A good week to everyone. Been a long time hasn’t it? I have been in the wilderness of nail biting. Seriously though, I hope everyone’s okay. My heart goes out to the victims of the Lagos flood that happened on Sunday. I took one look at the rain and knew I wasn’t going anywhere. I began to get uncertain once the rainfall passed the two hour mark, then it went on to three and then up to five before the pictures started to come in, on my phone by beeping in with pictures of submerged vehicles ranging from tricycles to even SUVs. Someone took a picture of their sitting room with exquisite lime green leather armchairs, a settee and an ottoman. A portrait style television hung on the wall at the far end complete with its accompanying home theatre system and the speakers that stood tall on either side of the television. A dark shimmering floor that looked like the best resin coated marble floor ever, completed the picture. The only trouble was, the floor seemed to have risen halfway into the furniture, giving it the look of a quasi Japanese sitting room, famed for its extremely low furniture. The picture began to get darker as images of corpses of people being carried along by the rushing waters of the canals began to filter in - as if we Nigerians don’t have enough natural disasters in the pompous forms of our ‘leaders’. This is one aspect of pain that is serious and leaves a sombre taste in the room with much shaking of heads after such tales of irreparable loss have been spent. Let’s spare a prayer for them.
The other aspect of pain is one from which people derive a lot of mirth and pleasure. Heck, some even make a very lucrative career out of it – comedy. Has anyone noticed that nothing is ever funny without the basic foundation of pain, suffering and loss. For a joke to be funny there must be one, two or all these three of the named ingredients. Take for example this joke. Two merchants who were also friends were walking home after a successful day’s business. They decided to make their journey even briefer by taking a shortcut down a narrow alleyway. As they walked down the alley, they noticed a gang of hoodlums emerging from the shadowy walls of the alley and advancing towards them. It dawned on them that the inevitable was about to happen to them. Without missing a step, one of the merchants reached into his bag, took out a smaller bag that contained all his takings for the day, turned to his friend and said, “Tony, here’s the five thousand dollars I owe you.” See what I mean? People getting mugged and one trying to be smarter than his pants is found to be funny. Why? Is it the punch line? Or is it that the recounting of the painful experience of the teller evokes memories of a similar painful experience from their audience to generate an abundance of mirth?
I remember recounting an experience I had MANY MANY years ago in a company gents room to my friends in the UK. I had gone to the rest room for some much needed relief which soon turned out to be a rather noisy affair. I had only been there a few moments before I heard others come into the lavatory. Alas the sluice gates had already been opened and there was to be no holding back; the noisy torrent had to run its course. There was a respectful, almost embarrassing silence afterwards for just about two seconds before I heard taps open and then the splash of washing hands with seeming deliberation. I did not move – the other occupants of the room seemed curious to know the perpetrator of the leaden bombs and the staccato gunfire – it was not going to be me. All through the repeated washing of hands, the metallic roar of the blow drier and the clanging of the hand towel machine, I remained cemented to my throne, long since done, and resolute. Only when after an extended silence, a quick flush and an even quicker exit to dissociate myself from the offending toilet booth did I, after washing my hands, make a dash for my office and avoided detection. My friends literally rolled on the floor with laughter. To them, my story was funny but not as funny as the fact that it gave voice to the hidden embarrassments they felt under the same situations I experienced but could not talk about. My pain, their mirth.
I will in a few days’ time give you an example of some pain I experienced and what it cost me, for your mirth. In the meantime I would like some of your thoughts on why people’s pain is a source of joy to many. Have a great week guys!
Friday, July 15, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
Too Sexy Two!
Hello once again and a good week to everybody! Ehen, where was I? hurim hurim hurim… yes! So I went to take my solo shots while my lady finished up her makeup. When I finished those, I changed into a pair of jeans and rolled them up to my calves. I also changed into a short sleeved shirt as our concept demanded but not before I had completed three sets of twelve push up repetitions in the hope that my heaving chest and brawny arms would steal the show, until she floated in.
She was wearing nothing except for a white muslin loincloth and her hands over her breasts. The skimpy clothing rode above her hips but surprisingly, there were no essentials visible to the sight except for part of her pert bottom. She came in with three handmaidens, actually it was the makeup artist, Tyna and the assistant director, who flitted about her as if to protect her modesty, and the essentials from any risk of being bared. I just stood back waiting, like a king waiting for his dinner, wondering how long it would take for those fences to come crashing down. She walked very well, head held high atop a slender neck, straight shoulders and back almost immobile while her long duiker legs floated before her with the practised step of the runway model that she was, oblivious to all around her. She came up and stood beside me, and there we stood, two gladiators in an arena.
She smelled nice, and shy. I know it’s weird but uncertainty does have a smell, not at all unpleasant, especially when it is unencumbered by alienating agents like perfumes, deodorants and soap. It can only be detected up close but becomes more palpable when two people have just disrobed before one another for the first time, each one unsure of how the other views them stripped of all armour. This earthy aroma, devoid of any pretence, and aided by body heat, radiates to fill up the personal space around both parties, leaving the skin contracted by goose pimples from the sudden loss of heat. it seldom is the same afterwards. I put my hand on the small of her back, a gesture to reassure her that I wasn’t an ogre. Tyna gave a thumbs up sign that all was set for work and we began the shoot. That was when the nightmare began.
I had carried milady before, playfully, when we were clothed, just to test her weight, and she was a breeze, weighing just over 50kg – I could handle that. This time, however, when the director gave the signal, and I swept her up in my arms with a flourish, her palms still pasted over her glands, and I, standing proudly with my weightless cargo waiting to be blinded by a sudden flurry of flashes, stared bemused as the assistant ran up to us, my arms beginning to strain. She took her time in arranging my colleague’s arms, making sure her breasts were covered and then told me I was lifting her too high, I should lower my arms a little. I did, and that when the strain really began. A few snapshots went off before the director, Tyna, lowered her camera and told me my face was too relaxed, I should strain it a little more. Wasn’t that the whole point of it, to be the strong soldier carrying a damsel in distress effortlessly? “Nope,” they said, “we want you looking strained, and we want it to show on your face.” Another round began, each time the sadists came at us, primping us this way and that until even my lady shed all attempts at decorum and left it to the hardworking loincloth to hold the rest of the fort. The worst was yet to come.
After a period of about thirty minutes, which felt like ten times that, my arms, especially the right, were aching and had begun to quiver from exhaustion when they suddenly gave way and milady stumbled onto the floor. Instinctively I reached out to her, both to steady her and to cover her modesty – there were two other men in the room – when everyone began laughing. Wondering what they were laughing at, I looked down and saw that her hands had ‘made’ it to her breasts right underneath mine! I was horrified at the implication. Quickly I protested my innocence; I was merely trying to protect her, but from the ‘knowing’ looks and smiles of my tormentors, men and women alike, I was fighting a losing battle. The guys’ smiles said, “we’re not judging you man, we understand perfectly”; the women’s, including mine truly, as she looked up at me, smiling in resigned amusement “men will always be men, no matter the shroud”.
Here ends my lofty tale. We had another session after that where she was completely nude and we were both doused in so much powder; I was shirtless and hid behind her and so didn’t even have to suck my tummy in! What I did come away with were very aching arms and a very sore elbow from propping myself up on it and trying to look like I was in love. Suffice it to say that I told Tyna that from the experience, I had perished any thought of pursuing a modelling career. There you have it folks, laugh all you want, I am not perturbed; I have exorcised my demons as far as I’m concerned. Have a great weekend everyone! Thank you for helping me complete this second part of my post! XOXO
She was wearing nothing except for a white muslin loincloth and her hands over her breasts. The skimpy clothing rode above her hips but surprisingly, there were no essentials visible to the sight except for part of her pert bottom. She came in with three handmaidens, actually it was the makeup artist, Tyna and the assistant director, who flitted about her as if to protect her modesty, and the essentials from any risk of being bared. I just stood back waiting, like a king waiting for his dinner, wondering how long it would take for those fences to come crashing down. She walked very well, head held high atop a slender neck, straight shoulders and back almost immobile while her long duiker legs floated before her with the practised step of the runway model that she was, oblivious to all around her. She came up and stood beside me, and there we stood, two gladiators in an arena.
She smelled nice, and shy. I know it’s weird but uncertainty does have a smell, not at all unpleasant, especially when it is unencumbered by alienating agents like perfumes, deodorants and soap. It can only be detected up close but becomes more palpable when two people have just disrobed before one another for the first time, each one unsure of how the other views them stripped of all armour. This earthy aroma, devoid of any pretence, and aided by body heat, radiates to fill up the personal space around both parties, leaving the skin contracted by goose pimples from the sudden loss of heat. it seldom is the same afterwards. I put my hand on the small of her back, a gesture to reassure her that I wasn’t an ogre. Tyna gave a thumbs up sign that all was set for work and we began the shoot. That was when the nightmare began.
I had carried milady before, playfully, when we were clothed, just to test her weight, and she was a breeze, weighing just over 50kg – I could handle that. This time, however, when the director gave the signal, and I swept her up in my arms with a flourish, her palms still pasted over her glands, and I, standing proudly with my weightless cargo waiting to be blinded by a sudden flurry of flashes, stared bemused as the assistant ran up to us, my arms beginning to strain. She took her time in arranging my colleague’s arms, making sure her breasts were covered and then told me I was lifting her too high, I should lower my arms a little. I did, and that when the strain really began. A few snapshots went off before the director, Tyna, lowered her camera and told me my face was too relaxed, I should strain it a little more. Wasn’t that the whole point of it, to be the strong soldier carrying a damsel in distress effortlessly? “Nope,” they said, “we want you looking strained, and we want it to show on your face.” Another round began, each time the sadists came at us, primping us this way and that until even my lady shed all attempts at decorum and left it to the hardworking loincloth to hold the rest of the fort. The worst was yet to come.
After a period of about thirty minutes, which felt like ten times that, my arms, especially the right, were aching and had begun to quiver from exhaustion when they suddenly gave way and milady stumbled onto the floor. Instinctively I reached out to her, both to steady her and to cover her modesty – there were two other men in the room – when everyone began laughing. Wondering what they were laughing at, I looked down and saw that her hands had ‘made’ it to her breasts right underneath mine! I was horrified at the implication. Quickly I protested my innocence; I was merely trying to protect her, but from the ‘knowing’ looks and smiles of my tormentors, men and women alike, I was fighting a losing battle. The guys’ smiles said, “we’re not judging you man, we understand perfectly”; the women’s, including mine truly, as she looked up at me, smiling in resigned amusement “men will always be men, no matter the shroud”.
Here ends my lofty tale. We had another session after that where she was completely nude and we were both doused in so much powder; I was shirtless and hid behind her and so didn’t even have to suck my tummy in! What I did come away with were very aching arms and a very sore elbow from propping myself up on it and trying to look like I was in love. Suffice it to say that I told Tyna that from the experience, I had perished any thought of pursuing a modelling career. There you have it folks, laugh all you want, I am not perturbed; I have exorcised my demons as far as I’m concerned. Have a great weekend everyone! Thank you for helping me complete this second part of my post! XOXO
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Too Sexy!
A good week to everyone! So long apart, yet so long together. In the latter I revel to keep buoyant when I sink to the murky depths below until I bob back to the dizzying heights I constantly reach for. Well, that’s my stint at poetry this morning; my little way of expunging the little madness that has built up over the night. I expunged yesterday’s by, on a whim, opening up Betty’s bonnet, climbing onto her engine and jumping up and down it. I was gentle though; I just wanted to feel like I was on top of things. It sounds crazy but it worked; my mind was clearer afterwards, not minding the curious amused looks I got from my neighbours. I had a unique experience in modelling recently. It was a photo session that was for a photo gallery and of course I would get copies of the pictures for my own use.
The photographer, Tyna, showed me some photos of celebrities and models in various poses; some shirtless, others in more daring revelations. I told her point blank she could perish any thought of me going shirtless to pose for anything until I get my six pack back, or anything coming close to it. It is now I’ve begun to really empathise with our women who have just given birth and the battle fought to regain, or hang unto, ones youth. Long and short of it is I said no. We perused some concepts and settled on some fairly safe concepts where I wouldn’t be terribly compromised. In one of them, I would be the strong silent type rescuing a near nude damsel in distress from some horrible calamity. I would carry her in my arms while she, near fainting, would still have the presence of mind to clasp her naked breasts with her hands – which I looked forward to with some fever. We fixed the date for our shoot.
The day came and I showed up at the studio quite early as I wanted to be done and leave before the rush hour evening traffic began. I was introduced to the model I would be working very closely with. I can’t remember her name because it was a very unusual but lovely name. She was quite pretty, not strikingly so but the kind that grows on one and never lets go once the claws are latched on. She was dark complexioned and lithe in stature, and had full lips that I could tell were quite soft to the kiss – yes, I do look out for things like that. Anyway, we got talking, ostensibly to get to know one another better to work up good chemistry for the impending shoot. We flirted with each other quite a bit, which is where the fun lies; to dangle carrots before one another with sultry hints of what could be but walking away without eating the fruit. It’s like having really good foreplay and walking away before having the sex that will condemn one to getting annoying phone calls in the middle of the night for want of attention or silly questions regarding what I’m thinking of or if I’m thinking of her. I can hardly get my arms around Frieda’s wahala (and I have very long arms) let alone ten other babes’. I needn’t have worried because she was a professional; I could tell it was just work for her and nothing else, which suited me very well.
We went to do our make up where I, to my annoyance, and at Nkem’s insistence, had to shave my ‘unibrow’ as she calls it – the continuous growth of hair between the eyebrows. That, as far as I’m concerned is how I was made and I don’t see how I have to pander to those pansy perfect ‘pretty boy’ looks just because it’s perceived as ‘clean’ and what female fans want to see! I even had mascara applied to my lashes, to the extent that they were clumped together in twos and threes! You know those lashes they show in magazines where two or three lashes join to form sharp points at the end? That’s how mine ended up. The makeup artist swore blind that they would not be seen by the camera and their sole function was to give me an intense look. Don’t laugh I beg of you lot; I write this with a lot of bravery and consternation which means that my readiness to open my vulnerable sides to you in future will depend on the outcome of this post. Readers beware! Anyway, simmering down and moving right on, I finished mine quickly and went into the studio to take some solo shot as my colleague was still doing her make up – she was to spend a further hour and a half finishing hers before coming to join me.
The rest of what I went through, are they not written in the post to come in just a few days from this one? Is not this post restrained by space to compel me to halt this one right now and am I not emboldened to wish that everybody has a great week ahead? They are, it is, I am!
The photographer, Tyna, showed me some photos of celebrities and models in various poses; some shirtless, others in more daring revelations. I told her point blank she could perish any thought of me going shirtless to pose for anything until I get my six pack back, or anything coming close to it. It is now I’ve begun to really empathise with our women who have just given birth and the battle fought to regain, or hang unto, ones youth. Long and short of it is I said no. We perused some concepts and settled on some fairly safe concepts where I wouldn’t be terribly compromised. In one of them, I would be the strong silent type rescuing a near nude damsel in distress from some horrible calamity. I would carry her in my arms while she, near fainting, would still have the presence of mind to clasp her naked breasts with her hands – which I looked forward to with some fever. We fixed the date for our shoot.
The day came and I showed up at the studio quite early as I wanted to be done and leave before the rush hour evening traffic began. I was introduced to the model I would be working very closely with. I can’t remember her name because it was a very unusual but lovely name. She was quite pretty, not strikingly so but the kind that grows on one and never lets go once the claws are latched on. She was dark complexioned and lithe in stature, and had full lips that I could tell were quite soft to the kiss – yes, I do look out for things like that. Anyway, we got talking, ostensibly to get to know one another better to work up good chemistry for the impending shoot. We flirted with each other quite a bit, which is where the fun lies; to dangle carrots before one another with sultry hints of what could be but walking away without eating the fruit. It’s like having really good foreplay and walking away before having the sex that will condemn one to getting annoying phone calls in the middle of the night for want of attention or silly questions regarding what I’m thinking of or if I’m thinking of her. I can hardly get my arms around Frieda’s wahala (and I have very long arms) let alone ten other babes’. I needn’t have worried because she was a professional; I could tell it was just work for her and nothing else, which suited me very well.
We went to do our make up where I, to my annoyance, and at Nkem’s insistence, had to shave my ‘unibrow’ as she calls it – the continuous growth of hair between the eyebrows. That, as far as I’m concerned is how I was made and I don’t see how I have to pander to those pansy perfect ‘pretty boy’ looks just because it’s perceived as ‘clean’ and what female fans want to see! I even had mascara applied to my lashes, to the extent that they were clumped together in twos and threes! You know those lashes they show in magazines where two or three lashes join to form sharp points at the end? That’s how mine ended up. The makeup artist swore blind that they would not be seen by the camera and their sole function was to give me an intense look. Don’t laugh I beg of you lot; I write this with a lot of bravery and consternation which means that my readiness to open my vulnerable sides to you in future will depend on the outcome of this post. Readers beware! Anyway, simmering down and moving right on, I finished mine quickly and went into the studio to take some solo shot as my colleague was still doing her make up – she was to spend a further hour and a half finishing hers before coming to join me.
The rest of what I went through, are they not written in the post to come in just a few days from this one? Is not this post restrained by space to compel me to halt this one right now and am I not emboldened to wish that everybody has a great week ahead? They are, it is, I am!
Friday, May 27, 2011
The Golden Penny
A penny for your thoughts! I’ve often wondered about the meaning of the ancient idiom; if my thoughts are really that cheap. Would I really sell them for that amount to disclose to my mum that I played hanky panky with our neighbour’s daughter as a teenager, or own up to my elder sister to being responsible for the rapid depletion of her Mills and Boon collection just to impress the object of my affection at the time? Never mind the more serious thought of coup plots, impending adulterous affairs and births of million dollar enterprises. Then again, lurking behind every idiom and proverb is some sliver of truth, and this I have sought to make sense of in this post. After many agonising days of soul searching, I finally found the clue to breaking the code to ascertaining the true value of the basest/cheapest thought hiding in plain sight; the penny’s age.
Good week everyone! One of the channels I love to watch the most on our local cable network is the Crime channel. The material there is so fascinating; the different motives people have for killing their loved ones, colleagues, strangers, range from lust for money to mercy killing and fits of rage or jealousy. Of particular relevance to this post is a documentary I watched about the British great train robbery which took place in the sixties. I’m not quite sure of how much was stolen by the robbers but I think it was in the region of three million pounds sterling. What I did find out in the course of the documentary was that after the robbers shared their loot equally, each one ended up with the sum of approximately two hundred and fifty thousand pounds each; an equivalence of three million pounds of this day’s currency. This means that the value of the pound sterling is approximately twelve times what it is today. You’re probably wondering where I’m going with this but please just bear with me for just a moment. My father bought a house in Liverpool in the sixties for about fifteen hundred pounds. Today houses in that borough go for prices that range from a hundred thousand to a hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling. So, for the sake of greed, even though the house is his no more, I would say that the value of the pound as regards the real estate market has to date increased a hundred fold. My extensive research has shown that the origin of the topical idiom lies somewhere in the sixteenth century.
This is where arithmetic and interest come in. Since a penny is a hundredth of a pound, it is safe to say that a penny in the sixties would be worth a pound sterling in Liverpool and twelve pence in the general areas of England. Shoot me if you want to but I will say my piece ‘cause this is my spot. If then, in the past fifty years, the value of the penny has increased by between 1200% and approximately 10000%,by how much value has the penny increased in the past five hundred years, given the idiom’s inception in the sixteenth century? It is at this point that my mathematical prowess begins to falter so I’ll hazard a rough estimate and add two zeroes to come up with a value ranging between a hundred and twenty pence and a thousand pence. In other words, the value of the basest human thought ranges between one pound twenty pence and ten pounds sterling in today's currency! Quite elementary my dear Watson!
In conclusion, I hereby call for an advocacy for the amendment to the idiom “a penny for your thoughts” to “to what currency value are you amenable to exchanging your thoughts”. This, I feel, will sustain this venerable idiom for millennia to come, on account of its ability to seamlessly pass through currency borders, and its ability to blend with whatever inflation rates that may exist in our increasingly global world. Just a thought, and I’m giving it away for free! Have a great weekend everyone!
Good week everyone! One of the channels I love to watch the most on our local cable network is the Crime channel. The material there is so fascinating; the different motives people have for killing their loved ones, colleagues, strangers, range from lust for money to mercy killing and fits of rage or jealousy. Of particular relevance to this post is a documentary I watched about the British great train robbery which took place in the sixties. I’m not quite sure of how much was stolen by the robbers but I think it was in the region of three million pounds sterling. What I did find out in the course of the documentary was that after the robbers shared their loot equally, each one ended up with the sum of approximately two hundred and fifty thousand pounds each; an equivalence of three million pounds of this day’s currency. This means that the value of the pound sterling is approximately twelve times what it is today. You’re probably wondering where I’m going with this but please just bear with me for just a moment. My father bought a house in Liverpool in the sixties for about fifteen hundred pounds. Today houses in that borough go for prices that range from a hundred thousand to a hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling. So, for the sake of greed, even though the house is his no more, I would say that the value of the pound as regards the real estate market has to date increased a hundred fold. My extensive research has shown that the origin of the topical idiom lies somewhere in the sixteenth century.
This is where arithmetic and interest come in. Since a penny is a hundredth of a pound, it is safe to say that a penny in the sixties would be worth a pound sterling in Liverpool and twelve pence in the general areas of England. Shoot me if you want to but I will say my piece ‘cause this is my spot. If then, in the past fifty years, the value of the penny has increased by between 1200% and approximately 10000%,by how much value has the penny increased in the past five hundred years, given the idiom’s inception in the sixteenth century? It is at this point that my mathematical prowess begins to falter so I’ll hazard a rough estimate and add two zeroes to come up with a value ranging between a hundred and twenty pence and a thousand pence. In other words, the value of the basest human thought ranges between one pound twenty pence and ten pounds sterling in today's currency! Quite elementary my dear Watson!
In conclusion, I hereby call for an advocacy for the amendment to the idiom “a penny for your thoughts” to “to what currency value are you amenable to exchanging your thoughts”. This, I feel, will sustain this venerable idiom for millennia to come, on account of its ability to seamlessly pass through currency borders, and its ability to blend with whatever inflation rates that may exist in our increasingly global world. Just a thought, and I’m giving it away for free! Have a great weekend everyone!
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
May the 18th
A great week to everybody! It’s my birthday today and I’m on a high – and I haven’t even had any coffee or coke (cola!) yet. Ah, if I try that one, I’d probably splatter my brains on the ceiling from jumping up and down! Right now I’m, as I write this, listening to the classic seventies of James Brown, Aretha and it’s not helping me any ‘cause I can’t sit still. Something tells me I’m not in the right mood; I should be reflective, brooding over all the things I am yet to accomplish but should have. Frieda says I am in unusually high spirits today, claims my last two birthdays were very hard on her because I was very testy and moody and that I almost bit her head off at every turn. What could be more absurd? Me, gripe and moan and whinge?! Then how come I can’t remember anything and only she can. Abeg, go and sit down, finder of storms where there aren’t any! Goes to show I have a godly and childlike mind and don’t bear grudges or remember past sins and such like. On a serious note though, I’ve been wondering about the road that lies ahead of me in the next fifty years, or if my Good Father decides to cut my journey short for a one on one rendezvous, what will be in store for me. More and more frequently, a dream I had many, many many years ago, at age seventeen, keeps coming back to me.
For some months before the dream, I had been contemplating my life in general; whether I wanted to live a ‘boring’ structured and orderly long life, or whether I wanted to live a fast, free, dangerous adrenaline fuelled life and die young at say, thirty five. The latter seemed a lot more attractive because the thought of growing old and decrepit after years of toiling didn’t seem the most attractive way to take a bow off the stage. All I’d have to do was live life on the edge, and crash and die romantically like James Dean did on the fast lane. That fateful night I spoke of, I slept and had the first of many unusual dreams.
I’m not sure what it was I was doing in my dream but knowing what I usually like to do in my dreams, I was probably playing some romantic hero, trying to save some damsel in distress, maybe to make up for what I don’t usually do in real life. What I do remember, however, is that I was suddenly caught up in a whoosh and I found myself hovering somewhere in space with an endless star studded velvety blanket all around me. I wasn’t however really interested in the stupefying splendour all around me as I was instinctively aware of another presence about me. It didn’t inspire me with fear; it was a presence I recognised instantly and it also seemed to cocoon me from the extreme sphere of nothingness, cold and weightlessness that surrounded me. I somehow felt as safe as a baby in his mother’s womb and yet it felt like I was waiting for something to happen. It did, in a voice.
It wasn’t a deep rumble, or a harsh crack of a whip. It was gentle, like my inner thoughts that are always whispering, except that, unlike my thoughts, this one was soothing and made a lot of sense. It said, “I’ve brought you out here for a reason. Look out there in front of you. What do you see?” I looked, and a really beautiful round orb the size of a large marble, the blue glow around it shimmering bluer than all the fires the brightest sapphire could ever muster. “That’s the earth.” I ventured. “Good. Now look all around you and tell me what you see?” I looked around me. “The universe?” “You are correct. It said. “Now look further, look to see if you can find where the universe ends.” I looked and looked but there seemed to be no end to the dark mass. “It doesn’t seem to end.” I said, waiting for what was to come next. “You are correct again. Now look at the earth again and compare its size with the size of the universe all around you.” “The earth’s size is overwhelmingly insignificant in comparison to the universe’s size”. “Gooood. You see that earth that is so small and can be squashed at any time? That is your life as it is now. The universe that never ever ends is your life that you will live when you leave the shell you are living in now.
The little earth you see in front of you is the most important gift I have given you because it is what you do on that earth that will determine the kind of life you will live in this universe that never ends. The earth is your school of study, where you will study. If you pass the examination afterwards you will go down one path, but if you fail, you will go down another. Whatever the case may be, you will never die; you are of Me, a spirit, you can never die so be very careful with the choices you make on earth. For your gift I have given you time, so you can use the period to accomplish all you need to do to invest in your future afterwards. The little suffering in that little earth is a microcosm of the eternal suffering that lies afterwards while the little pleasures in the same earth is also a microcosm of the eternal pleasures that lie beyond it. Note however that the experiences that lie in the different eternal paths are undiluted and pure; they will neither mix nor intersperse with one another. I enjoin you to use my gifts well; if you pass, you will spend the rest of your endless life in bliss but if you fail, you will spend the rest of your endless life in anguish. if you know how to pound, you’ll pound the food in the mortar. If you don’t know how to pound, you'll smash your knees with the pestle.” And then I woke up.
I don’t know what may happen tomorrow, and I do feel somewhat bashful about sharing this with everyone as I don’t like coming across as a ‘sipiri spiri’ (bible basher) person. Then again one main reason I opened up this blog was to share my thoughts and experiences to those who care to read them. Feel free to make of it what you will. Phew! Now that’s outta di way, I can go back to answering all those delicious hearfelt messages on my blackberry and fb! Oh, and someone promised me a very good dinner of semovita and stockfish and snail infested bitterleaf soup! “Be still my rumbling belly!” Have a great week everyone!
For some months before the dream, I had been contemplating my life in general; whether I wanted to live a ‘boring’ structured and orderly long life, or whether I wanted to live a fast, free, dangerous adrenaline fuelled life and die young at say, thirty five. The latter seemed a lot more attractive because the thought of growing old and decrepit after years of toiling didn’t seem the most attractive way to take a bow off the stage. All I’d have to do was live life on the edge, and crash and die romantically like James Dean did on the fast lane. That fateful night I spoke of, I slept and had the first of many unusual dreams.
I’m not sure what it was I was doing in my dream but knowing what I usually like to do in my dreams, I was probably playing some romantic hero, trying to save some damsel in distress, maybe to make up for what I don’t usually do in real life. What I do remember, however, is that I was suddenly caught up in a whoosh and I found myself hovering somewhere in space with an endless star studded velvety blanket all around me. I wasn’t however really interested in the stupefying splendour all around me as I was instinctively aware of another presence about me. It didn’t inspire me with fear; it was a presence I recognised instantly and it also seemed to cocoon me from the extreme sphere of nothingness, cold and weightlessness that surrounded me. I somehow felt as safe as a baby in his mother’s womb and yet it felt like I was waiting for something to happen. It did, in a voice.
It wasn’t a deep rumble, or a harsh crack of a whip. It was gentle, like my inner thoughts that are always whispering, except that, unlike my thoughts, this one was soothing and made a lot of sense. It said, “I’ve brought you out here for a reason. Look out there in front of you. What do you see?” I looked, and a really beautiful round orb the size of a large marble, the blue glow around it shimmering bluer than all the fires the brightest sapphire could ever muster. “That’s the earth.” I ventured. “Good. Now look all around you and tell me what you see?” I looked around me. “The universe?” “You are correct. It said. “Now look further, look to see if you can find where the universe ends.” I looked and looked but there seemed to be no end to the dark mass. “It doesn’t seem to end.” I said, waiting for what was to come next. “You are correct again. Now look at the earth again and compare its size with the size of the universe all around you.” “The earth’s size is overwhelmingly insignificant in comparison to the universe’s size”. “Gooood. You see that earth that is so small and can be squashed at any time? That is your life as it is now. The universe that never ever ends is your life that you will live when you leave the shell you are living in now.
The little earth you see in front of you is the most important gift I have given you because it is what you do on that earth that will determine the kind of life you will live in this universe that never ends. The earth is your school of study, where you will study. If you pass the examination afterwards you will go down one path, but if you fail, you will go down another. Whatever the case may be, you will never die; you are of Me, a spirit, you can never die so be very careful with the choices you make on earth. For your gift I have given you time, so you can use the period to accomplish all you need to do to invest in your future afterwards. The little suffering in that little earth is a microcosm of the eternal suffering that lies afterwards while the little pleasures in the same earth is also a microcosm of the eternal pleasures that lie beyond it. Note however that the experiences that lie in the different eternal paths are undiluted and pure; they will neither mix nor intersperse with one another. I enjoin you to use my gifts well; if you pass, you will spend the rest of your endless life in bliss but if you fail, you will spend the rest of your endless life in anguish. if you know how to pound, you’ll pound the food in the mortar. If you don’t know how to pound, you'll smash your knees with the pestle.” And then I woke up.
I don’t know what may happen tomorrow, and I do feel somewhat bashful about sharing this with everyone as I don’t like coming across as a ‘sipiri spiri’ (bible basher) person. Then again one main reason I opened up this blog was to share my thoughts and experiences to those who care to read them. Feel free to make of it what you will. Phew! Now that’s outta di way, I can go back to answering all those delicious hearfelt messages on my blackberry and fb! Oh, and someone promised me a very good dinner of semovita and stockfish and snail infested bitterleaf soup! “Be still my rumbling belly!” Have a great week everyone!
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
The Dark Side
A good week to everyone and I hope your Easter was not as uneventful as mine was. Mine was spent in the trenches on set playing a debauched reverend father, an absolute disgrace to the cloth. I don’t know why but I seem to be playing mostly bad guy roles in movies these days but what I do know is that I revel in it. Playing the bad guy is always exciting. It gives me the opportunity to delve into the minds of these social deviants, knowing full well I could easily have been one of them. I think the other bit about it that fascinates me is feeding the curiosity to know what living life without boundaries is like, to be governed by one’s own rules to the absolute exclusion of the Deity’s. I think it kind of gives me a look into what I would have been like on the other side, if I may be so bold as claim to be on the right side.
I wonder if mothers will still hold out their babies for me to kiss when my dark side starts coming to light. You may laugh it off and think I’m being trivial but I assure you I am talking about a very real factor here. Movies, I believe, and the actors, and the audience have the threads of belief and perception running through them. The difference is that while some people leave the reality of the story they’ve just watched behind on the conclusion of the movie, others refuse to let them go and sometimes lose sight of where their boundaries lie. In short, this group of people could range from attacking ‘bad guy’ actors on the street to being obsessive stalkers. Hmm, let’s see how it goes.
Sadly I couldn’t get to vote today; I overslept from yesterday’s near overnight ‘s shoot. I’m just hoping my favourite man for the guv’s job, Fashola, wins again. Thanks to him the plague called traffic in Lagos has been brought down a notch or two. Now I’m packing my stuff to go away for the rest of the week. Hopefully I’ll have something eventful to write about it when I get back. till then, do have a great week everyone!
I wonder if mothers will still hold out their babies for me to kiss when my dark side starts coming to light. You may laugh it off and think I’m being trivial but I assure you I am talking about a very real factor here. Movies, I believe, and the actors, and the audience have the threads of belief and perception running through them. The difference is that while some people leave the reality of the story they’ve just watched behind on the conclusion of the movie, others refuse to let them go and sometimes lose sight of where their boundaries lie. In short, this group of people could range from attacking ‘bad guy’ actors on the street to being obsessive stalkers. Hmm, let’s see how it goes.
Sadly I couldn’t get to vote today; I overslept from yesterday’s near overnight ‘s shoot. I’m just hoping my favourite man for the guv’s job, Fashola, wins again. Thanks to him the plague called traffic in Lagos has been brought down a notch or two. Now I’m packing my stuff to go away for the rest of the week. Hopefully I’ll have something eventful to write about it when I get back. till then, do have a great week everyone!
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Just voted! Yaaaay!
Phew! Just got back from the first segment of the voting process, accreditation. It was blissfully simple, quite unlike the shoving and unruly mayhem I envisaged. Everyone was orderly and the unruly thugs I half expected to turn up and disrupt things were nowhere to be found. Oh, and even better news. On my way back, I met one of the estate officials and asked her what was to become of the rubbish heap that was dredged up from the drainage ways and their disposal. To my delight she informed there were already plans for a tipper truck to come on Monday to cart them away. Humble pie has never tasted so good. My apologies to my wonderful estate and her officials; we have shown ourselves to be a breed apart from the norm!
I finally got to vote in the second segment of the voting process at about a quarter past one pm after spending just forty five minutes in the queue. I feel so chuffed (pleased with myself) being the first time I’ve ever voted in my life – don laff! The last time I tried to do so was when I was nineteen and was turned away on the basis that I looked underage (fifteen) despite my spirited protests. The fact that I didn’t have any id on me didn’t do much to help my case.
Anyway whichever way the votes swing, I will eternally be satisfied that I actually took an active role in making a statement regarding how I want my future in this country as its citizen even if it’s just in a little small way. I’m also proud of the way the elections were conducted on the grounds – free of harassment and peaceful, even heavily pregnant women were relaxed at the venue. Much kudos to the Nigerian government for a job well done – so far. Let’s wait and see. Have a great Sunday everyone!
I finally got to vote in the second segment of the voting process at about a quarter past one pm after spending just forty five minutes in the queue. I feel so chuffed (pleased with myself) being the first time I’ve ever voted in my life – don laff! The last time I tried to do so was when I was nineteen and was turned away on the basis that I looked underage (fifteen) despite my spirited protests. The fact that I didn’t have any id on me didn’t do much to help my case.
Anyway whichever way the votes swing, I will eternally be satisfied that I actually took an active role in making a statement regarding how I want my future in this country as its citizen even if it’s just in a little small way. I’m also proud of the way the elections were conducted on the grounds – free of harassment and peaceful, even heavily pregnant women were relaxed at the venue. Much kudos to the Nigerian government for a job well done – so far. Let’s wait and see. Have a great Sunday everyone!
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