Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Best you get a tractor and drag me to the dang altar at this rate!

I realize that i am going crazy without blogging it all out, so ever so often-for my own sanity,i'll be dropping a few quick ones. Bear with me if it lacks flow or makes no sense...they are really just T.Notes.

It is the typical story...i've always wanted to become a super heroe,until i got the shiny cape and realized that was just enough for me. All that jumping off buildings and stopping moving trains is just too much high risk business! And there in a nutshell is a summary of my marriage dis-inclication!

To break it down...i read the books, watched the movies and long ago concluded that it was sauvy to be a 'good man', so i pitched my tent with that camp. Good ole trusty, sensitive T.Notes-it worked like a charm. And you know how when something looks good,you kind of just allow it to become who you are--just stick it like the shiny superman 'S' crest on your chest-bham,that became me,and it was alright. So i became a super-heroe from my teenage years--the league of 'few good men' (somebody choke me). It worked even better being in the fashinable Uni.christian community--surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses etc'. It was cool to 'Lift up Holy Hands in church', Send the inspirational messages, and be a shoulder to cry on (yada yada yada). Y'all know yourselves now, don't be fronting.

But even in the midst of all that,i wasn't fooled for one second,so i receeded a little ever so often,wondering how far the mad man within me will spring forth when i left the community of 'Amen Brother'. So it 'took me a while,but now i'm finally there...#add-lid Beyonce#',and i have watched my pack of cards crumble like a salt pyrammid to reveal the naked me within. But gawsh, the wind feels nasty against my stark buttocks,so i grabbed an M.Sc degree and another church community to cover up before people started to notice. A busy busy Christian keeps the devil away for a minute-momma used to say. Feeling like i am fooling everybody but myself and hence for the sake of keeping sanity,i maintained a blog of mindless ramblings all these years. Scribbling within these pages:

-The finely encrypted addictions
-The escapades....
-The random convos with total strangers

In summation,i wasn't fooling anybody with the red cape,and the sooner i thrashed it and started doing the makarena in the market square with my wiener slapping against my thighs, the better. But i had a chat with a bloke at the men's dinner from church and he said to me...you're really not of these things T,you're just acting up-because you realize the responsibility of the next phase and you're scarred of it. Hmmmm. Heck yes i am scarred of it! I've been running from this whole marriage business since forever! But i am cornered now and stark out of excuses. I mean, which one could i possibly give again! Everytime i think about the black suit and solemn walk, i get serious heart palpitations. And yeh i loved Tyler Perry's Movie 'Why did i get married, so i am scribbling my own mock reasons of The T.Notes 'Why i ought not to get married'. If i can get the list up 1000,i'm sending my petition to the pope.

In other notes,i just cannot yet imagine how to have that conversation of...
'Uhm darling, there's something i need to tell you. Well, i have an annonymous blog on the internet that i have maintained for a few years now...' (And for all of you who have crashed my privacy forewalls,well done o-God pass you) ;p

I'm a big fan of Alysia Harris. Check her out if she's in your area.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

One for old times sake...

Can a blog save a life?....

So i was chatting with an old time blogger, and the observation came up of how most pages herein blogsville have developed into one-liner tabloids and fashion pages. #Hold-up before you hurriedly crucify the reporter...but then again, y'all know i'll run my mouth anyways without courtsey.

I have a good bunch of friends on blogger who own and 'hone' fashion n gossip pages, and admittedly, i've spent some good blog rounds being amazed by how much of mis-information i appreciated being updated about. So without a doubt, it is a genre that has its right of place and accolade. However, on another hand, it does kinda irk me. You see, this is the reason why i opted out of twitter..because i did not know enough how to keep my mouth shut and be politically correct...but you know what they say about south africans...'you just cannot be offended by by a southie because he's too busy offending everybody'.

And it is only a fool who sits back drinking mulled wine and reminiscing of how the good ole days were better than today...but exactly just that we did. Screw it, this post is not a preaching or a condemnation at anybody...i'll consider it a plea to appeal to your intelligent audience. You see,the defination of blogsville as it was coinned in its hay days, steams from the idea of a finely secluded village--a sort of euthopia, a place of rest or even recluse for the intelligent life-forms--where words and letters were the order of play. Blogsville as i knew it, meant returning home after a wasted day and entering into a mid-night sparring...a battlefield of wit and sensuality, faith and miseducation, where words would clash, inspiration would transpire, and real/fictional lives were poured out on fine parchement of ready blinking cursors and expectant commentary tabs. (p.s..someone onced asked why people drop 'First!!!', on comment pages. That practice steamed from former days...when expectation to read a new blog was a competition of some sort...only worth the while because of the worthy content of the post.)

Yes,only a fool wishes for yesterday, but out of those days were born freshies like myself who were inspired to step up to a plate and grab hold of the finer experiences i had only ever dreamed of-after a'late night blog round. For all of the good and the bad, the evil and the vile. I read them, and i was determined to live them and experience them myself, in all of its exotic glory-at least how so ever it wished the writer to describe them. So i have lived out the same late night in Paris, weekend in Geneva, skylight wine tasting in London...all for the sake of being able to enrich the words i put down and the underlying creativity. The world has moved a whole lot further than pictures of whatsoever prostitute Davido was shacking up with in Ghana...heck, Kony 2012 videos went viral in less than a week. So ehmmm, i doubt i really want to know the bust size of Linda Ikeji's mother.

For old times sake, i would want to read someone tell a simple story weaved in exquisite literature....of the blogger who sat next to a stranger in the local library last week...how i could tell she was nigerian,but the words from her lips tasted like the Italian holiday i am dreaming of next summer. How all of my usual wit dried like kilishi under the northern nigerian scorching heat, but i was determined not to dull myself anyways. How i could tell she was also stealing a few glances, but i played it cool, not because my usual cool was up my sleeve, but because the situation was impromptu and i couldn't conjure up any scarce cliche catch-up line-even for the life of me.I'd want to be convinced of how this incidence tickled the blogger's memory, not because i ended up scoring a hot girl, but because i didn't...because her college boyfriend was having none of my coy tactics!. And how my over-confident self wouldn't have any of this defeat until i'd devised the most under-handed scheme ever...returning one week later with a handful of investment bankers for materialistic back-up (and you know how loud of a mouth they have) and asking if she'd like to join us for a drink....And did she say yes? That would be hidden within the context of the post. What would be the point? The simple fact that when all fails, the appeal to materialism does the trick anyday.

And for old times sake, i'd wish to read of how i met a couple whom the wife had a secret life of a compulsive annonymous blogger. I'd want the post to deftly describe to me how i found out...from her compulsive computing behaviour...how she stays up till late night, alone in the sitting room with her private mozilla browser. I could smell her from a mile away, and i knew of the trouble that was brewing in the marital front because her husband just could not understand what she was getting up to. He asked me for advise...is she cheating on me...is she seeing someone online...is she into pornography? But what could i possibly say? Tell him that only last week i was mystery dating with a blogger and discovered that....

I understand however, even with all said and done that this post is like tossing a coin into an old time wishing well and hoping that dreams will come true. That maybe we will sign into blogger tomorrow night and and a blog post title will make my eyes shine, my fingers tremble with excitement and the competitive streak in us will spring to life...causing that domino effect of blogger trying to undo blogger in a show of wit, a battle field of the literal mind. But dreams as dreams may be, as my conversation with said blogger concluded the discussion for me:

1.Anybody who may have remotely understood the reverie that you ranting about does not do blogger anymore.

2.Anybody who could understand and still vists blogger, is too busy trying to sieve through the fifty updates of tabloid posts to even get to your tiny post with a title that is not screaming about P-Square's new mistress.

3.....he finally concluded as he paid for his mocha...'Lets face it T.notes, we're old men in the game. We're like myspace.com in a facebook generation. Give it up, throw in the towel and find a retirement home. Thats just the way the cookie crumbles.

4. Or worse still, just get a twitter account.

P.S....In the light of intelligent conversation, this post appreciates the creativity and effort of tabloid blogging. It aims only to underline the seeming dearth of the casual creative blogger. And if all of this made no sense, blame it on mid-night blog posting when i should be sleeping. ;p

Can a blog save a life?....maybe a good blog can.