Why I am not Charlie

Interesting point of view.

a paper bird

imagesThere is no “but” about what happened at Charlie Hebdo yesterday. Some people published some cartoons, and some other people killed them for it.  Words and pictures can be beautiful or vile, pleasing or enraging, inspiring or offensive; but they exist on a different plane from physical violence, whether you want to call that plane spirit or imagination or culture, and to meet them with violence is an offense against the spirit and imagination and culture that distinguish humans. Nothing mitigates this monstrosity. There will be time to analyze why the killers did it, time to parse their backgrounds, their ideologies, their beliefs, time for sociologists and psychologists to add to understanding. There will be explanations, and the explanations will be important, but explanations aren’t the same as excuses. Words don’t kill, they must not be met by killing, and they will not make the killers’ culpability go away.

To abhor what was done to the victims, though, is not…

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I am the blank page before you
I am the fine idea you crave
I live and breathe under the moon
And when you cross that bridge
I’ll come find you

London Grammar’s Stay Awake from The Originals’ last episode really touched me. I’m looking for love. Not love in form of a person but something to love. Something to cherish, something that makes me truly truly happy. I plan on traveling after my degree, but is that enough? I need something to love now. It’s almost Christmas and the whole family will soon be together construing happiness which can act as a momentary get-away.


I need to find myself by finding love. I need that fine idea. I need that blank page.

Note: I haven’t had enough time to really write so you guys are gonna be getting random musings like this till new year. Sorry! Oh, It’s Sunday. Happy Sunday guys.



As I sit on my bed,
I think of her smile,
As I picture the way her hair graces her head,
I think of how far she is, the number of miles,

I don’t know if I still love her,
But one thing is sure,
I can’t live without her,
I’m sick and she’s the cure,

Please don’t let me lose you,
I’ve lost so many people I care about,
This heart belongs to you,
I can tell the world, I can shout,

I mumble your name in my mystery,
I’m thinking about you all night in bed,
Getting lost in your love it’s weary,
A heart that loses someone isn’t lonely, it’s dead.



I blowing up your line
I got you on my mind
And the truth is hard to find, so I’ll be
I’ll be drunk texting, drunk texting, drunk texting you
Drunk texting, drunk texting you
Yeah baby I’ll be drunk texting, drunk texting, drunk texting you
Drunk texting, drunk texting you

Chris Brown and Jhene Aiko’s Drunk texting has been my jam for weeks. My mind has been troubled with exam preparations, money issues and home issues, then I remembered I met her around a time when I faced something similar.

I still didn’t talk to her after seeing her at the IT centre, yeah, not that I didn’t want to, I just didn’t get the chance and I regretted it. The thought of her haunted me further, I kept thinking of how beautiful she was, her body curve and that smile, what did that smile mean? I was already missing her. She was the only one that could soothe my troubled mind.

I intensified my search, I really wanted to see her, not to profess my love but just to talk. I didn’t find her, I always thought my school was bigger than people thought, so I wasn’t too surprised.

Then it happened, I was at my hall’s junction one faithful night when she passed by. There was no mistake, it was her, it was as if I already knew her. She saw me coming and smiled. I immediately started smiling back. What is it with that smile? I became speechless again, this time I was closer to her and her eyes were her most distracting feature. I later regained my senses and started a conversation with her.

She met with my friends, gave me her number all while smiling, it was as if she knew her smile was still my greatest mystery. The rest of the night didn’t go as planned, but for the fact that I met her, I slept like a baby, slowly breathing, thinking of nothing. I was almost, if not completely lost in her love.

……to be continued

Money (Stream Of Consciousness)

“Being broke is the root of all evil”

When Drake said I like when money makes a difference but don’t make you different, I thought little of it at the time but this week has taught me otherwise.

* * * * * * *

I talked to her on the phone for almost 15 minutes which I later realized wasn’t a good decision. When I checked my phone’s account balance and discovered I was zeroed out, I was a little angry cause we didn’t really talk about anything specific, just soporific mumblings of estranged lovers. I immediately contacted my Dad, after greetings and chatting, I asked him for a loan, surprisingly he agreed but still gave me a stern warning about my spending.

Of course I don’t listen to him, who listens to their parents. I can’t really account for how I spent the money but the money was gone and I was back to square one.

“A broke hand is the Devil’s workshop”

I started thinking of ways to get money. Exams were approaching, and I needed money to complete projects and stuffs. I did a little gambling, which resulted in further loss of cash, I called up relatives and friends, but it all proved abortive. I was confused and a bit scared. My Mom’s bitting words of advice about the consequences of spending carelessly came to haunt me, I was in a dark place, desperate and willing to do anything until I finally agreed to deal a little Marijuana.

A classmate of mine later hooked me up with a super dealer who I was supposed to meet at specific times. Now, understand that in Nigeria, the crime rate in high, so the punishment for dealing in Universities is extremely high. Still, I was ready and pumped to go. I met with him a day before on instructions on how to deal and today, I was going to meet him to get the product when my phone rang. It was my mom, my brother had just been arrested for dealing.

* * * * * * * *

Erm, I sincerely apologize for not putting up a Time Travel post yesterday, I will make sure to post two next week. Thanks and keep reading. 🙂


We’re the digital degenerates, alone and apart,
Made of manufactured mantras, departed from ours,

But when flashlights and fireflies, are off and afar,
Bonfires burnt-out, pitch-black in backyards.

We’re the visionary vandals, reaching for art.
The moonlit astronauts, reaching for mars,
On our rooftop rebellion, reaching for stars,
Constellation are blankets, to cover our scars.

Lonely lovers, reaching for missing hearts,
Lost in the hoods of sweet sixteen cars,
We’re the midnight mass, in need of a new start,
Young, but already reaching to be dealt a new card.

We sneak out, to reach out, to who we really are.
Daydreams discontent, but we reach in the dark.


STUDIO 3: Barely Surviving

I am on the edge, barely surviving. I know I am better than this, better than the rushed life of Architecture students, better than the ignored phone calls late at night, better than the urge to cheat on tests cause I think I’m not well prepared, better than the constant reminder that I have to make something of my self after years of studying, better than the need to impress, better than the urge to act out, better than it all.

I look back at it all and sigh heavily, how did I get here? How did it all get so confusing? My thoughts keep spiraling until I see a tiny gleam of light, this symbolizes hope for a better tomorrow and I smile, so I started writing this, not for myself alone but for anyone out there who is sad or depressed, broke or poor, thrown out or homeless, broken hearted or rejected, unemployed or job hunting, endeavor to see the light, cause without it, all we have is a dark hollow emptiness.

Barely surviving, if you notice is how someone ties up disparate ends of an write up that is clearly going to be under appreciated.