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Tuesday, January 12, 2016

kboards: Book Discovery Day! (Tuesday Jan 12)

kboards: Book Discovery Day! (Tuesday Jan 12): It's Book Discovery Day! Twice a week we bring you a selection of books that are newly-published, or that have been overlooked. Every ...

Monday, April 27, 2015

Destination Dead end ...Lampedusa

 Destination Dead end ...Lampedusa

The thought train of our times spread like the rays of the sun,
Sun rises in the east
Obsessed mind set for the west.
Destination unknown...
We march along in a blinding pace,
Rationed even the air
Road blocks and check points to keep us in check
Home and away( menkesakesi,betaka,greencard...)
Got to move, chasing dreams that chase I

Stateless thoughts yet never tasteless,
Sleepless nights
Reckless moves,
Static wrecks,
Rotting relics along the way
No breaks!
Broken hearts and creaking dreams
We still march on though...
Storm through the desert storm,
Fuming lungs of hope
Heaving chest, the air of riches ahead
Creaky joints, Marco Polo of our times
Almost there...
Cut short by a faith bandit.
Shading tears and years
Some pass away some pass on!
Sinking boats,
Sardined dreams, squashed
Breathing water as the last breath.
Candle vigil at the finish line.
Undeterred we march on...
Infestation to the West
Abomination to the East
We wander chasing ruthless, roofless dreams,
Wandering tourist until we all depart for good!
Turning the Mediterranean into the Red sea
Where are we heading my brothers and sisters!!!

Little brother on the way,
The allure of the greener grass across the pond
Flickering dreams in the jet blackness
Twinkling eyes of the twilight ahead
Stateless yet never tasteless, departs he..
Wish Brother knew the day and night mares
Grass is only Green on TV

Dream state of mind
The rim of dreams is higher than the sky
Dreams kill.
Dreams are like the ocean,
Deep red tainted like the Med Sea
The real Red sea...
 Home away from home,
Yet no place like home.
Tongue tied, wish you stayed home lil Bro/Sis
But then, when will you ever feel at home Eriboy/girl

RIP to the young dreamers cut short!

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

The Artistry ---


 ...sneak into the rack unnoticed, with no expectation whatsoever, blow with the wind and see where it ends up; fluttering pages. Be it a bust or an unlikely thrust through the thick wall of commercial junk, one makes the mark. Take it to the grave regardless of the outcome.  Perseverance, dared to dream an almost impossible theme. Schemed the lot to thicken the plot and milk the fragments of the imagination to spit out a work of art worthy of hanging rack on racks of the book stores I used to window shop day in, night out.  Literary commentary of the contemporary trials and tribulations is the essence of the artistry. Man think of the names  replaced on the those racks, the immortal greats that lingered for centuries. Standing tall and lean waiting for those hungry minds to feast on. Some infested like disease, quarantined in the back of the book store, piled untouched and un-leafed, thicker than before covered in a sheath of dust, box after box, to be shredded or shipped overseas, unread to make space for the incoming new new. Fuck the new shit! Man still one copy  remains, aloft preserved and treasured like a trophy somewhere or if lucky everywhere. Immortalized in the library would be the greatest of all though. Think of the name next to one's initials. The book that tumbles accidentally when grabbed by a curious hand reaching out for the great you stood lined up shoulder to shoulder, like a team photo shoot, day in lights out. Rubbing shoulders with a veteran of literary wars of many tears and years, fallen and risen until eternity splits one apart. I feel your eyes following every line. Google entry of every drip and trip of the mind digitally embedded for life, tell me if you are still in it for the dough! The money always comes and it goes like a hooker on a night troll. Trick and tease to leave you chanting for more. But the art always pays off. The churning minutes would take their toll of the mind's mileage, yet the miles you ride alone in that solitary beat up wagon will you cherish. The words set you free from reality into the safe enclosure of the imaginative prison. The money is complimentary but never the reward. In fact the stifling devil, the unnecessary protective veil warding you off the darkness of the soul one dares to dive solo, the artistry! 
The soul bleeds black! 

Thursday, January 15, 2015

The Cows Tongue ---- Flash

flash fiction, like flesh on flesh fetish flashes idea after idea the pen could never ink on time...

I call her one evening after she became this successful Doctor or whatever. Arrogant cold ass GP running her private clinic. You know writers suffering from block and paranoia and whats not. So I call her one night, in the middle of the night, riiing riiing  she picks up the phone " hhhh" a sigh of frustration at having her sleep deprived  constantly by  ceaseless inconsiderate idiots who dare to call for so called emergencies. What they fail to realize is what might be urgent for one might not be for the other " who is this?"  she snaps " ooooh its me your huh your hmm X!" I reply suppressing a yawn! " Do you know what time it is MR X?" she quickly inquires with a hint of irritation " who is it! " a growling sleepy voice of suspicious jealous boyfriend soon to be fucking fiancĂ©e inquires "It just my X! you know that loony writer!"she replies to him in a whisper " I heard that" I giggle at the other end, marveling at the audacity of her ridiculing me over the phone! " Ya how can I help you dear Mr X! what is it this time you hallucinating again?" she asks jokingly " No No I don't  think am seeing things lately. But hmm I see them but I think some of them, well most of them are real. I think. besides what ever they are, there is enough room for all of us inside my house, if you think about! I kind of needed company anyway. Anyway you know the other day the bedroom window burst open by itself and I look up to see one of the ghosts  trying to jump off the window. Commit suicide or ghosticide whatever they call it. "  Uh ehe ya ok" she says at the other end " So the ghost, looked stunned as if it saw another ghost or something, anyway he looks back as if to say like goodbye or something. I was not prepared for it. I mean people usually leave a note and do it discreetly perhaps afterwards. And I was puzzled so I just waved back and just stared back! It was kind of pissed off that I did not try to stop it or like beg him into reconsidering. You know like please don't do it! You will definitely feel better tomorrow or something. I was like fuck it, he is a ghost he was dead before so who am I to tell him not to do it again hello!" uh hmmm ok then what happened " she says yawning over the phone. I totally missed my concentration by then on the other end,  thought trailing somewhere very far away land unto unfinished scripts. The ant hill trilogy.. " uh what do you mean what happened? with what?"  Was wondering by then if she was the one who called me. She lets out a snicker and snap back " you loony tune the ghosts! the one jumping over the window!" The passive aggressive tone on the other end beginning to freak me out" Oh ya the ghosts hmm " I hesitate for a second trying to retrace the events. Fuck! that train gone long time ago! But no biggie I am a writer. A writer is more like the central train station, never a remote bus stop waiting for the same bus. I never run out of trains to hop on and trail away, I console myself and quickly shift my attention to the impatient silence on the other end " the ghost I don't know. I went back to sleep i guess!" I reply in the end! After a moment of awkward silence she says " Ok MR X, I had a long day and I need to get back to sleep, unless you want to ask me something important?" I break out into uncontrollable laughter over my own forgetfulness. Forgetfulness what forgetfulness. I had recently concluded maybe I am not suffering from memory loss or lapse in my concentration. Maybe I have extra ability to not remember things. In a sense not being overwhelmed by trivial data out there. Filter out the essential maybe. It is all part of the equation to an elite elevation required in becoming the ultimate man of reason. The wheel of Reason, overlapping instinct to overrun the roller coaster motion instigated by emotions, is the quest! I should definitely write that down I ponder to myself. Then I quickly reply " Oh ya this might be a bit embarrassing. But my tongue seems to fall asleep a lot of late. Is it something serious? I think it is strained or something. It is ridiculous considering it had been quite a while since I had engaged in a small talk let alone a cheek cramping tongue straining long conversation! Maybe the muscles gone limp, cramped or burnout  I have no clue!" After a snickering of the couple on the other side, she regains her callous composure and assumed the icy tone she was known for in the office " How long has this been going on? Does it function as if it got its own mind?" she bombards me with two tricky questions! What does she mean by a mind of its own? Every thing feels like it has got a mind of its own. Like a morning bread it rises and falls at will " In a weird way I feel it sneaking in and out of my mouth like a rattle snake, without my intention. Quite a while as well. Ahhh maybe a year if I recall right!"  After a brief long silence the voice on the other end takes a serious tone "I got bad news for you bro! Your tongue is suffering from a condition we call Tangeranemos. It is a serious condition where the tongue muscle falls mysteriously limp and     inobedient at some point and then erect and active involuntarily. You might experience a sudden tongue movement where it sticks out like a 5 year olds tongue in a playground."  " what !" stunned and confused I scream back over the phone. Quickly regaining my composure I quipp " by the way it is disobedient and not in-obedient" The impatience tone had given in to amusement on the other end  " MR X I will tell you the option. One is to surgically remove your tongue and have a transplant of cows tongue. Not a cow but perhaps calf's tongue. Human to human tongue transplant is yet to be performed for some mysterious reason. Or if it is momentary relief you seek for, I will administer a medication where you must strictly abide. Take a tablet every morning and keep your mouth shut the whole day, breathe through your nose. Only open after 12 hours for nourishment purposes, only. Afterwards take another pill and keep that mouth sealed for the whole night. You try it for two weeks and we take it from there!"  " two weeks what are you crazy!" I hear the muffled snickering laughter of her boyfriend again who seemed to enjoy the exchanges " Relax bro, its not like your livelihood depended on it! you write for a living. Its not like you are a professional ice cream flavor taster who constantly needs to stick his tongue out. Keep it sealed for two weeks or its the cows tongue. Or I could ask around for a giraffes tongue implant, that would be much fun that you could easily pick your nose and ears, lick them clean with them long tongue of yours without lifting a finger...."

Wow and I snap back from the momentary day mare, rush to the bathroom mirror, stick my tongue out. It looked strangely enlarged. Not a giraffes just longer than it used to be.....

And for those who keep asking me if Jojo or any of the characters portrayed in my writing is me, got it wrong. I might use some fragments and elements of my experience at times but mostly they are pure products of my wild imagination!

Friday, November 7, 2014

Detach or Stay in Touch

Detach or Stay in Touch

Sun shining, all smiling
Paradise at last found, never lost.
Some beautiful moments stand out
Taller than some monuments.
Watching the sea touch the sky
My raving thoughts leave me to weave 
through the sea wave and drift away
Finally I recline, my mind at ease!
Yet laps reality back and forth to reek havoc
Seeps through my serene trance like a smoke!
Detach or stay in touch is the question!
The whole world has gone berserk
NO more tick tock of the clock
Just a click clank of the glock.
Boom boom boom by the hour
No more psychedelic flower power
Just a thick smoke of gun powder!
Dystopic frenzy invades my mind
Utopic sky smeared by a scarlet cloud.
Sorrow cast like a global shadow
forecast is grim for tomorrow
Boom boom boom
Heavy fire shower in the east
fireworks prevail in the south coast
Everywhere a bonfire to rise and never set
Planes rise and rise to be set alight
Fugees set out to sink like submarines
Obese sharks on a siesta
Football junkies on a fiesta!
Ebola out break, no hand shakes
Crop failure, season set for hunger games
Diet pills and bills pile up for the rest!
Peace prizes for a world in million pieces!
Boom bomboclat i need to switch off and relax!