PUTREFYING YAMS.

Bonjour, 

Please do forgive my ephemeral voyages in the vast field of literature. But wait, I have an excuse. Albeit, it is a substandard one. I fell in love (in the better part of  the year). From a pragmatic vintage, love is the death of duty. Fortunately enough, this retrogressive activity in my frontal lobe has been successfully exorcised by futurity’s burden. I pray, let me give you a piece of advice for free. Profess affections to a dreamer at your own peril!

Dear deluded women of Twitter and Facebook, not anyone is interested in seeing your naked body parts. For those of you readers who only purchase bundles for betting purposes, or who quiver at various institutional WiFi at wee hours of the night opening mails only, I have news for you. Your sisters, future wives and daughters have decided to show us all their possessions on social media.

 A woman’s worth is pegged on what’s between her ears and not between her legs.

A woman’s nudity is like a payslip. Kept private. Shared by a chosen few. I opine that nobody deserves to see it unless they are truly special. So clever idiot, DON’T TWEET IT! Ladies, showing your nudity on social media is not “feminism”,that is desperation. Posting photos of your oversized bosoms complete with those petrifying, wide-diameter black-obsidian areolas is not empowerment. Those are stupid moves that need to stop as  soon as possible.

Look here, nobody there wants to know what’s stuffed in those gargantuan, sweaty brassieres. Are you doing what Mary the mother of God would do? Nobody cares about your “cup”. I know your cup runneth over, but make no mistake ladies, the contents must not spill onto your timelines.

Feminism is about empowerment. It’s about equal opportunities. It’s about self-discipline.

Feminism is about girls running the word, not women running  the world with slain characters and maimed reasoning (slay queens).All of you naked women who are trying to break the Internet by the size of your breasts and not by the size of your brains, are doing feminism wrong. Feminism does not encourage young women to strip, stand in front of a mirror and take out her smartphone to snap the image.  Feminism should encourage girls to cover up, sit in front of a book and study hard.

The true spirit of feminism is such that makes a man bust his ass , sweating it out before he can see your payslip. Let’s us go back to those days when if we saw these payslips we felt very much honoured. May God’s eyes watch over you as lectures launch their strike for  juicer payslips.

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Sex ? No Heroism ๐Ÿ‘

Dear reader, 

It’s been quite awhile. Hope my apologies are welcomed. We’ve been busy trying to build this nation ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚. Yesterday, at dusk an old crรจme de la crรจme invited me for a walk. I couldn’t resist a few slices of mutura (you should know). And he began to clear off his head.”Haven’t had sex in two months,”he told me proudly. He emphasized on his duration of dry spell as if he had won a lottery. Wasn’t surprised much ,but had my equal share of worries.In this age and times, 8 weeks is worth the chest-thumping aura, mmmh๐Ÿ˜.

If you want to get laid,go to college.If you want education go to the library.

The rudimentary physiological knowledge I have, purports that sex is a alternating combination of sympathetic and parasympathetic response.And it’s the parasympathetic response that acclaims its peculiarity. Stimulation of almost 8000 nerve endings in the genitalia should be an expression of one’s moral self coupled with a vow of mutual commitment.I won’t mind if you call me a metaphysical sexual pessimist( got a higher regard for my perspective).But then, observe.

                         Success is sweeter than sex.

Books are finite, sexual encounters are finite, but the desire to read and f**k are infinite.I admit, such desire surpasses our fears,our own death and even our hopes for peace. However, moderation is the colour of life.One ought to be moderate in one’s pleasures. Untamed sexual desires get people involved into unnecessary needs and vulnerability. Born as lust, cleaved into infatuation then consummation and ultimately boredom.These culminate to anxiety or distress and the process continues.

The following reasons satiate my disposition :

  • In virtue of the nature of sexual desire, a person who sexual desires another objectifies him/her.One becomes the object of appetite and the more the  appetite the more the objects.
  • Further, certain types of deception seem required prior to engaging in sex with another person (one conceals ones physical and personality defects)
  • One loses control of oneself and regard for humanity during sex. Lateral orbitofrontal cortex (part of the prefrontal cortex involved in judgement and decision making) shut during an orgasm.
  • Finally, sexual desire is powerfully inelastic hence involves physical and and psychological dangers.

As a pessimistic metaphysician of sexuality, a single conclusion is that sexual activity is morally permissible and prudentially wise only within the realm of mutual commitment but is no COMPETITION; for there are no awards whatsoever (confirm from the Guinness Word Records).Our singularity of focus should be on reaching the point of self actualisation. A veracity tested in the crucible of truth – Success is sweeter than sex. If you are Thomas, please taste both๐Ÿ˜‰.


 Au revลir.


DEAR LADIES,

Suffer me, pull this trigger.I am burdened with the obligation to address such as exclusive issues as these, however, rarely. I don’t want insensitivity as part of my attributes to gain currency. It could put me on the verge of ruin.All these I say afore, to better my chances of being forgiven when you’ll be done reading.

Genus Crocuta

Dear ladies, not every guy who needs a conversation with you wants to get into your pants.Look , even somewhere between Matthew and Revelation, Jesus wanted to  converse with the woman who touched His cloak. However, it is much contrastive in our contemporary era (where theology finds little relevance ,if not at all).Of a truth,boys are born , nowadays, with an unrelenting predisposition to give liberty to their eyes๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜. Yes, to what mysteries of nature like you people possess.I think the beautiful ones whose conceptions were promised, have birth certificates already. I just think.

With such aggression and an almost singularity of focus, guys innately belong to the genus Crocuta ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚. Team Mafisi(local name). This is an identity awashed in all social platforms like a cancer. And just like a cancer we hope to find a solution, someday.We feel such befitting identify warrants us some limping traits. But wait.The Judiciary has bad news for us .Some three Crocuta crocuta had a death sentence from the presiding jury last week.All hyenas are now ENDANGERED.

This much, ain’t even an ex-officio member of this association. Generalisation has bred rancor in my heart. Dear Ladies, some of us don’t even care for the secrets between your lower limbs. Some are contented .Some prefer intellectual rather than sexual intercourse. However, a few of us are stoic – call it frigidity if you want to.But I know of guys who sex is at the pinnacle of their pyramid of needs (most of them in History books) like Tesla ,a proficient American engineer who crushed his balls.

Kola nut last long in the mouth of those who value it.

A ten-days break saw me sit beside this salaciously delicious chic in a PSV. Actually, it’s what she was reading that irked my curiosity, of the least ,her possessions. “Audacity of Hope” boldly sufficed the title of the article. I was enthralled. I smiled sporadically at her to illicit a parasympathetic response but instead she frowned even more. I bet her face now looked like my shoes.I was ignored.I lost interest. After a while, Peter called me, claiming that he had antagonizing views pertaining the same article .When he hang up,she gazed at me warmly. Smiled seductively. It was my turn to play dumb ,and I did it well. Suddenly, I felt a soft poke at my 7th rib, “Hi, am Angela,” she said flinching beside me. “Know my name at the end of that article you are reading, ” I replied satisfactorily and closed my eyes.So dear ladies, not every guy who wanna talk with you aims to see the colour of your bra ๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜.

Suppose I Die Today…ย 

7 o’clock in the morning.I really wish I could write this in the evening. The setting sun, clouding sky or maybe scurrying  birds would give a prefiguration of a real departure. But wait! It has begun drizzling. Perfect! God’s  eyes won’t be out for a while. ๐Ÿ˜ Nature is conspiring to succor this article. I feel exhilarated. Suffer me,  reframe the question of life. What if my alloted time on earth ends today?

Old and new millet seeds and up in the same mill. Death may not be our common dream, but destination it remains. 

With a hindsight  wisdom,  I have always  thought about life. I have cared too much about the future. I have tried to unravel the labyrinths of its mysterious occurrences. Again, again and again. This notwithstanding, I now see beyond life. Beyond inhalation. Beyond inspiration. Beyond micturition. Beyond ejaculation. I see a common  terminal. Made from multifurcation of life. I see the icy death. 

No one borrows a mouth to eat for another onions.Therefore, let me eat my yam in peace. Suppose my brain cells become atrophic, for some reasons  best known to my physio lec. Dr. Owiti in a gargantuan number. I only know, any deviation from cellular homeostatic conditions could ultimately lead to death- much of  a disgrace. Aaaarrrgh,  this is just how medical students  have rudimentary knowledge. I love to imagine that my demise would be a rising  tide that would leave a mark on the shore of humanity. Maybe, maybe not. 

Suppose I die today, I would appreciate  it if my old blood (dad) was kept in the dark. Yes, till he is operated  on, let alone attain fortified stability, health wise. Away from the ocean of nescience on the matter, his fury would know no bounds. He would opt for solitude and whine like a baby๐Ÿ‘ถ. Too sad!He would wonder what altercation is between him and God. Then a societal perception would push him to link it to some of his adversaries. Witchcraft would be a feasible cause to him.  But then, he’ll brush away emotions and stand for manhood’s sake. In my society men are not expected  to be sentimental. Not at all. 

Suppose I die today, please call my mum right away. The earlier she knows the better. My Physics tells me that the impulsive force is related to time. Sweet momma, would scream and wail herself hoarse. Neighbours would calm her to no avail and in the end restrain her actions. Then she’ll request for her Bible. I bet she’ll  open either the book of Job or Psalms. But the book of Job stands a better chance. I swear I have seen her read it during hard times. She’ll  send a message to God in the wind, “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?”Church elders would visit and console her, amidst the pain of motherhood. I just hope she holds on her faith. In this world, trust me, faith is an asset of incomparable value. 

Suppose I die today, I love to imagine a ripple of emotions in the Med.  School. News would spread like an inferno in the vast Savannah.And so will the messages  of condolences?A few students  will rummage for my biography. The information  about me would be satiate their quest. Some fellow linguistics, would seize the opportunity to show their  proficiency in grammar. Adjectives (such as irreparable, incomparable, melancholic, gruesome, untimely, heartfelt )would be employed. My course mates would have their share too. Most of them would know the color  of sorrow. 

Suppose I die today, my creme del a creme would sit at the table of brotherhood  without me. The atmosphere  would be tense and somber. The oenophilic rituals would  be performed  in my absence. They would conclude  their meeting by giving  me a royal send off. I would miss my friends. They would miss me too, immensely. They would later sit by the fire side  in the Gwassi Hills to relive our shared memories. They would laugh occasionally, this I am certain, to soothe their anguish. 

This much, I don’t love the talk of death. I must live and let live. What happens  in the next nanoseconds is unfathomable to me. But I am sure of this -I DON’T WANT TO DIE. I must live for my Africa, nation, society, friends, family, self and no one. Let the acacia seed grow, for now. But suppose I die today,God, please give my soul an opportunity  to watch some of these happen or even more.

                                       Regards, 

                                       Acacia seed.