Emerald city lights

There once lived a life never admired or liked, a lackluster exception under these emerald city lights. Locked in a lucid battle, left to defend and fight, in defense of a once honorable but now very laughable right. Blinded by the glamour and the dazzling city heights, the audacity of ambition birthed a dazzling city might.

As tipsy reflections turn into drunk recollections, an apparently troubling lesson stands at a mass intersection. So why offend God and all his sensitivities and why pretend not to sense this nonsense? I am committed to a sober slumber before the fat lady sings and concede to sell my soullessness to end this drama from within. 

That thing that made us cry and laugh and deny the fact that our lives are a poorly scripted act. Hop on a time machine to a period more simple and basic, when flavor flav was actually just cautious not to miss the bus. Clench a souvenir from a country that no longer exists, validating extinct rituals to be absolutely amiss. So if a man and his comrade lost sight of half the night, please excuse the audacious bright of these emerald city lights.

vodka monologues: Coasting, insomnia and more words to my mama

I used to know you; deep reflections invoke feelings of nostalgia, have me craving for a period that I barely even remember. Yet I maintain the most profound memories of a boy and his mother, on the backdrop of J.town with the freezing windy weather. While the watchman sleeps I watch my watch and peep out the window not to watch but just to pop a peek. I guess i'm bored and sort of wishing I could talk and weep like a reflective old man that knows that talk is cheap.

All your offspring are doing fine, just not up for the Nigerian grind except your crazy youngest son who is slugging it out in mines. Your mom is still pushing and looking strong and good, I ensure she is taken care of and has everything she should.

So things ended officially between me and she, and I kind of felt bad but I wish I felt worse, should that not mean more to me than "well it didnt work"? Then I started feeling bad because I wasn't feeling bad and so I hilariously actually tried to fake it. After two abstract pieces and barely a month in "pieces" I was miraculously cured and ready to mend the pieces. Put up a less than convincing show for the cameras I guess, but then realized that im actually a zombified mess. In my defense zombie mode was activated when you left, so it saved me from you, now what will save me from It?

My current lady situation could be summed up like this: Miss AU gave me a nicely camouflaged ultimatum, naturally I felt cornered and had to back down. We were tight and good buddies and she is truly quite lovely but i somehow managed to make a mockery of her talk to me. SG is a cool great girl and frankly loved by everybody while miss CY is mad hot but draws the crowd's animosity. LA is a situation that doesn't mind a situationship, HE is fiercely independent but also independently crazy so my expectations are mixed and its all a big maybe. CD is a calm girl that sends conflicting vibes, and in the center of this hive is a conflicted I.

Your face started to fade and I had to look at some pictures, its been barely sixteen years and im not sure if I still miss you. Well I was just eleven and forced to contend with those issues but mine is never resolved over a pile of used tissues. In a few months you will become a grandma in absentia, that little boy will never meet his firm feminist grandmother. But be assured that his uncle who is history's fervent lover, will tell him about the history of his father's beautiful and caring mother.

The final stand 2

We once told a story about defiance and resistance, how a rouge troop of artisans countered the state orchestra for one instance. We were simply trying to make ourselves better than that one person that simply though that he was better than all of us. We basked in devastation at the falling of the conductor, the end had brought new life to the beginning  of a brand new fight.

While the order of the beast issued orders to the meek we made a subtly frantic but yet orderly retreat. I reverted to the old me and found my orders on my seat; they were obviously phony, our orders had been breached. We were unable to investigate the orders or the leak, so the orders became meaningless to a class that sought to seek. So we sought and we fought and we lost but not defeat, and we taught the tall man that we were anything but weak. Between a trial and an apology stood an interesting deceit; that a once "repentant" fall boy had pulled a remorseless repeat.

We once told a story about defiance and resistance,of how an unrepentant fall boy remained defiant and resistant. How on the instance of a felled conductor a certain plot was scripted from a distance. How a rouge troop of artisans were said to be cold and somewhat distant. But there was smoke and many mirrors, plus a joke and a complex metaphor, thus the plot has thickened in a brand new beginning that ended the end this ending.

The salvation of Young Diabolus

The young Diabolus, dealt a death blow and found guilty of a bad note:

that we are particularly plagued by a perilous piece of Pentecostalism that preaches what it practices and practices what it pleases. Yet we follow while we see this because our sense of reason seizes, so we question not our burning gut to refrain from "touching his anointed". My question goes to boxer the horse: Since Napoleon is justifiably a little more equal than the others, can we consent to the contradiction that we were sold a bridge in this diction? Very little for the most and the most for very little, save the twix and m & ms, while joyously sharing a pack skittles.

This is the farce I am forced to sit through: a formal lynching of the devils people, that have questioned the essence of the people of God and turned opaque to a normal see through. The ceremony is launched with a firebrand prayer to cast and to bind the evil. Then the most elite squad is prompted to their station by sounding of the central beagle. As the prayer is said, the chief priest is fed and left to sit on his head. In the middle of the casting, the masking and the tasking the little devil boy keeps asking. We commit the devil boy into the hands of Satan and continue our deep adulation.

Just when all hope appeared to be lost, redemption came in the form of water in a cup:

Do you young diabolus reject Satan? Absolutely,
And all his works? With all my heart,
And all his empty promises? I do
Then by the power vested in me by the saints of history and by God almighty, I christian you Christian, the holy Diabolus ...
 Its a miracle !!! he is saved !!! he is saved !!!! The young diabolus is finally saved !!!

Nigeria monologues: Goskolo for ancestors

Bless me father for I have sinned it's been a life time since my last confession. but I like to believe that in a life before this I must have confessed all the rights that I did. It is true that in a time before the rise of the seven sisters, I could have lined up to be the very Mr. But Lets not talk about the progress and the bliss that could have been and remained focused while I talk about my sins. although what is now is a function of what wasn't then but I am glad that I finally seek absolution. Perhaps 10 hail Marys and 20 our fathers and I will leave here to sin no more?

It was the closing of the millennium and a new day had dawned, the hope of an entire nation had finally risen. A well known milksop with an ear that couldn't listen was installed as he got out of prison. Then the souls of a hundred million were sold to enhance the myopic image of a silly twin toad and I know it sounds bad but my heart is now gold so what I seek on this day is simple absolution. 20 hail Marys and 40 our fathers and I will leave here to sin no more?

So my first hail Mary was a short hail Mary pass in the dieing minute of the semester I desperately tried to score a pass but is my emergency approach really that bad? Could I have saved the hundred million souls that I crashed? With my blood soaked page and my ink soaked sword, there will be no absolution for me today. Perhaps I'll raise the stakes and take my case above my mates; a cow for the gods and some Goskolo for the ancestors.

Wild roses, blank letters and a story for the gods.

Sent me wild roses in December that thrived regardless of the weather that was a very pleasant pleasure. In the depths of my solitude lays a greatly flawed utopia where my greatest flaws can cope with epiphanies akin to eureka. In a garden of great oaks, i dare to weed the soil just to be like the great folks. Yet I unintentionally cultivate an interesting great joke because it is the weeds that need saving as the great oaks will always cope.

Sent me a blank letter with an upside down smiley, I will likely never know where it came from. An insane sun consumed what was left of the rain and I will likely never get to be that same son. I'm overwhelmed by an intersection nearly torn down and that upside down smiley was likely a frown now a little known queen will likely be crowned and the crowd erupts in cheers; the applause sign lit up. So if I was not the butt of this unhealthy prank will I still think that sign was lit up in bad taste?

Sent me a very silent prayer, a rosary and holy water, the origins of these gestures will likely remain unknown forever. With a stellar performance I subtly uncross my fingers, then descend the mountain top; I see no promised land. However a little concentration just beyond tree tops would reveal all I ever wanted, you are not alone Santiago. As I sit back and reflect on my personal alchemist's teachings, the paradox of my wants become more apparent and far reaching.

The question

And so the question is asked "in the end was it worth it?". My answer is stat "totally?". A harsh pre winter cooking veggies and mashed potatoes, pasta and pesto and things with guacamole sauce. a pre winter heart break, revelations and realizations, downed the bottle for my hearts sake while my mind continued to lose patience. So restarted what was officially ended in a questionable judgement call, now I question the question that was officially asked and my response is perhaps much less than stat.

And so the question is asked "in the end was it worth it?". In a little less stat I say "totally?". Locally my status was upgraded to pariah so when faced with an ultimatum I naturally cracked. Perhaps I should have sucked it up and left things like that but I snapped and decided to make that trip. they say vision in hind sight is 2020 clear but if I knew would I have locked up and stayed in the clear? Now a couple of trips latter I find me right here; a cold stare and Yes my answer is not stat.

 And so the question is asked "in the end was it really worth it". In any pace but stat I chat "totally?". I put down that mask and threw my hat into the fire, while the doom clock had lapsed it was an ambush. With my vulnerabilities exposed and painted on my head I become the protagonist of a dark Cohen brothers classic. My bulletproof vest was apparently made of plastic so when the shots went off my heart just happened to be in the way. So it happened and im ok plus had an artistically made long Island that took entire edge away. Now the direction that I sway is simply Tarantino comical and my answer to be sincere is "Hell No"

Man of the moment

Random bouts of timidity intimidate a monumental moment, purple robes and a hoddie serve to classify these flaws. The man of the moment walking through closed doors, powered by paparazzi hype with an 80s Kodak and an exposed film. A Kodak, a man and a pretty solid moment; inflated egos a ham sandwich and a formidable opponent ; a lie, the truth and a far reaching theory; dieing proof of a wisdom tooth and a further complicated story.

He lives to tell another story of glorious hunters and out maneuvered preys, while the lion must duck his head in shame as his intellect protects his say. So if a tree takes a dive in the middle of the forest and no one witnessed its fall, an empirical argument can question the credibility of "if it made a sound at all". So mr Berkley while your treatise is considered with greater mental endowment, a man will stand tall and dominate this moment.

These are strange times I must confess the resurrection of the Renaissance is dead. And the Renaissance men that authored the revolution have been resisted, repelled and left for dead. Yet a man stands in the glory of an unfounded bliss while he dines with the sharks in his bed. Concerned with the present superficial component but today he is the man of the moment.

Promises to my ex and other "love" jingles

I used to love her: cheap wine and tacky buffet lunches, always been more of vodka person but those days were special. I specially interjected in more abstract ways than 3, so it barely got anymore awkward, what the hell was wrong with me. long lists and laughs, shunned lips and cats, I hardly can define my style of hats as helping attract. A total mismatch perhaps but who the hell really cares , what is most important is free food and actual dogs that look like snoop.

A shot of zaranof is fine, me bloody inconsiderate bastard; least I can do is show some class and order up some cheap whiskey. I cant be going for a walk at ten below zero, last time i pulled that stunt I had just broken up with potato. Now here is an especially disgusting pickle to pick on: I'm actually not that particular about pickles. That my allergies became apparent after I had hit is nothing but pure coincidence. So dont read too much meaning into me acting up cause I "truly" just discovered that I dont like your cooking.

While they are caught in the daze of this miracle love chant, I am stuck in my ways trying to figure these damn blanks. An afro, some braids then a cynical old man, My belly, a tingle then a "lyrical" love jingle.

because I will be gone

standing in the hindsight of a slighted senior citizen equals perspective redefined on a sophisticated level of clarity. I like oat meal; so interestingly boring, so plain and unassuming and yet so absolutely complete.I cant blame the "drunk" priest for making moves on the sister because no one told him that it was just a mocktail. But he created the justification that he desperately sought, to mock the institution that he passionately taught.

So the imbalance is struck between a master and a meek man, a mason and a monster and a bastard with a weak plan. So the bastard takes a weak stand and meek man starts to fissile while the monster takes a seat, somewhat amused by the spectacle. And the grand race is on for people to blend in with the race-less race; a race of people that are racially neutral and only biased against the non-raceless race. But if a movement of racially neutral radicals were radically de-raceing the non-raceless  race, the endeavor in itself will be paradoxically futile as they will only be re-raceing the non-receless race; to be raceless that is.

And the quest continues to establish the values that transcend space and time, while the philosophers stone is mocked and ignored for its failure to turn iron to dimes. But the philosophers stone without the philosopher is nothing more than just a stone, we therefore look to answers and answers to us while we pray on our knees in our homes.

Last fast

Firmly captivated by a captivating phony who has captivated an audience by his antics and his folly.
Venting: "This lad is viciously vile and should be voted as the king of the vanquished", But I'm sensing a likeness, at least an interesting demeanor from this antagonist that I stare at in the mirror.

yet I stand bold to bitch about my non bulimic bestie who has been brilliant at worst and at best has been the best me. but at best I have been a less me and I'm stressed by the standards I've set yet if the bar was compromised any further then the standard will be standard-less. I guess I'm dealing with a standard stress and will keep vigil while the standard rests; what I tell myself to stay awake at night in complete denial of this standard mess.

I take a picture of a picture of you taking a picture of me, and take that picture to you to replace the portrait of me. An unreasonable expectation from a self proclaimed recluse, an abstract contradiction and a social absurdity. Bail is set at one hundred, a skank and a strawberry slurpee, a bottle full of moonshine and a raciest redneck surety .. In the end, its really all just comedy.

Nigerian dialogs: over and over again

Police back and forth to breach back the fort that was breached last night but was not that's of course.We have reached back on course to our feet that is cursed so we flirt while we are standing on our bums. So we are snubbed once again by the fine lady and her friend who does not fancy giants standing on their bums. However the night is kind of young  and thus the race can still be won by this giant who standing on his bum.

Certain truths must be ignored so we can focus on the core of a great but also non existent script. Therefore I scribble down a myth of greatly inconsistent splits but its great and I'm great and loved for it. Only the deaf can read lips and so the rest are left to sit at the bottom of this bottomless pit. Maintain a supernaturally unrealistic trust in a luck that tells you to pay when your cards are a clear bust.Play a two and a seven, a 3 and ten and loose the same shitty hands over and over again.

Lying acting frauds said the DOD was on top but the top was a loss and I pour the same thing I always pour; not a shot. But we shot at a shot and it shot right back and we are shocked? its a shot !!! So lets all talk tat, ignore the tit and all culpability of the red handed culprits. I light my cuban and reflect on all the sophisticated talk, but its always politics with politicians, even when its not.

And the beat goes on

And so his shirt slipped off, then it became clear; all the promises that he made was nothing but talk, while his side girl mocked; the establishment that claimed that the ring placed his desires on lock. So his vows were broke, like literally bankrupted; that vodka tequila absinthe is absolutely no joke ... But the beat goes on, play on madam DJ play on ... As the party boys danced, the predators took the chance to extensively enhance the fundamentals of a poisonous but yet addictive plant. but the beat went on ... and it went on and on and on ... play on lady DJ play on .. and she played on in spite of the chaos, and she stayed on with delight and with focus ... What a bitch!!!! or so they say. 

And she played for the destitute and also for the rich, and beat was for the able bodied and also for the sick.  And she played for the crowd who swayed out loud in a union of foul, dismayed and rotten mouths. A cocktail of deceit, dishonor and broken vows was served by the tender who danced to her broken sound.  what a bitch !!!! or so they say

And she played like her life depended on it, and she played because our lives are nothing but it.And we grove to the tune not because it is fun, but because without it there is nothing but non. So from the setting of the moon to the setting of the sun play on lady DJ I urge you to play on!!!

Vodka monologues: sorry mom

Sorry mom but I jumped off the wagon and attained a master’s degree in mixology. It gets worse; I couldn’t really wait till I got married cause my hormones went insane immediately I hit puberty. But I’ve been completely monogamous in this thing between “she” and me though the newly improved “she” appears to be making me a bit jittery; smoking pot and cigarettes and getting wasted in the club is not really the image that I initially had dough. Sorry mom but your boy is as liberal as it gets; separation of church and state, no political policy in religious debates and absolute freedom for a human to choose between the worship of God, cows or snakes.

I miss you - Wish I could see you tonight; take a short cut out of this life, but I’m still the same old coward that fears that pastor Wale might be right. I’ve walked this tightrope in search of balance and covered up my confusion with silly nonchalance. I’ve become an avid reader; made a killing as a bootleg dealer; embraced my inner rebel and also volunteer as a teacher. My convictions necessitated affiliations with the craft and your boy is truly sorry for breaking bread with the axe.

Your little man has grown up exceptionally quick and quite a few ladies are thrilled by this: There Young miss E who is in love with love, especially naive and wants the pilot seat. Lady M says I’m open and easy to talk to, a is a lot more mature but a lot less dynamic. Pretty ms CY is kind of puzzle to me, a big picture kind of girl with a banging physique. Ms Ks is ironically a mirror of “she” but “she” without a doubt remains the queen of me.

24^th of july passed and I barely remembered, it’s been barely 13 years and now im barely your son. You get a mention from barely to none and I hardly ever reflect on the time I barely was young. Until I take that final bow and my hearing is done forgive my youthful shenanigans and the strays of your son.

Is True

They said the theme of the play was abstract; its message careless and crude. Its ideological inclination was somewhat reckless and rude. A masquerade dancing, panting and chanting in view of a depiction of you. They said the quality of work was mediocre at best and provoked a provocative mood. They said the pride of the pride was undermined by a scheming and marginalized few. And the few had proved to be a prominent nuisance and a truly destabilizing tool.

The policy of Kalashnikovs camouflaged in rose bushes is debated over a meal of poison and beef. The gunboat diplomacy of wayyy before now was not that way before now. But the ways of before and the way that is now are characteristically in sync, how? Probably the benign mind of the brain dead bureaucrat who is speculated to be allergic to the concept of "eureka" and opposed to the suggestion that creativity might birth progress.

They say the play was in bad taste; an opportunity gone to waste; a saturation of vulgarity that should be banned in a haste. In view of the chronic scarcity of free and accepted men, beings that were raised in shackles have made and defined this den; A masquerade dancing, panting and chanting while from this rejected view, that masquerade is rejected; but true.

It was the best of times, it was worst times; time put in perspective revealed a first in time. A tale of two testaments to triumph and trial, it was a mission of madness; an intentional mistake. Fiddle and diddle with the dictates of dickens, marvel at the mischief and momentum of his message.

Happily holding the hand of my flower picking potato, sensing her inner scent while I promise never to let go: A lie!! Reminiscent of that very hot July, when the children of non convention congregated in their pride. Pills, needles and grass juxtaposed with one night stands equaled pimps and complete anarchy so God blessed San Fransisco.

It was the summer of love largely likened to non-other. 200 knighted horsemen clearly screaming bloody murder, 100 ordained priests nearly yelling holy order ... It was a holiday of "peace"; a very fun July, a carnivorous feast; a true but hateful lie.

While I still be

The watchmaker is dead cause time has gone rouge and reckless; that wayward rowdy rascal has become increasingly erratic. The senselessness of a soldier determined to defend the soil, of a soulless geographical entity that has entirely been soiled. The absoluteness of sin has long been strongly disputed, as have the tenets of morality been affirmed to be relative. The fundamentals of society are overwhelmingly utilitarian, but let it burn as the majority and minority are marginalized alike.

And I didnt remember to remember to forget, so I guess I remembered now my memory regrets. Cast in the shadows of dungeons and cast lots, shackled by the panic of a loose and twisted plot. The verdict for a real and virtual vixen raises controversy as to what exactly constitutes a victim. Aspirations saddled on the assurances of criminals, dreams largely contingent on the commandeer of other people’s money. It’s cold, dark and sunny. I am probably the most self enlightened dummy. Images completely informed by the reflections of smoking mirrors, in total spite of the smoking barrel I completely deny that I pulled the trigger.

I am the green man’s apology; a catastrophic controversy; perhaps in the temple I could be all the Buddha hoped to be. Perfection of my perception with the acquisition of the sixth sense, conceivably my rationality will finalize my isolation. Yet I’m burdened with the burdens of the cross and a crescent, reciting biblical scriptures in defense of the glock. Following the fundamentals of the findings of ambiguity, I am a compromised concept. A catch without a 22.

Free and Accepted

hitting a hard heap of the harshest hail, hording the harsh heat as a hero sails. Setting the mass symbols of sense and life, setting the globe free of a senseless life. The nobility of the craft crafted crafty craftsmen, and world was awed by the stones they shaped. A compass and square sitting beside an anchored arc, finding bearings to lands of new as the non-persecuted few.

Dedicated to dead doctrines; the dire doodles of dreaming decedents, drenched in the dictates of a declassified dichotomy. Listening to the lifeless lingua of a pointless life lesson propagated by the opinions of an over opinionated motivational speaker. The incarceration of mason is an indictment of the court of public opinion. As the opinions of the public have long been plastered with a price, the principles of propriety appear to back my plea. Since the sights and sounds of singing souls sit beyond what i can see, it is only fair and just that mason should be free.

Caught in the mix of a minor mix up mistaken for a certain missing Marshan. The mirage in the mind of a mixed-race nationalist was apparently not so apparent. Thus the inconsistency that authorizes the hatred of half an individual is now consistent with mainstream society. I have sinned against society and blasphemed against the bizarre, hated but still free and accepted

fitted ts, Iversons and all that used to be (Dedicated to da man Chusk)

something is lurking in the dark, someone is creeping on my street. I walk as if I'm fine but have no feeling in my feet. My arms too short to box with God, and my legs are too stressed to stand the devil. Standing against the game with "intimidating" bricks and bats, the status-quo is now the same cause it is all tit for tat. Dwelling in the squalor of a dizzying diocese, i dip real deep while i dramatize the facts.

I pose by a pile of decomposing pictures to have memories of lost memories. But my memory is pricked by the taste of rotten pickles and the positives of a prozac nation. I propose a toast: To the people of God and to country, or better yet to the people of Gods own country, but if we toasted with the people of God in a country the hypocrisy alone will make it a pretty God damned country. So we pick the pain from exactly where we left off cause the pills provide pits in our placement of perspective. Give me a second to puke and piss on the polity, pick up my damn phone and ring up the life police. Pocket a pinch of the impossible because I am both pissed and pist, pronounce my unwavering commitment to the non commitment movement. I step away from the blur and shock of the immediate past, and you were just a kid that was content with his Iversons ... but in the end it all comes to nothing ... How then can we free? In a sick and twisted way there is something truly peaceful about nothing, and in a typical philosophical cliche i declare that NOTHING IS THE NEW SOMETHING

I raise my glass to the ghost of a dropouts graduation, to the victory dance of a crippled athlete, to the pregnant wife of a virgin priest, to the vibrant life of a comatose beast, to the progressive commitment of a Nigerian politician, to equal opportunity under a capitalist system, to a united, peaceful, happy prozac nation .... To all things non-existent .... Nastarovia

Summer reign

I will not learn to swim, not even dip my toes; the sun is far too cold and reigns much to dry. The regime that imposes upon us is but the “passing” of a constant reverberation, I will not bother to float for that is the devils water. Between a blue water navy and the deep blue sea lies a paramount inconsistency in the expected ending of a constant. With an antagonistic combo of white witches and wild wolves, the combat deficit protagonist is introduced as Wikipedia. A truly sad battle, lost before it started

Hence I break bread with a rare breed of battle hardened bikers: A composed click of criminal kingpins, crippled covert cops, and caches of cash crops. The green births green otherwise known as paper or cream. My personal prognosis is there will particularly be no price paid for the murder of a mass murderer. As the act of promoting death remains characteristically the same, how then can the perpetrators of an identical crime be culpable and not culpable? On Sundays I clean my shoes and sip on some clean juice, sit in the church service and sow a significant seed, hope that I find redemption for my sacrilegious sin, and say a silent prayer for the salvation of my soul. I truly start to wonder if salvation is our goal, but I would not learn to swim, not even dip my toes. Before me lies an elaborate picture of little pocket people, mocking a humble peacock for having lost its pride.

This sick society of selfish scavengers is hunted by the ghosts of dead presidents. I pray that the raging ghosts of these men be brought under my control, for they have functioned with absolute impunity for far too long. Then I can finally get me out of my way as I have truly become a nuisance to my smooth assimilation into society. And the contradictions that have shaped my personal convictions will one day conquer or be conquered, so society can be solely ruled by either my enemies or my friends.