boyfulani

After hours of  ‘making‘ out with my computer, i shoot blanks.

For some time now, i have wished to court and slip the ‘handcuffs of life into one uv’em. Currently,  in the marital world of  ‘IT‘, i have none to call my own. I have resulted into constant whoring about…banging on any keyboard that lays itself bare…and my gently prodding take care of the rest. There are times when my fingers are itching, edging me out of my skin just to caress a ‘QWERTY’ or ngwati keyboard at midnight, and maaan…i take it out on my notebook.

It’s a sweet release.

Fruits of crazitivity, these are.

Today, blankets are baying for my blood.  Sleep has eluded my eyelids and waking thoughts are ‘trodding’ as Trojan horses over my poor mind. I am torn between the life i want and the life i live in.

Some things no longer make sense, and now, i find sense in senselessness. Maybe Emily Dickinson was right:

MUCH madness is divinest sense

To a discerning eye; Much sense the starkest madness.

’T is the majority In this, as all, prevails.

Assent, and you are sane; Demur,—you ’re straightway dangerous,

And handled with a chain.

So, i walk on, hoping…that the light will shine my way, and i shall find my spot.

Among the stars.

After various ‘revisions’ on my part, I am feeling my stomach tighten.I  am also tempted to break down into a string of whines but i’ve grown to hold that back…pretty much because, i have realized, inasmuch as i tell people my issues, there are others who have worse situations than mine…yeah, you know that equation.

that was a while back. it was also the same time i decided grow some  pair of balls, two tough hairy nuts, that tow/swing/like pendulums) along with me, everywhere i go.

and yes, despite my soft countenance, manhood doth ooze out of this system, gushing….on the few that care to stare.

see, the less i heed my feelings, the more happy i am. the more happy i am, the more pre-disposed i am to sinking into mushy ends and sexting old crushes that stalled, like career accounts clerks.

all this was until last month, when i met a girl. it was about campus. life was pretty much the same to me and as the mid semester slowly gave way to project deadlines, ‘defunct’ groups began to come to life. apparently, a pal of my had actually ‘hooked’ me up with her.

and we met. first on phone, severally texting…and before actually meeting, on email.

on my part, nothing, nothing like in the NGO world, was really going on in my mind. even after we actually met hurriedly to assemble some group work, i recall a sex-y thought crossing my mind- like, how would it feel to do such a girl in? Yeah, she did have a heavy Brit. accent and walks about with some sophisticated swag…or stagger (as i later discovered she be a ganja breed). And i ever the little African Boy, humble unlike his dreams, just wondered…as i disappeared into the night.

Nov. 2, last month, i’ll never forget, the first time our greetings went past the elbow and a super invite rang out and wohooo…everything took place between 8:00pm and 6:00am.

Don’t ask, but…experience did fail me here. I was floating in a different cloud that massaged my naivety and soon, i was  a pothead! I knew i would do pot one day (like all my pals, call it beer/peer pressure) but not until this suave pothead swang my way did this urge to do it then became stronger. My life was changing…i was in another realm…still thinking i was still the same, still got served (dont ask) till weeks later when she stopped dead on her tracks and the ‘we need to talk’ line came screeching inside our stoned room.

By then, i had a list of the guys (pre-decessors, x-files) she had before, and man, that wasn’t exactly an incentive, esp. knowing some of the preeeeeetty well.Funny thing, she din’t care to hide, or assume the good girl-met-bad-boy tag…and there i was, reeling, my camera recording, thinking about how the different timezones haver really messed her up…’stead of opening her world view.

I, on the other hand…yeah, i had lost focus…quite much, i know and she started sending subtle hints (without ‘meaning badly’) lol that she thought i was this focused guy who intimidated her, blah..only to realize that i actually did stuff like smoke, drink…and i said aye! That’s me.

And that, was the beginning of the end.

so, that could probley explain why am here, wallowing in the shadows of loneliness(did i say that?) whereas some nigga is having it good elsewhere…

….my chemical romances have since been stunted and aborted n all am left with is smoke smoldering outta my love life shell, like an abandoned experiment room in Chernobyl…smoke is jus’ billowing slowly , like a great chinese dragon…n u dont wonna know what is happenin inside..
where there is smoke?…there is a smoker on the other end

but still, i miss nothing…
a**es no longer amuse me, heavenly busts do take my attention, but pretty faces are just another thing on a woman…like say, her handbag or sexy stilletos…or an artistical logo that ignites thinking…like, the bluetooth logo, Dyer&Blair…yah..,or aint a pretty woman like a melody that haunts you after the song is over?
hell, mad rubs and love jerks aint me fantasy n it seems someone just ripped off that page outta my dic…tionary….jeez…what happened to the fire of the loins?!
hata lugha yangu ime-rust na last time nili-approach m-she…nili-end up looking like a square triangle, rude n too rough…
yaani, (as per kawa) i see no point of beating around the bush chasing skunks(or skirts)…i simply went up to the pretty mama, upfront n burped ..

…if looks were bullets…ahhum..

now iz me iz go back to drawing board…i don’t know to do wot exactly…but i know its where all ladders start, down on the bone shop , the rag of the heart…
(

I’m sitted in the library enjoying wireless awesomeness. I have  a whole 1,500+ words to type and a 3-5 minutes video to upload…and here i is, still finding bearing on where to start.

At least, i have my interviews in place the only thing remaining is the flow.

And then, there is this calabash in my heart that is really messing me up. It try to keep sunk, but for skunk it is, it keeps on floating again. Ever since i stopped leaving this icebox of a heart (it has since thawed) on my bedside table, things have been really BAD.

But i don’t regret it..though, tossing and turning, reeling in unreal team…in the wake-fool-ness of a heartbreak, words are hard to come by. It’s funny how i find it hard to write when i am going through dark patches in my life. I pen dark tales when i am really having fun. Weird, you may say, but i think i have a strange sense of disclosure. I think i am an ‘introverted extrovert’. Getting trapped in between these extremes, i emerge a complicated nucca, drunk with inconsistency.

I have never gotten used to it.

Now, i just watch myself navigate through the jungles of relationships, career and schoolwork which i can say, are not at their best now.

But its all bad>why do we say its all good, when its not?

I’m not fine, what the heck, lol.

I think i have chased the chill but not really managed to unload what is weighing on me.

Time will…and it will all be, fallen leaves.

~BwC.

listening to Fallen leaves>Billy Talent