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

This post has been archived.

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.

Me again.

...and we need to talk.

P.S....thanx Okeoghene, i'm alright. x.

2011 in broken pieces...

When i look back,
i have often seen my life (even egoistically so), as a fine complete vessel that i handed with gracious dancing into His hands...
But as this year draws to a close and i quietly reflect
at all of the painful memories when that vessel was thrown hard to the ground
and all the fine pieces of me mixed with mud and tears and many questions of why...
I give myself away...


As the clock ticks on 2012
I have crouched low, and allowed those pieces be delicately held back together...even with glue that i suspect may be fragile and unfirm.
Many times i have screamed and cursed at His help..
'Why help now-you allowed all of this in the first place?!'
'Leave me and let me mourn in peace, start my life anew directions i only deem proper!'
And often when all else failed, 'WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME!'


I have not ended these notes with any amazing dawning to all of questions,
But still...I give myself away...
Here is me that was sturdy and secure, now needy entirely of your grace,
Still handing it all yet again back to you.

If I have not learnt anything at all this year,
i've have at least understood to drink full of the cup mixed with pain and tests of integrity and faithfulness.
And the words that remained etched in blood:
'Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial bacause, having stood the test, he will receive the crown of life...'

I don't understand it, but i see it...
that if you append your agreement at the start of the contract,
then when all hell breaks loose and (somehow) through it all you manage to hang on,
never once ripping it all to shreds,
then when all the madness ceases and the sun shines,
there truly is a fine reward.

I still don't understand pain.
I've often wondered if we did not all sign on to become sacrifices at the mercy of something we cannot see...scarry...
Entirely like C.S.Lewis explained in 'Till we have faces' (God bless his Soul).
As one after the other, it happens to the best of us.
The braver ones have held up noble faces to the heavens
and counted it all pure joy to face trials of many kind,
counting it as a privilegde...
I only wish for quiet days...feeling like i've been through enough.

I don't understand it,
because i didnt become a valiant warrior for all of it,
instead i reached another level of broken,
and a confidence that is not me and only lays quiet within.
Yes i know how to face some battles now,
and when the times comes again,
i know where to assemble my defences.
I won't be crouching or whimpering....

I don't understand it because my hopes have grown dim
I won't believe anybody who preaches lofty messages about utopias and wonderland,
instead i quietly observe and advice for him to wait his turn,
and only pray that life will not deal him too hard.
My hopes are dimmed because like a war torn soldier,
i still sleep with the weapons and a ready hand under my pillow...
and i wonder if that is how to live life.

A good friend of mine stayed with me for a few weeks,
and He loved the song by William McDowell.
I hated everytime he'd look straight into nothingness and sing along from the depths of him 'I give myself away, so you can use me.'
It just doesn't make sense, i'd tell him...
You have no idea what He is capable of turning your life into...
as my own thoughts delved back into memories.


But as the clock ticks on
and i find under the carpet, that reluctant missing piece of my fine china vessel,
the part of me that trembled at the thought of giving it all entirely...
I understand...
and i hand it to Him...
and walk away,
singing into the new year...

Happy new year folks
Don't forget to pray for those hurting.
May all of tomorrow be ever so finer than yesterday.
Emmanuel...God is with us...for whatever life may bring.
At least, that is my own confidence.




I Give Myself Away

Chorus:
I give myself away
I give myself away
So You can use me
I give myself away
I give myself away
So You can use me

Verse 1:
Here I am
Here I stand
Lord, my life is in your hands
Lord, I’m longing to see
Your desires revealed in me
I give myself away

Verse 2:
Take my heart
Take my life
As a living sacrifice
All my dreams, all my plans
Lord I place them in your hands

Chorus:
I give myself away
I give myself away
So You can use me
I give myself away
I give myself away
So You can use me

Chorus:
I give myself away
I give myself away
So You can use me
I give myself away
I give myself away
So You can use me

Bridge(7X):
My life is not my own
To you I belong
I give myself, I give myself to You
Chorus:
I give myself away
I give myself away
So You can use me

Say a prayer for Ashley

I'm sure most of you have been saddened by Ashley's trending 'secret' on youtube. But i ask that you do not only shed a casual tear. Instead, say a prayer every now and then for her and her family. It's the least we all can do.
Only God knows....

Disclaimer: This is not my life.

This is the story of a guy called T. It is not my life...no matter how you choose to interprete it. But i will do best to re-tell the incident as it happened.

It is not my life because T. is a total bast3rd, and everybody who knows about this story has used even stronger language to condemn his callousness. T. was journey bound for Nigeria last week with his fiancee for their traditional wedding engagement. That was where i met the couple, because i also happened to be flying around that time.I noticed T. was fidgety on that immigration check quee, and every now and then, his concerned wife-to-be would look his way and ask if he was alright. Everytime, he mumbled an incoherent reply. All the way till the two had their papers checked and they were urshered through. I think it was at that point that T. realized there was no going back, and he just could not deal with it. There was abit of shuffle on the quee, and i think i heard him mumble, 'i'll be back dear', then he made his way out of the line and hurried out.I saw the look in his eyes and i knew he would not be...coming back.

I think his fiancee knew too, because she started getting frantic and calling his name. But he'd left her with three hand luggages that hindered her progress of getting out of the line in time. She motioned to me asking if i could hold on to her luggages, but the immigration officials immediately countered the suggestion and asked brashly if she was getting on the flight.

'My husband is...'She replied with confusion...'I just need to wait for my him, he said he'll be back...He...'.
'Madame, i'm sorry you either have to get on the plane or step out of the line. If your husband gets back in time, he'll join you on board.'

I knew he was not coming back. I watched him like a bad movie playing out in my head. He was walking fast, then picked up speed into a short jogg. He also looked confused...frightened. I could hear his breath quickening with every brisk step. He pulled a mobile phone out of his pocket and made a frantic call.

'TZ, come pick me up.'
'I thought you....' He didn't let her finish.
'Just pick me up now!'
He hurried out of terminal three and dodged into a nearby starbucks like a common thief. He waited there a sweating thirty minutes before a grey nissan pulled up nearby and he hurried inside and the two drove away.

I like TZ because she doesn't mince words...she's a realist, just like me.
'What the fu&k did you just do?!'
'Look i told you i could not go along with it!'
'And i told you not to go ahead if you were going to back out! For Christ's sake T!'
'Look, don't shout at me ok!'
'Ofcourse i'll fucking shout at you!I might be a bitch and all, but do you have any idea the chaos you're about to cause!'

And chaos seriously was erupting everywhere--on the BA Lagos bound flight, in Lagos, in the U.S. Phones were buzzing everywhere, everybody was calling, as the woman T. had left in the airport was making a very terrible attempt to understand a situation that was best only left to hollywood and bestsellers. I now understood fully what was going on, because her voice was loud, and tearful and disoriented as she made calls, and answered calls.

'I don't know where he has gone to!He's not picking his call! I don't know what to do?!!Should i leave the airport! Can you try to reach his t-mobile! Oh God, i can't breathe...was is going on...etc'

I can't explain any more than that...but for all who asked, does that answer your question?

pleaseeee

Please ensure I get home tonight.
Tomorrow's D-day!