life. But now, she was merely another carcass on Ikorodu road ironically lying under the pedestrian bridge. Judgment has never been swifter.<br /><br />(Yes I did see a dead body today which affected me greatly :(, a wasted life just because she didn't use the pedestrain bridge that was, oh, so close to her. and Yes it WAS hit and run you had to see the damage to the body to imagine the impact that must have done that)poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com61tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-73697597524229652572009-05-11T11:39:00.000-07:002009-05-11T12:39:50.189-07:00Me and my motherFor years, she strived to make me into a lady. Ladyship of course being by her own definition. Again, of course, she failed miserably.<br /><br />I never did understand why she was always on my case. Don't slouch or walk with a swagger, chew with your mouth closed, help me out in the kitchen (but mom, everyone else is going with Dad to the club). She didn't even bother with an answer. One evil look and I was in the kitchen meekly cutting 'ugu'. I swore I'd been adopted. That's why she loved me less than my brothers who were practically allowed to do as they pleased. To her credit, she never did quite cage me like one would expect being a bit unorthodox herself. But every now and then she decided that maybe she should bring me up like her mother did her. So, I would pound the cocoyam for the 'oha' soup as opposed to using the blender. I would pound the pepper and chop the onions. I would lay my bed and follow her to Tejuosho market to buy basket of tomato and heap of yam! I hated every moment of it. I hated the haggling and the shoving and cussing that went on there. I still do by the way.<br /><br />My brothers did house work too. Maybe it had something to do with my incessant "why can't I go out and play football?" kind of questions. I got to wash the cars once a week too. I actually enjoyed doing that. My parents, my Dad especially, thought the boys needed to be balanced to survive bachelorhood when the time came. He'd been a 'bachelor'' himself for a while and had to 'fend' for himself. He didn't want his sons to grow up not having a clue how to scrub floors or make a pot of stew. So there was a cooking roster and a duty roster. My brothers learnt to cook everything from fried yam to egusi soup. But then, whenever we had to go outside of the roster, guess who got picked first?<br /><br />Then I turned twelve. And Mom thought we should have 'the talk'. So she gave me a book. I can't remember the exact title now but it was filled with uninteresting stuff about monthly cycles, counting the days, ovulation periods and safe periods, Billings method and so on and so forth. Nothing of the raunchy stuff I expected. Rewind a bit to when I was eight. My Dad bought a series of science books. The series started with book one, which was about unicellular organisms and progressively ended at book 16 which was about Man. It had all the gist about each specie, everything really from feeding habits to reproduction. Daddy gave me a book a week and suddenly stopped at book fifteen which, yes you are right, was about mammals (gorrillas and whales). Then no book sixteen. My brother and I were baffled. Because each book had the whole series listed at the back. We KNEW there was a book sixteen. Hmmm... something fishy was going on. So off we went in search of book sixteen and there it was tucked away in between some encyclopaedia in Dad's study. To cut a long story short, at eight I had seen live pictures, with real life models having sex. I saw a penis with semen at the tip of it. I knew that was the stuff that made women preggers. I knew exactly where you were supposed to put it and how the vaginal walls contracts and excretes lubrication to make sexual intercourse enjoyable and to carry the man's semen to the place where fertilization happened! So suffice it to say that Billing's method wasn't what I wanted to read at 12. I had also read enough Nick Carters and James Hadley Chases to know that sex was raunchy and sweaty and glorious and not the clinical thing my mother's book described. I gave her back the book with a straight face and swore I'd finished it. So we proceeded to have the talk... "You are growing into a woman now and will soon begin to notice some changes in your body" she began and I immediately felt embarrased for her. I just had the sense that she was as uncomfortable as I was, seriously, why couldn't she just spare both of us the torture? So she went on in that fashion until thankfully it was over, quickly. And we pretended it never happened. When I got my period she gave me a pack of tampons and the literature that came with the pack and sent me to the bathroom. Her good deed for the year done.<br /><br />You see, my mother and I, we didn't know what to say to each other for a long time. It seemed that each time we opened our mouths we hurt each other. I was not the daughter of her dreams but I was the only one she had so it was a struggle adjusting to this little dissappointment that was me. I made her cut off my long hair when I was 10 so she kept the long strands for me to see what I made her do when I was old enough to appreciate it. Instead, when I was actually old enough I went bald by choice. Mummy never understood it. My mother would never wear a pair of jeans without accessorising it to the max. Jeans are for hippies in my Mother's books. My Mom is a pair of expensive blazers, lovely frilly dress, long curly hair, heely strappy sandals, manicured nails kind of chic. I am a jeans and sketchers wearing, dreadlocked, costume jewelry kind of chic.<br /><br />When Mommy went to live in the US of A, it couldn't have been a better time because we were nearly at the point of tearing each other's throats apart. In her frustration at the ungainly woman I was growing up to be she made mistakes. In my none appreciation of the sensitivity of the situation I made mistakes. We fought, we ranted and we cried. We spilled sweat and even blood sometimes in our legendary battles. My father wisely stayed away from it all. I remember the day we saw her off to the airport, my brother's and I, 14 years ago. She had tears in her eyes and she said to me, "you won't cry now, you want me to go, don't you?" Well, hell Yeah!<br /><br />Well, we've come a long way, me and my mother. Now we talk and we laugh. Now we can stay in the same home for weeks and not scratch each others gullets out. Now we talk on the phone for hours on end. Now we are both grown women who have our own experiences to enrich our lives. Now i appreciate the sacrifices she made for her children who she loves dearly. Now I know she loves me and wants the best for me. A bit misguided sometimes but extremely well intentioned and filled with love. I appreciate the wisdom the years have given her. I admire her strength and tenacity. I respect what she has made of her life. I love her. My beautiful mother.poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-18543615241733385322009-04-18T12:36:00.001-07:002009-04-18T12:54:37.257-07:00Untitled<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo2gbMzPclUHmPLrkEVoYVBrxjNlFVh90NoWMzazSdLcwiCYD9eSS5x41i5fCjODliYH1SPDqrfoXOJgPKvMSYsLYhZk1qJXeufcwDoDYSvBWSl9NtjIlBd17tC4z5obf7T09OKN9x5FQ/s1600-h/Lonely-1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326121062920402386" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 132px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo2gbMzPclUHmPLrkEVoYVBrxjNlFVh90NoWMzazSdLcwiCYD9eSS5x41i5fCjODliYH1SPDqrfoXOJgPKvMSYsLYhZk1qJXeufcwDoDYSvBWSl9NtjIlBd17tC4z5obf7T09OKN9x5FQ/s200/Lonely-1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXbfGlE7t0e411AId5OX1furYY15nowrZg-ISDn0F76aJsrvqzkMMtANmq3Yj9AweFD98fEUUEWsZ-aucB3GhdqoTsuEBVG4v3W6enjUIvjQBpC5Uhvf2FCJg6GPzgsrsTyfbbux8nY1U/s1600-h/Lonely-1.jpg"></a><br /><br /><div>look in my eyes<br />what do you see?<br />corneas and irises<br />or the intricate tales<br />of a journeyed soul?<br />hold my hand<br />what do you feel?<br />the calluses and corns<br />are stories untold</div><div>but can you feel the heartbeats</div><div>of everyone I’d held and lost?<br />watch me walk away<br />do you see swinging hips<br />or the cautious steps<br />of feet that know the rocky lane?<br />come, here, look again<br />tell me what do you think </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><em><span style="font-size:78%;">Picture from </span><a href="http://www.photobucket.com/"><span style="font-size:78%;">www.photobucket.com</span></a></em></div><div> </div><div> </div></div>poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-76712974212785020642009-04-07T06:35:00.000-07:002009-04-07T06:42:24.340-07:00OH NO!<span style="color:#ff6666;">Some of you may have noticed my protracted silence. Some of you may not have noticed. If you hadn't noticed - :P on you! But that's not the point to this post.<br /><br />I couldn't type so I couldn't post an update. Honestly. I've had this mysterious pain in my right shoulder for ages now. It creeps up on me and stays for a few days and then dissappears. I thought it was because I'd dislocated my shoulder sometime in the past. Newayz, I finally got a diagnosis - ARTHRITIS!<br /><br />How the heck do you have arthritis at 28?! Yeah, I know all about juvenile arthritis. This is clearly not juvenile so what is it? If you are in doubt kindly check out my ass and tits.<br /><br />Okay like this is not bad enough, it decides to attack my right shoulder! What's wrong with my left shoulder? Isn't it as ripe and ready as the right. I guess not. Perhaps if I were left handed then it would have gone there. So I've no clue what this means for my future or whatever. All I know is I am in pain and it seems I will be for the rest of my life!<br /><br />So frustrated. Okay I'll google the condition now and stop freaking out.<br /><br />Sorry guyz. I just hate this.</span>poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-62861534562869463522009-03-25T04:16:00.000-07:002009-03-25T06:49:29.119-07:00DittoIn command of my existence<br />Determination my subsistence<br />Days gone by are history<br />Tomorrow’s shrouded in mystery<br />Unafraid boundlessly<br />Embracing life relentlessly<br />Weaving yarns of lessons learnt<br />Into the tapestry of time’s art<br />As sure as each day births the next<br />Realities deliver hurdles and tests<br />The choices are to buck or fly<br />To give <span style="color:#99ff99;">one more step</span> a try<br /><br />************************************<br />Introducing you to some fantastic new and semi-new bloggers! Trust me they'll be worth every bit of your time. Please applaud as I enjoy the honor of introducing:<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffcccc;"><a href="http://culturecynic.blogspot.com/">Culturecynic</a>: I am definitely sure some of you have discovered this refreshing blog but if you haven't drop by and chill out.</span><br /><br /><a href="http://catharsis-turumarth.blogspot.com/">Turumarth: </a><span style="color:#ffcc00;">He is my friend, a kindred spirit, I have always hoped he'll share his incredible mind with the rest of us and now he has. Need I say more. For scintillating poetry and demented bipolar rants this is the place to be. </span><br /><br /><a href="http://soulsearchpoetry.blogspot.com/">Freddie:</a> <span style="color:#ccccff;">New blogger, flows like a mutha'. Seriously guyz, I think he's got something on his chest he just has to offload</span>.<br /><br />More great blogs on blogsville.poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-25904822282499218862009-03-15T23:32:00.000-07:002009-03-16T06:18:56.168-07:00Honest Scrap Award<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtgupd7aRGlcPP5qxIND1r0soq-B1HVgxFQtqUEi25XrPk-5-Ax3hzJ1gcH0M976jLjOJN6mg80aeSXn49to-TI0nib8FN_ISNZj4kwNVeNJi0vC6_Us45LYWhEOFk_le7N5chL9AwsNY/s1600-h/blog+award.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313672364731741058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 194px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtgupd7aRGlcPP5qxIND1r0soq-B1HVgxFQtqUEi25XrPk-5-Ax3hzJ1gcH0M976jLjOJN6mg80aeSXn49to-TI0nib8FN_ISNZj4kwNVeNJi0vC6_Us45LYWhEOFk_le7N5chL9AwsNY/s200/blog+award.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div>The award above was given to me by <a href="http://stanis-thoughtspoetryanything.blogspot.com/">Stanis</a>. He says, <em>“This award is bestowed upon a fellow blogger whose blog’s content or design is, in the giver’s opinion, brilliant.”</em> This one sentence takes my breath away. Incidentally, this award comes with a meme which is going to take some doing. Here are the rules below:</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>REQUIREMENTS FOR ACCEPTING THIS AWARD<br /></div><br /><br /><div>“When accepting this auspicious award, you must write a post bragging about it, including the name of the misguided soul who thinks you deserve such acclaim, and link back to the said person so everyone knows she/he is real. Choose a minimum of seven (7) blogs that you find brilliant in content or design. Or improvise by including bloggers who have no idea who you are because you don’t have seven friends. Show the seven random victims’ names and links and leave a harassing comment informing them that they were prized with Honest Weblog. Well, there’s no prize, but they can keep the nifty icon. List at least ten (10) honest things about yourself. Then pass it on!”</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>10 honest things about me</strong></span></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;"></span></strong></div><br /><div><span style="color:#3366ff;">1. I have passed up on sleep so many times because I was reading a book I just couldn't put down. The choice between what happens next and bags under my eyes the next day is always an easy one for me. So I try not to pick up an interesting book anytime after 3.00pm. My favourite thing is to curl up with a good book, a bottle of wine and a big bowl of fried chicken. However, i don't enjoy having to work off the love handles.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#3366ff;">2. I. CAN. COOK! I know recipes from all over the world. But my best dish is still my onugbo (bitterleaf) soup, thickened with cocoyam paste with local seasoning for taste. For some reason most people who know me don't believe this. </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#3366ff;">3. I used to hide behind my father's special sofa to steal beer from his special mug while he watched NTA news when I was a little girl. Maybe that's why I can drink two-thirds of a bottle of henessey and still drive myself home. (don't get all puritan on me now, I don't do this often).</span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><span style="color:#3366ff;">4. I started blogging cos I was bored. It was supposed to be therapeutic at the time. Now it's a way to connect with some really wonderful people and I love it.</span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span> </div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;">5. I have three brothers. I love them something fierce.</span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span> </div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;">6. I love soccer, Man Utd to be precise (this weekend was bad). I've been a fan of the red devils since 1988. My earliest recollection of watching a football match was the finals at Mexico 86. I also love formula one. Yeah, something about daredevil people driving at breakneck speed round and round dangerous bends fascinates me. Actually, my fascination is that these crazy people are actually able to make intelligent decisions at that speed.</span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"> </span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></div><div></div><div></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#3366ff;">7. When I am really hurt or angry I am dead quiet. I don't yell. It can be mistaken for passivity but that's not what it is, it is actually a coldness that lodges itself somewhere deep in my heart. It may take years to thaw out. It rarely shows it's ugly head though. </span></div><br /><span style="color:#3366ff;">8. I love witty guys. I like a guy who has the yarns to transform what would have been an ordinary conversation into a magical moment. That gets me anyday. When I engage a guy in a conversation I usually begin by tentatively testing the depths of his mind and imagination, if I draw a blank more than twice, I politely excuse myself and walk, that's why I don't do blind dates, because then I'll be forced to sit through dinner or whatever. </span><br /><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span><br /><span style="color:#3366ff;">9. I wrote my first drama script at 7 (don't even ask about the plot, lol), my first poem at 8. I have written over 200 poems till date. I hope to publish someday (insert goofy smile).</span><br /><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span><br /><span style="color:#3366ff;">10. Sometimes I erroneously believe I can solve all the world's problems, wipe away the sense of pain and doom on a lot of strange faces. It breaks my heart repeatedly when I am reminded that there is only so much I can do. But I won't stop trying.</span><br /><br />The following bloggers blow my mind. They are brilliant:<br /><br />1. <a href="http://genderandme.blogspot.com/">Standy<br /></a>2. <a href="http://yawehrobin.blogspot.com/">Robyn<br /></a>3. <a href="http://raz9ijaboi.blogspot.com/">Danny Bagucci<br /></a>4. <a href="http://my-mothers-child.blogspot.com/">MDM </a><br />5. <a href="http://mythoughtsandmoi.blogspot.com/">Temite</a><br />6. <a href="http://sugabelly.blogspot.com/">Sugabelly</a><br />7. <a href="http://theartofmusing.blogspot.com/">Doug</a><br /><br />That's it. Enjoy.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></strong>poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-2422556487606357282009-03-15T10:23:00.001-07:002009-03-15T10:39:09.699-07:00Explaining the silence<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDxGs7HpT1ibEGSICABHtM1GprIfs1aJPAOd-yMM8Vpmac_af7ce2sSXFB59el3SAfFZSvt70xIY7x1VRhTfCmzPX8wv4-4tN6N2q7e3FBL2_3RFX78FdQH1q4_dFCYKHHWJq_cOUzzn0/s1600-h/frog2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313470435039423762" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 129px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 129px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDxGs7HpT1ibEGSICABHtM1GprIfs1aJPAOd-yMM8Vpmac_af7ce2sSXFB59el3SAfFZSvt70xIY7x1VRhTfCmzPX8wv4-4tN6N2q7e3FBL2_3RFX78FdQH1q4_dFCYKHHWJq_cOUzzn0/s200/frog2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Apologies everyone. Thought it would be rude to keep remaining silent. I am actually just recovering from some blasted illness. I am okay now though a bit weak. But at some point, the fever was so high I started hallucinating. The subject of my hallucination was... wait for it... frogs?! How utterly dissappointing, why couldn't I hallucinate about being a princess in some far away but delicious fairy tale with an absolutely charming Prince in tow? Or of being obscenely rich, you know, the kind of rich that makes Warren Buffet's money look like monopoly money? WHY FROGS?<br /><br />Update tomorrow y'all. I promise. Hugs.</div>poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-75162434351612421942009-03-06T00:38:00.000-08:002009-03-06T00:48:32.013-08:00Could you?<a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.nubar.com/.../031506monica306.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309993701086834818" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 138px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr1uk46QdEIHSsutw6B_cPDL1qZ4ytD7CWUgwXmhz5X4T8cG8FFx9RupVU6WEbskf9MINrZz9XzNkTB7fueF4ell2-Ov-wviv07SywhIAQr84_VHwdAfe3600jwhzeLIhsRndXFY8O4jw/s200/thinking+woman.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="color:#66ff99;"></span> </div><div><span style="color:#66ff99;"></span> </div><div><span style="color:#66ff99;">Could you love me? Would you?<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#66ff99;">The idiosyncratic inexplicable things I do and want to do and will do. The obsessive compulsiveness that wakes me at midnight to ensure no little green men stole you away. The way I have to sleep close to the wall for fear of falling over, rolling myself up in the duvet and rolling under the bed where I would promptly suffocate and die.<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#66ff99;">Would you know when to listen without proffering brilliant advice? Would you know when one word would be talkative? Would you support my hair brained schemes? Would you trust me and respect me? Would you listen even if you don’t have a clue what I am talking about? Would you patiently explain your job to me and not assume I’ll never get it? Would you understand my passion for my career, and my future, as well as, my insane need to make a difference in people’s lives, to share my experiences, my time, my money, my heart with people other than you? Yeah, that’s me, Voltroness: Defender of the Universe.<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#66ff99;">Can you keep up with the moods from sunny to rainy and the drizzling in between? Do you understand my fear of childbirth? The fear that babies are brand new people who can be ruined by me and I want none of that? Would you understand when I need to go away to a quiet place without you for one week? Would you feel left out and unwanted no matter how many times I assure you it’s not that way? How about my bookworm moments, my total absorbance into books? Can you live with that?<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#66ff99;">Can you live with my half-finished bottles of coke, my midnight cleaning frenzies, my unfinished sentences, my forgetting to kiss you at the door like normal couples are supposed to, my calling you, asking a question and abruptly cutting off when I get an answer with no ‘I love yous’ at the end? Can you deal with my panic that you’ll probably die of a headache, the way you cure my insomnia just by lying next to me? The fact that I need you though I may not remember to say it in those words often?<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#66ff99;">Would you be there when I have an asthma attack, a UTI, psoriasis, migraines, on and off bouts of malaria and all the little ailments that assail me every now and again.<br />Would you be careful and handle my heart with care, knowing it’s easy to break my heart but impossible to break my spirit?<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#66ff99;">Could you love me? Would you…?</span></div>poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-70488901234775179472009-03-02T02:27:00.000-08:002009-03-03T08:31:05.135-08:00Momma's hair *warning: Long and Dark poem*<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9gDYXHbXqYWI135yrTrydzrr9GWrum0Zufypyqw3B7M1EH6pNv8-FrgtO5HB2w_3su7UNlH4uIXo7sK-3ZXXxseiL9GmdpXmmFb1B9873L2rReBwY0Z5bEtN8Lf6Wz4g1_I6vPEqKTdU/s1600-h/bloody-serial-killer-shower-curtain.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308541277379679986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9gDYXHbXqYWI135yrTrydzrr9GWrum0Zufypyqw3B7M1EH6pNv8-FrgtO5HB2w_3su7UNlH4uIXo7sK-3ZXXxseiL9GmdpXmmFb1B9873L2rReBwY0Z5bEtN8Lf6Wz4g1_I6vPEqKTdU/s200/bloody-serial-killer-shower-curtain.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><em><a href="http://www.bedzine.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/b">www.bedzine.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/b</a>...</em></span> </div><br /><p><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;">He still smells rose flowers<br />Her long chestnut hair after a shower<br />Brushing against his baby smooth cheek<br />"Sleep little one", and as she speaks<br />He holds onto her robe<br />Refusing to let go<br />"Let go honey,<br />I'll be here in the morning"<br />Then one day she wasn't<br />He knew not to cry, he mustn't<br /><br /><span style="color:#33ff33;">It all started with the hair<br />She never left her head bare<br />But he knew they finally got her<br />And Papa said it was the cancer<br />Bad bad cancer taking her hair away<br />But he lied, that was not the only way<br /></span><br />There were all those women<br />Wearing mom's hair like it belonged to them<br />What he would give to see her smile<br />To keep her around just for a while<br /><br /><span style="color:#33ff33;">He knew he had a duty<br />So he walked behind the cutie<br />She never saw the knife<br />That later took her life<br /></span><br />At her screaming - so shrill<br />He felt a little thrill<br />Spread slowly from his head to his toe<br />In his heart it was easy to know<br />That soon he'd have sweet mom back<br />And a smile slit his face a little crack<br /><br /><span style="color:#33ff33;">Shhh... young lady<br />This is nothing shady<br />It's just a simple operation<br />Just to make a little seperation<br /><br /></span>He rocked back and forth<br />As he went to work<br />The gleaming blade glinting in the light<br />Not caring if he cut neatly or right<br />Eating into scalp and hair<br />As the smell of death filled the air</span> </p><br /><p>******************************************************************************</p><br /><p>Okay, on a lighter note: how many of you have been here? Please hurry off to:</p><p align="center"><a href="http://naijabloggersaward.blogspot.com/"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308998550186685266" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 60px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAD4xd9z_c28-_kMyQzQb8xe4DcBpl2McciMGKtvXdUGeVthkj81I2qnPeZ7E4B8cqfyCsWGwIbaTGfQoiz-gYpfZMv2KnQmycguSeFB8WT03VKOvtPpHDTBVhHzdYDWDAWvg3uIwPIiY/s200/green+button%5B1%5D.png" border="0" /></a></p>poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-79002414892091940032009-02-09T03:51:00.001-08:002009-02-09T05:13:58.165-08:00Things that made me go - HUH?!<span style="color:#ff6666;">My neighbor and her prayers:<br /><br /></span>· I live on the ground floor and my neighbor on the apartment over mine is quite a zealous Christian. Her zeal is displayed in several ways. The loudest display is evident when she chooses to pray at 12 midnight. Sometimes these loud prayer sessions last for 3hours at a stretch. My neighbor goes into a religious frenzy and stamps her feet repeatedly and consistently all through the tongue speaking religious vehemence filled session. What’s my issue?<br />· On weekdays, I am forced to wake up at 4.00am -4.30am because traffic on third mainland can be vicious anytime after 6.00am. I get home quite late because sometimes I decide to wait out the rush hour traffic. So I get roughly about 4hrs precious sleep time each weekday! Imagine how it would feel to have to lie awake during these precious 4hours listening to your neighbour practically bring the house down in the name of prayer!@##$%^&&!<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6666;">My gateman’s money grabbing stunts:</span><br /><span style="color:#ff6666;"><br /></span>· My neighbours and I employed a new soft spoken gateman. Dude was quite nice and clean. His job was to open and close the gate, lock the gate at night and unlock it in the mornings, wash the cars and empty the trash. My neighbors and I worked out a payment scheme for this guy. 1k for washing the car and I think 2 for the job. So everyone gets to dole out 3k+ at the end of the month. One early in the morning at the ungodly hour I wake up to go to work. Gateman accosts me as am about to get in the car and says: “Madam, dem say make you bring money for dustbin”. I rave a little about how he should’ve told me yesterday and not early in the morning and by the way “who be dem”? <br />“This aunty wey dey live for up and the one wey dey live for down”<br />So I give him 1K and I tell him “dis one go last you oh, no dey ask person for money early in the morning you hear?!”<br />Imagine my shock when I learnt that we had already included the money for emptying the bin in his monthly payment and the whole “aunty give me money” thing was his own little scam in his own little world! Needless to say I deducted the 1k from his salary for the month with a stern warning that a repeat will land him in Panti police station. @##$%^&!<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6666;">The guy who follows me home at 11.00pm:<br /></span><br />· See me see wahala oh. I was on my way home one night. It was actually about 11.00pm when I got to my part of town when I noticed a car trailing me. There had been extraordinary traffic that dady. From the headlamps I could make out it was a Mercedes 190. At first, I chided myself for my over active imagination but decided to take a few illogical turns that if you were going anywhere reasonable you ‘d have no reasons to take. When the car stuck behind me like a heat seeking missile I panicked. I decided to drive past my street to the nearest police post. Luckily there was one not too far away and I drove straight there. The car continued to trail me in hot pursuit. When I got the police post I slowed down and the car pulled up beside me. The driver wound down and was saying something to me. I couldn’t make out what he was saying so I simply told the policeman that the man in that car had been following me and I have no idea who he was! Immediately the policemen sprang into action. They ordered him to come down from his car and asked why he was trailing me. His answer was “I saw her and I liked her and I wanted to get to know her, I have been following her since”. The perplexed policeman asked where he knew he was following me to. “To her husband’s house?!” and the guy repeated his logic. So the confused policemen simply held him back and asked me to go <a href="mailto:home!@#$$%">home!@#$$%</a>!!!!!!!!!!<br /></span><br /><br /><em><span style="color:#cc66cc;">p.s</span></em><br /><em><span style="color:#cc66cc;">I spoke to my neighbour as nicely as I could about her loud praying and she has either toned down or moved the party to another room. At least she didn't assume I was a witch and her prayers were "disturbing" me. lol.<br /></span></em>poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-67843637874454637842009-02-03T22:22:00.000-08:002009-02-04T03:52:47.513-08:00Love hurts<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6c0DZkIrG6enQXe61R6duYdxSL4_IzHMA0ZnBf5hQhbcj3k6kefEVSI3mE_Pl9k6dKn0JlyfjegbgUTky2vZcmjYhuxZqaytmDTcet5OdA6zYL5APbqWlfevUmiTum2pFgdrC_yUuq1I/s1600-h/love+hurts.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298908599228259026" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 167px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6c0DZkIrG6enQXe61R6duYdxSL4_IzHMA0ZnBf5hQhbcj3k6kefEVSI3mE_Pl9k6dKn0JlyfjegbgUTky2vZcmjYhuxZqaytmDTcet5OdA6zYL5APbqWlfevUmiTum2pFgdrC_yUuq1I/s200/love+hurts.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Frozen<br />Trembling<br />Riveted<br />My heart looks on<br />Pried swiftly<br />Recklessly<br />Swept up in<br />This energy<br />Deliciously<br />Dangerously<br />Careening<br />Slipping<br />Groping<br />Falling<br />Aching<br />Frozen<br />Trembling...</div><div> </div><div><em><span style="color:#ffff66;"><span style="font-size:78%;">pic</span>:<span style="font-size:78%;">www.blogskins.com</span></span></em></div>poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-40596829204387543732009-02-01T22:24:00.000-08:002009-02-01T23:11:30.437-08:00Is it true?Okay peeps, I promised to put you out of your misery. So here's the truth at last.<br /><br />Last week I was tagged to write three statements about myself, 2 had to be lies and 1 true:<br />these were the statements:<br /><br />1. I tried to kill myself sometime in the past<br />2. I've got natural kinky african hair, no perms, no waves, no weaves<br />3. I used to think I was a lesbian<br /><br />Standy, Earl, Temite, Afro, Miss Sula, Ty and Woomie all thought 1 was the lie. For some reason most people didn't think I would have ever resorted to wanting to kill myself... hmmm<br /><br />MDM, NDQ, Kafo and Oluwadee, didn't think my hair would be natural, I wonder why...<br /><br />Stanis was torn between 1 and 3 and FFF was definite 3 was true<br /><br />Bumight, Fineboy Agbero's old flame was quite certain 3 was the lie...<br /><br />Okay here's the truth...<br /><br />1. is true: I tried to kill myself once in the past. Fed myself a small handful of my cousin's prescripton sleeping pills hoping to slip away in my sleep. The point to this exercise was to end what I considered then unbearable pain. This was some years ago, I have come a looong way since then. I probably really didn't want to die because it was a bit comical, i took so much time between pills that I slept off before i got to a dose that could've killed me... lol. No, I don't think I am suicidal.<br /><br />2 is true: I wear my hair in dreadlocks or "dreadful locks" whichever it is to you. No perms, no waves, no weaves, no chemicals...<br /><br />3 is a LIE: I have NEVER been unsure of my sexual orientation or which way it was I swung. For some reason, right from when I was seven I knew I liked boys (for the voyeurs reading this, I didn't experiment with them till i was a decent age)... Never thought of a girl in a sexual way, never felt like squeezing a girls boobs, never kissed a girl and liked the taste of her cherry chapstick... ok I am quite sure you get it now.<br /><br />So that's all folks! Will put up a proper update soon. And will do blogrounds later today.poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-7348210720277842242009-01-27T03:54:00.001-08:002009-01-27T23:46:41.866-08:00I have been tagged (True-Lies)<span style="color:#ffccff;"><a href="http://genderandme.blogspot.com/">Standtall or Standy</a> </span><span style="color:#33ffff;">as Temite likes to call her has tagged me. I've no clue what to ask but i guess it will come to me as I go on. The rules are:</span><br /><br />a. Tell three things about yourself, two should be true and one a lie.<br />b. Commenters should guess which two are true and which one is a lie and tell why they think so.<br />c. Tag 6 people to do the same.<br />d. Post the answers in your next blog, but only after you have a good number of comments<br /><br />My statements are:<br /><br />1. I tried to kill myself sometime in the past<br />2. I've got natural kinky african hair, no perms, no waves, no weaves<br />3. I used to think I was a lesbian<br /><br />Phew! that was tough! I tag:<br /><br />1. <a href="http://mindgraffitti.blogspot.com/">Tythemostmagnificient</a><br />2. <a href="http://stanis-thoughtspoetryanything.blogspot.com/">Stani</a><br />3. <a href="http://www.redsapphire.blogspot.com/">Red sapphire</a><br />4<a href="http://nigeriandramaqueen.blogspot.com/">. NDQ</a><br />5. poetryinaglobalbox<br />6. any one who hasn't been tagged yet.<br /><br />Have fun guys.poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-68678249603738532002009-01-23T09:21:00.000-08:002009-01-23T10:00:20.279-08:00Poetry fest<div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">I'LL HAVE THIS DANCE</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">My heart beats a tune with yours<br />A song whose words I never learnt<br />Bubbles, spills all around us<br />The whisper of your fingertips<br />Like the tentative first notes<br />Of a song in a mystery language<br />My skin leaps to meet your hands<br />Like the melody of string instruments<br />We flow, we writhe together<br />In this corporeal dance<br />Strum me, your guitar<br />Beat me, your drum<br />Blare me, your trumpet<br />Let this dance begin</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span> </div><span style="font-size:130%;"><div align="center"><br />DRESSED TO KILL</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">In </div><div align="center">Your minuscule </div><div align="center">Outfit</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">And</div><div align="center"> My minuscule </div><div align="center">Heartbeat </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">At </div><div align="center">Your Luminous </div><div align="center">Beauty</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">I </div><div align="center">Keel Over </div><div align="center">Slowly</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />THE END <span style="font-size:85%;">(it ended, he wrote half of this, I wrote the other half)</span></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Looking back</div><div align="center">Words never said</div><div align="center">Silence broken only </div><div align="center">By the sound of hearts breaking</div><div align="center">Driving off in a cloud of dust</div><div align="center">I face the end before the beginning</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Listless days</div><div align="center">Tears almost shed</div><div align="center">Music that teases and tortures</div><div align="center">Memory, a throbbing tooth</div><div align="center">I will no longer have you</span></div>poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-74904340733268329162009-01-12T03:13:00.000-08:002009-01-12T04:02:41.849-08:00Akwaaba - Lessons from Accra (mini update)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzwle_yDv4WTtlI7mOoYsOJr2PWQnFf2b9Nn6qpMOEwoEj9ybcS7hECqwNuCYQZ93a8avJrVQzrmp5HvL3P_GigHATG-eVEyhv3gEHv8YnfRNryGd_xm6NIcXuBmuWWFAdMsN9hVYzwdg/s1600-h/akwaaba.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290376150613759650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 133px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzwle_yDv4WTtlI7mOoYsOJr2PWQnFf2b9Nn6qpMOEwoEj9ybcS7hECqwNuCYQZ93a8avJrVQzrmp5HvL3P_GigHATG-eVEyhv3gEHv8YnfRNryGd_xm6NIcXuBmuWWFAdMsN9hVYzwdg/s200/akwaaba.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>Was in Ghana for the first time last weekend and I learnt that:</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>- there is a certain poetic justice in watching Nigerians lift "Ghana Must Go" bags from the conveyor belt at the International airport in Accra.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>- good roads and electricity are not displays of oyinbo winch - launching space rockets are.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>- you can have an organised airport in West Africa... where taxis queue close to the exit</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>- you can brand a country! Selling Kente, Woodin and writing "Akwaaba" on all the notice boards could be starting points... however investing a bit in tourism won't hurt any.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>- you can walk around at night without looking over your shoulders for homicidal armed robbers who only want your mobile phone and then your life.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>- wearing hotpants in broad daylight is not considered conspiracy against the government and will not get you arrested.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>- it doesn't matter how dilapidated taxis are, just ensure their brakes and their stereos are working well. You get extra points for louder speakers.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>- pedestrains have rights and traffic rules are not so silly afterall.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>- sun tan lotion is something you should pack along with swimsuits irrespective of skin colour</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>- if you can't pronounce its name, don't eat it or drink it by the way.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-72582317970470251402009-01-07T21:52:00.000-08:002009-01-07T22:17:51.772-08:00White Cat Blues<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS8Q_YDWOyAzlBKhGTS3Sp-0dGFQJhirycgDOO9pkE-f6sxhituWlOLZBKvhpNiZkxV9ucEUwulf3US2y8ATNHgVy_dJnR14X0b8u1KCMteL1XhROWZ82SDl-5cjRcAnsNiEQOtQduWNw/s1600-h/mnet+again.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288801997954777362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 138px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS8Q_YDWOyAzlBKhGTS3Sp-0dGFQJhirycgDOO9pkE-f6sxhituWlOLZBKvhpNiZkxV9ucEUwulf3US2y8ATNHgVy_dJnR14X0b8u1KCMteL1XhROWZ82SDl-5cjRcAnsNiEQOtQduWNw/s200/mnet+again.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff0000;"> Stiggy and I (well, at least my legs), just chilling...<br /></span><div align="left"><br />I am almost ashamed to admit - I didn't write this, a friend of mine did. I love it!!!! It's just adequately sad and suits my mood perfectly right now and what's more is I actually own a crazy white cat!!!! But then, I digress... </div><div align="left">You may not see it but to me, it is so poignant in its simplicity so profound in its elegance. Gives you the feeling that what's unsaid is weightier than what's been said and all this is done in a breezy and almost playful manner that fails to camouflage the pain within. I'll let you judge for yourselves now lol:</div><br /><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">WHITE CAT BLUES<br /></span></strong><br /><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">I can almost visualize<br />on the low grey recliner<br />by the tv on the floor<br />a framed photograph of me<br />holding you<br />holding that silly white cat<br /><br />I can almost remember<br />in the middle of the room<br />with you spread across my back<br />lying there breathing deeply<br />stroking you<br />stroking a purring white cat<br /><br />I spend hours sometimes days<br />reliving a future that<br />belongs now to someone else<br />loving you<br />loving the crazy white cat</span><br /></div>poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7300008845881246553.post-33983726494227101932009-01-02T02:59:00.000-08:002009-01-02T06:00:16.615-08:00New Year = New Person????<div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286695512721171474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMfB_SNBakSI6YTyB8-CXdsLQXB37u-83Eip5IToJrBF1WEZBiwTNLdksmTQK9kd8RAKYWEY4jgyFaZNdPTZXfUI2iVC97deEO9hiKmjlh3KEHoveCwvbOtG873t5pOVsLiWDMPTzubw8/s200/happy+nu+year.bmp" border="0" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPWU00yGPEwxvCb7qWuJgwrnQHeF9GC2r_fqGaXl708V1oZ-p9xSYymx3dJT-bEUu-C0zOrd1yB1gjJp8hpYqKv4en6zZJjO7urnqNcwxzs2CLgOKsaqUXcdNKPRu37qh3EcoerOokWUo/s1600-h/Cover-Snap-New-Year"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286695105734582866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 170px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPWU00yGPEwxvCb7qWuJgwrnQHeF9GC2r_fqGaXl708V1oZ-p9xSYymx3dJT-bEUu-C0zOrd1yB1gjJp8hpYqKv4en6zZJjO7urnqNcwxzs2CLgOKsaqUXcdNKPRu37qh3EcoerOokWUo/s200/Cover-Snap-New-Year's.article" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>It’s only normal and perhaps fashionable to profess noble sounding new year resolutions at this time of the year. When people ask me ‘what’s your new year resolution?’ and I reply “I have none” it becomes an opener to a very tiresome discussion (at least for me). In fact, I have been accused of arrogance - You know, going around thinking you are perfect and stuff and there’s nothing to change, you really think you are all that abi? In fact I could tell you a FEW things you need to change, you may want to start by changing your attitude you punk a** B****!!!!! (okay, maybe not that bad).<br /><br />What is a New Year resolution really? It’s a commitment a person makes on the first day of a New Year towards changing a certain habit or lifestyle for the better. These commitments only last until achieved or fashied.<br /><br />My take on New Year resolutions and new year eve’s religious services is this, you really don’t need to wait for the end of a year before you decide to change a bad habit or change your lifestyle to a more advantageous pattern. You need not wait a whole year for a certain day to resolve to become a better person.<br /><br />I have found that people set near impossible targets to achieve without properly thinking them through on New Year ’s Eve. This creates a pattern, if you set targets without thinking it through you are more likely not to achieve your goals than if they had been properly planned with appropriate milestones in-between for measuring success. New Year resolutions fail because people wake up one morning and decide to make major personality changes just because it’s a New Year. Cold Turkey, maybe some New Year fairy will wave a magic wand which will cause me to stop smoking or drinking or driving too fast or lose weight or save money or get a good job… the list is endless.<br /><br />But does it really work that way? What is most likely to happen is this, two or three weeks down the line the resolution crumbles and you are back to your old ways. The Ghost of New Year present withdraws all support and beats it to ghost land. The worst part is this, it’s difficult to get back on track because you are like ‘Oh shoot! There goes my New Year resolution, right down the drain. Now I have to wait till December 31st to make another one. In the meantime, I’ll just smoke a pack before then and damn the cancer…”<br /><br />Hey, all hope is not lost you know. It’s just a paradigm shift you require. Truth is, you don’t need a special day to live better, to decide to become a better person. You’ve got 365 days in a year to do that. Any of those days works as well as the other. All you need is to think it through. You need to make these changes step by each tasking step and congratulate yourself at each milestone you achieve. That’s the way to go. Whenever is fine. It doesn’t have to be New Year’s eve.<br /><br />So get up and make those changes today, tomorrow… whenever you need to.<br />Having said this… I’d love for this to be the last update I post from my desk at work. From now on I’ll manage my time better and blog only from home… (yeah, whatever!)<br />Have a great day y’all. </div><br /><div><br />:D</div></div>poeticallytintedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14150217775612386057noreply@blogger.com20