tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39783950879550920742024-03-13T09:01:19.328-07:00talesbytwilight... From the Deep Recesses of a Curious MindSHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-51408908976959912062023-12-04T11:22:00.001-08:002023-12-04T11:22:52.303-08:00Penance<span ;="">You are sin.</span><div><span ;="">I carry you in my heart, in my head. All over me.</span></div><div><br>
<span ;="">For every level of intimacy I have achieved with you, I have had to give something up. And now, my whole being testifies to how far we have come. How close you are to my heart.</span><br>
<span ;="">When I looked into your eyes for the first time and identified your lust as a mirror of mine, I lengthened my skirts. I chose no longer to wear any garment that revealed my knees. For I recognised that I am a sinner. And I had to pay for the sin of lust.</span>
<br><br><span ;="">When we held hands and I told lies to those that mattered, just so I could spend time with you; when I embraced you, and you lay your head on my bossom; when carnal images raced through my mind, with naked you as the star, I lengthend the hemlines further, did up all my buttons, and raised my necklines.</span>
<br><br><span ;="">When we kissed for the first time, I knew that I was lost, And that there would be no coming back. I reduced my jewellery. 4 sets of earrings came down to 1. And everytime after that, something changed.</span>
<br><br><span ;="">Folks look at me and wonder at the transformation. </span><br>
<span ;="">Religious people give glory and smile in satisfaction at the holy route that I have taken. </span><span ;="">They see a young woman gradually committing her life to the way of holiness, turning away from the world towards modesty. </span><span ;="">And this is fine for me. Because I know that you are sin, and the soul that sins, should pay. So I pay with a sacrifice. With sacrifices. </span>
<br><br><span ;="">The kisses are still wonderful and I treasure the memories. And now I want more. I wish you wouldn't hold back. I'm ready to give it all up to you, and go all the way. I want to feel you as part of me, even though we are not married, and I was brought up to treasure myself until marriage.</span></div><div><span ;=""></span><br>
<span ;="">When I do give myself up to you, it will be the ultimate sacrifice of my youth. I will take the veil. </span><br><!--/data/user/150/com.samsung.android.app.notes/files/clipdata/clipdata_bodytext_231204_201824_076.sdocx--></div>SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-65827035136442539382021-04-06T14:35:00.001-07:002021-04-06T14:35:32.946-07:00PassionWhat is this burning fire, this sudden quest for passion? <div>Why do the memories pile on so strongly at this time, threatening to drown out the present? </div><div>They want to reach out. No, they have reached out subconsciously. But there is no one at the other end, for the bridge was destroyed, broken down and burnt many years ago. </div><div><br></div><div>So they must look forward. Or, around for the next best thing after the one that is no more.</div>SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-30193906309383128582019-02-08T09:05:00.001-08:002019-02-08T09:05:38.522-08:00So long, dear neighbour<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I am sorry
I had to take your woman. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I didn’t
mean to hurt you, nor leave you in the cold. But. She is so lovely! So desirable,
and you weren’t even acknowledging it! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I have my
own woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t you make a mistake and
think I am without.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And she is
beautiful. Oh she is! The most elegant woman you ever saw, brilliant and
talented.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is doing very well for
herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For sure. I wish I could even
say that she is cold-hearted and a bitch who doesn’t take care of the home. But
she does! She juggles the home and her career perfectly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Just that I
prefer your woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That homely
soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pretty, in a way that is seen only
by few beholders. simple, needy soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The neediness that you think is weakness. I see it as a strength.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For when I am needed, then I am stronger.
Then I feel like a man, and I am fulfilled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">She has
agreed to come with me. I have told my woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She is devastated, but she is strong. For her, this too shall pass. I
apologise for any inconvenience I may cause you... but know that it is for the
best. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In a few
years, you will both look back and be grateful that we left you when we did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Your neighbour…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-20050014588053441452018-04-16T07:53:00.001-07:002018-04-16T07:53:49.377-07:00Life Friendship<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">This is not how I planned it. You were
supposed to be a friend and remain a friend. Close pal and confidant for those
troubled times, co celebrant in times of happiness.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">When I met you, I knew it had to stop
there. I understood your limitations. I willingly accepted your inhibitions,
because I wanted nothing more than your friendship. A friendship chaste,
decent, for both good and bad times. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">So whose fault is it that things have
changed and I no longer have pure innocent thoughts towards you? Who planted
indecent thoughts in my mind towards you? Now I can no longer ignore the
physical attraction between us. Tell me, has it always been there? Have you
always felt it? Indeed, do you now feel what I feel? When I look at you, all I
see are beautiful eyes and the sexiest lips God ever put on a person.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">All my thoughts towards you are impure.
Every single one of them. Yet you sit there and talk to me about the impending
farming in this country, or the wild animal species that has recently become
endangered. How could you? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">For sure, something drastic needs to be
done, if I am to preserve my sanity. Will I kill you or myself? </span></div>
SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-30310424910364711342017-10-11T08:33:00.002-07:002017-10-11T08:33:24.012-07:00Here to EditHere to Edit, here to stay.<br />
It feels like there is no one around these parts these days. And I like it like that.<br />
Everyone minds their new lives, everyone minds their new selves.<br />
No ghosts from the past coming into the present, and no people from the present peeping into the past.<br />
<br />
Know your place. and remain there.SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-56894025155140188122015-10-28T08:47:00.002-07:002015-10-28T08:47:35.496-07:00EmergenceHousekeeping. housekeeping and more housekeeping...<br />
<br />
How busy can a person get, that they forget to take care of something that belongs to them? Perhaps they outgrew the thing, like a child outgrows a toy, or like adults outgrow clothes. And shoes. And cars. And maybe friends.<br />
<br />
What if they didn't outgrow? what if they were scared? or, what if they were just.. held back...by something they knew not?<br />
It simply means that one day they will break free, and return to the thing they left. Hopefully.<br />
Then there will be a lot of catching up to do. Like, when a person meets an old friend. One explores tentatively at first, to see if the friend has changed, or if indeed one can resume from where the friendship left off...SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-14844807872686068562013-04-01T14:01:00.001-07:002013-04-01T14:01:09.858-07:00House WarmingI'm back. Or am I?SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-89854338057959066292012-10-01T03:52:00.000-07:002012-10-01T03:52:35.503-07:00I'm looking for a Wifey...<span style="color: #666666;">I don’t know if my eyes are just opening to it, or if there really is a growing trend of indecent, covetous, greedy and lazy girls everywhere one looks today. These people are so unintelligent, it makes one wonder!</span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666;">Young ladies today want to have all the most expensive things, ride the finest cars, go on fabulous holidays , without engaging in any gainful employment, or doing anything meaningful to bring these things their way. In the end, some of them take the ‘easy way out’ by getting married to the ‘richest man’ they can find around regardless of whether he possesses other desirable qualities or not!</span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666;">Granted, it’s not bad if a person wants to live a good life. I daresay that would be abnormal. But how about taking a moment to plan how to plan how that good life is going to come by through your own efforts and if you believe in God, through his blessing on those efforts? </span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666;">In recent times, I find that I am beset by too many examples of lazy, unintelligent girls who want to live the glam life. </span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666;">Case studies abound:</span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span>
<em><span style="color: #666666;">She graduated from the university with a third class, knowing full well that her father is a retired civil servant, she refuses to study any further, and then she sits at home envying her friend who struggled to make a second class upper and is now working for a well-known consulting firm, earning a decent salary.</span></em><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span>
<em><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">She has just started her first job at 25, and instead of focusing on doing her best at it, she complains of having to work long hours (8 to 6), and spends every spare moment fantasising about how rich her boss is. She forgets that said boss is twice her age and has been working for so long. She forgets that said boss started from somewhere. He wasn’t born with a silver spoon either.</span></em><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span>
<em><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She leaves her humble boyfriend who earns 100,000 Nigerian Naira per month, for a ‘big boy’ who works for an oil company, simply because he has more money, and is not afraid of spending it. Now she complains that the new boyfriend cheats on her and doesn’t respect her. </span></em><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em>She sits at home polishing her nails all day long, puts on her skimpy clothes in the evening and walks the streets (She won’t even focus on prostitution and do it big time). Then she wonders how her house mates who have been sweating behind a bank counter all day long, throughout the year for so many years can afford the fine cars they drive. ‘Are they not girls like me?’ she wonders.</em></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em>Her little used brain cannot comprehend it</em></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span>
<em><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She is still in the university, and she really needs to have all that expensive Peruvian hair and that Galaxy tab. What other way than to ask her boyfriend for it? Then she wonders why her boyfriends don’t stay around for long!</span></em><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span>
<em><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">She attends a wedding reception with her friends, wearing the most revealing dress she can find, drinks uncontrollably at the party, and gets into a physical fight with another girl. Yet she wonders why none of the good looking, decent guys at the party approached her.</span></em><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span>
<strong><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">How on earth is a man supposed to find a decent wife amidst all these women?</span></strong><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666;"><br /></span>SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-404116709666344832012-07-20T14:29:00.001-07:002012-07-20T14:29:04.454-07:00Nothing. ReallyThat's it. Nothing.<br />
<br />
I have nothing to post, nothing to say. <br />
<br />
No, that's not quite true. I have loads to post, but I don't know where to start from, or even if I should post anything at all.<br />
<br />
I just hate the way my blog looks so abandoned and forlorn and all and all .<br />
<br />
So I'll put my mind to it, and I'll be back here pretty soon. Hopefully...<br />
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<br />
<br />SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-10188791488604316852012-03-05T22:27:00.000-08:002012-03-05T22:31:12.163-08:00Newspaper reportUnder normal circumstances, I would not read that particular newspaper. I consider it more of a tabloid. But the circumstances were not normal. I was boarding a flight scheduled to last about 6 hours, with two brief stopovers and I did not have a book to read! Therefore, when the flight attendants handed me the newspaper, I accepted it happily.<br /><br />I flipped the pages lazily, reading an extensive interview with Jimoh Ibrahim on the occasion of his birthday, on all sort of matters, both relevant and irrelevant. I read an advice column, and laughed at some guy who was worried that his girlfriend would not kiss him, because she was a very good girl. The young man was badly in need of a kiss and was wondering what to do. The columnist advised him to wait for the girl, and confirm that he doesn’t have mouth odor.<br /><br />Then I saw the huge headlines: <em>“Man who impregnated daughter claims she was not a virgin”</em><br /><br />I readjusted my seatbelt and settled down properly to read the article.<br /><br />The girl had been brought up by her mother, away from her father. When she asked after him, she was told that he was away. One day, the mother told her the truth, but added that the man was a wicked man, not to be associated with. The girl, now 24 years old, insisted on meeting the father, and her wish was granted. She then insisted on moving in with the father, despite all the warnings from her mother, who had actually been raped by said father before she conceived the lady in question.<br /><br />To cut the long story short, the man accepted her with open arms and found her a job in a shop nearby. He made it a point of duty to check up on her incessantly, and ensured that no man came too close. She put it down to fatherly love.<br /><br />One day, she fell ill with malaria. Father gave her a “herbal concoction” to cure the malaria. According to her, she drank it, and fell unconscious, such that she could not offer much resistance when he visited her bed later at night, and violated her. According to him, it was only a herbal mixture, and she was well aware of the goings-on when he visited her bed later. In fact, he thought she rather liked it.<br /><br />Now, ten months later, the product of the union is named “destiny” and the newspaper report says the girl insists she was a virgin before her father had carnal knowledge. However, the man says not. He claims to have had virgins before his daughter, and he knows how it feels to be with a virgin. His daughter didn’t feel that way.<br /><br />The newspaper ended the story by saying “the matter is undergoing investigation at xyz police station”.<br /><br />When I read that closing statement, I could not but laugh out very loud, literally. Such that fellow passengers on the plane looked askance at me, and a few of them who had the same paper must have gone back to scrutinize it properly for the cause of such unbridled laughter.<br /><br />The cause of my laughter was this: the deed had been done, the lady had a baby from her father ten months ago, and no one denied that he actually fathered the child. . In fact, the father was quoted as saying baby destiny was a spitting image of himself.<br /><br />So what exactly was being investigated? Whether she was truly a virgin before her father? In which case, …what?SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-56341695826297413312012-01-29T13:59:00.000-08:002012-01-29T14:01:14.871-08:00Routine Maintenance<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I just had an all consuming desire to come on here.<br /><br />You know, like when you have a country house you have neglected for so long because you’ve been so busy in town?<br /><br />Then you feel like if you don’t go to the country house to do some maintenance the house will collapse the very next minute?<br />Well, that’s how I felt. That if I didn’t stop by here soon, I’d come and my blog wouldn’t be here anymore.<br /><br />Thank God it still is. </span>SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-72305259490472661812011-10-16T16:12:00.000-07:002011-10-16T16:19:19.351-07:00In Strict ConfidenceSometimes its just so hard to explain certain situations to anyone. <br /><br />Like when you have a married fellow camped out there on your front room sofa, asking you to take them back into your life. You. A single girl. Who didn't even realise that what you had with the man was more than an "innocent friendship"?<br /> Do you then go to your mother and say, "mamma, I need a spot of advice about this here married man whom I almost kissed once upon a drunken time. Now its all over but he won't accept it"?<br />Or do you call your married girlfriend on the phone and laughingly inform her of the er... situation?<br /><br />How about when you have a 30 something year old never-been-kissed virgin guy in your bed, begging to be "deflowered" by you (is that the word for men?) ? Guy has the "need" for a woman so bad. And he believes you should do the honors of introducing him to his first sexual experience. What do you do? Call your pa and ask how it happened to him the first time?did he have to beg for it or did he just take it?<br />Perhaps it would be wiser to call a more worldly wise girlfriend to help. She'd know what to do. Afterall, she goes through boyfriends like she does clothes. Surely she must have had a "virgin" at some point! But she'll ask how he got into your room and in such randy condition in the first place! Then you begin to look like a seducer of innocent men! <br /><br />Really knotty situations. These ones.<br /> <br />Or if you are angry at a now married ex for calling you up at odd hours, wanting to cry on your tired shoulders, who do you go crying to? <br />Especially when the said ex insists that you are the oasis in the (now) desert of his life. And he insists that talking to you gives his life meaning. <br />One can only roll ones eyes and consult the history books to remember why this guy was ex-ed. It helps the situation none when it is found that this ex once told you that he had to go into hospital because of the troubles you were giving him. That he lived with a constant headache from dealing with you, and his friends all believed he was losing weight rapidly. <br /><br />Now tell me, to whom do you express the irritation and anger that's sure to follow this revelation?<br />Perhaps you could call his wife. Confide in her and give her a few tips on how to keep a husband tied securely to her apron strings so that he doesn't go crying to his "troublesome" ex?<br />Or do you call up your old mutual friends and say, "hey, guess what? just got off the phone with so and so. He was whining like a spineless idiot and wanted to know if we could start something again! Oh yes, he's still married. With two kids!" <br />*sigh*<br /><br />At such times it may be wiser to turn to your blog(s). And confide in it. Or them.SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-18497199113919319752011-07-29T10:59:00.000-07:002011-07-29T11:04:44.787-07:00Dead EndFor some reason, I feel like my life is on hold.<br /><br />Several times, I have "put my hand to the plough" to get it back on course, but I find that I cannot. <br />It feels like I am waiting for something. But I have no idea what it is. Things that used to be sufficient now feel inadequate. People that appeared great now seem ordinary.<br /><br />I cannot even write. Is this what they call writer’s block? I open a page, I type a few words. But they sound hollow. Empty, devoid of life.<br /><br />I thought it was boredom. That’s what I called it. I don’t know if it is still boredom. Or something else.SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-77593272858061663222011-05-08T09:23:00.000-07:002011-05-08T09:26:08.938-07:00A rare brand of boredomWhat name do you give to this boredom that plagues my life at the moment? What description do we give it?<br /><br />It creeps in slowly, gradually, uninvited, and unnoticed. It picks a seat in my front yard, and seats itself down. Then it waits, for the last peal of laughter to die off on my lips, waits for the last guest to leave my room, and for me to put down the last book.<br />Then it turns to me, and smiles at me.<br /><br />I smile back, thinking it is one of the guests. The nice familiar ones who drop by to say hello from time to time. Only this time, I notice a big bag in the corner, just behind this guest. This is a brand of boredom that has come to stay.<br /><br />I go about my day to day activities, keeping only half an eye on it, hoping by some miracle, the boredom will leave. But alas! The more I try, the longer it stays.<br />I wake up in the morning, and I feel it in the shadows of my room. Sitting on its half unpacked bag, and staring at me. Those annoying gaps between its teeth, mocking me as if representing gaps in my life where some interesting activities have been evacuated.<br /><br />When I take my bath, it smiles. As I dress up for work, the smile grows, by the time I get to my cubicle in the office; boredom is beside me, holding my hand, and laughing softly. It stays that way throughout the day, its mocking laughter ringing in my ears.<br /><br />The more routine the activity, the louder and harder the laughter...SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-57947225827950385382011-03-02T09:55:00.000-08:002011-03-02T10:01:00.988-08:00Rest in PeaceOnce we were friends. Lovers, even.<br />Then you went to another place, and started a new life<br />You met another and became someone else. Now you tell me that you love me, even while promising another<br />You say one thing, and you mean another.<br />You say one thing, and you act another<br />I hear things from you, that I know are not true.<br />You have become another. Whom I do not know.<br />An unpleasant change.<br /><br />For this reason, it is best that you die.<br /><br />To my mind, you will exist no more, except as a memory.<br />In the privacy of my room, I will weep for sorrow at the loss of a dear friend<br />I will wear black, for seven days<br />I will pray to the Lord on your behalf. That he forgive you, and comfort me, the one you left behind.<br />Because, to my mind, you are dead. And gone forever.<br /><br />I will preserve the good memories I have of you. But I will not form new ones.<br />I will hardly speak of you, for the pain. But when I do, it will only be the good things. For one must not speak bad about the dead.<br />I will pack your things away. Remove things that remind me of you.<br /><br />For you are dead, and gone, to my mind.SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-53283403075068578382011-01-06T03:31:00.000-08:002011-01-06T03:33:37.539-08:00Out of the blues...<p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Calibri;">Because it’s the start of another year, one is somehow expected to be happy, or, if one happens to be unhappy, one should pretend that that state of mind is not existent at the present time.</span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Calibri;">But who will be deceived? Apart from the general public of course, one will ultimately be deceiving oneself!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Calibri;">In any case, it makes absolutely no sense to give way to any contrary emotions at any time. Beginning of the year or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And if one feels tired of all the normal things around, one can only pray, and hope for a change. The only difficulty is that, the change may be a while in coming, if one keeps doing the same old things that one always did, and one expects different results. But what can one do differently? One must think. And if need be, one must scheme. Yes, scheme!</span></p>SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-71191932422021458252010-10-05T07:22:00.000-07:002010-10-05T07:27:35.256-07:00EuphoriaI’m euphoric.<br /><br />Right now, the smallest thing gives me pleasure. I don’t know why I’m so ecstatic. Of course, I realize it is the kind of happiness that could turn on itself at any moment and become suicidal sadness. But right now, I don’t even know what that S word means!<br /><br />The mundane, regular act of launching Microsoft word on my computer to type this gives me immense pleasure, as if I just got an offer to resume a well paying, absolutely non stressful, ample-vacation-inclusive job.<br />Maybe something like that is coming my way. Who knows?<br /><br />Even the buffoon who has been disturbing me with phone calls and text messages does not seem like such a loser at this moment.<br /><br />Perhaps I have been secretly drugged. Fed a strong dose of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MDMA">Ecstasy</a> in my tea. I do remember leaving the cup unattended for a brief moment this morning. If that is the case, the drug is working.<br /><br />Does anyone know where I can get frequent supplies?SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-81337492441675642212010-09-29T11:04:00.000-07:002010-09-29T11:29:04.354-07:00Without meaning to sound cliché...What happens to our dreams? Or, how do people lose sight of dreams?<br /><br />I remember in the past few years, when all my weekends were occupied by lectures and classes and study sessions, I would often stop and promise myself that once the exams were over, I would take some time to develop myself and do things that I actually would enjoy doing. I dreamed of learning to swim, taking classes in fashion, learning to play a musical instrument, e.t.c.<br />I had the names and addresses of the institutes and people that I would take the lectures from, just as soon as the exams were done with.<br /><br />Now, seven months after receiving the results of my final exams, I am still who I was while writing the exams. No knowledge of any instruments, no knowledge of a new language, perhaps a worse fashion sense, no published works (or unpublished for that matter), basically nothing new! If anything, I may even be worse off because I now spend time watching tv, getting fat, and doing irrelevant things for which I never had the time while I was studying for exams. Some days I feel like my brain is gradually slipping into a rut for lack of so much use!<br /><br />Okay, back to my point. Wherever did all those fantastic dreams go?<br /><br />Once, I was going through my mailbox and I came across this article that had been written by a friend a long time ago. He had promised us, his readers that we would read part two of the article “soon”. So I sent him an email: “did you ever write part two?” he replied, “No. I have too much to do. I haven’t accomplished any of the things I set out to accomplish”.<br />That’s when I started to think of my own dreams of long (seven months) ago, and I began to wonder, “what on earth happened to those dreams?”<br /><br />If we all had a moment to reflect, I believe we would come up with several dreams and plans and aspirations that somehow got shelved along the line.<br />What causes dreams to be shelved? What happens to them when they are shelved? Do they grow old and die a sad death? Do they fly off into the wind and enter someone else’s mind to be brought to fruition? Or do they remain somewhere in our minds, waiting, hoping, and praying (can dreams pray?) that one day, their originator arises and decides to act on them?<br /><br />I would gladly pick the option that they fly off into someone else’s mind somewhere to be brought to life. But as soon as I begin to dwell on the idea, I am reminded that not all dreams / plans are happy and beneficial.<br />For instance, I dream and plan so much on how to inflict pain on a certain person. To somehow cause him grievous bodily harm (I like that phrase “grievous bodily harm). Now that is one dream I haven acted upon (yet). Let us assume that his mother’s prayers are strong enough to prevent me from actually fulfilling that particular dream, and the theory of dreams flying away is true, then it means, inevitably, that someday somewhere, someone is bound to do him grievous bodily harm (there, that nice phrase again).<br />It then naturally means that a lot of bad, inexplicable things would be happening to people everyday, based on naughty, flyway dreams!.<br /><br />Have I digressed from the very serious and philosophical topic I started out with? Pardon me. I’m not about to lose this dream so fast though, so back to dreams…<br /><br />People lose dreams for various reasons: perhaps the dreams were not realistic in the first place (like Mr. Frog dreaming of singing soprano), or the dreamer lacked the will to see it through, or their wicked stepmother intervened and locked up the dream (conspiracy theory).<br /><br />In any case, I believe where there is a will, there is a way, and if you can think it, then you can do it!<br /><br />As long as you don't lose sight of it...SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-26714042369898528922010-08-02T03:40:00.000-07:002010-08-02T03:44:40.539-07:00W I L D !My mind is wild.<br /><br />Every time I try to think of something, I am interrupted by images.<br /><br />Images of two bodies intertwined in a feverish embrace. Hands groping, mouths seeking, everywhere. Leaving no part of the body sacred. My body does not react to these erotic images. But my mind! It is alive with vivid images! <br />All by itself, it conjures the image of strong hands on supple breasts. Caressing, holding, as if weighing. Same strong hands moving, Slowly, carefully, lovingly, over the same pliant, well formed breasts. Pausing over each nipple to tease and to touch, till they are rigid and aching with desire.<br /> <br />My errant mind pictures well formed. Female lips on a flat abdomen, tracing an imaginary line down the middle, and further down, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from the owner. <br /><br />I struggle to clear my mind of the gasps and moans of pleasure. Those sounds that testify to the pleasure that can only be created by two people who are genuinely making a selfless effort to please one another.<br /><br />But my mind is adamant in its sinful course. The images flow, one after the explicit other: naked bodies, legs moving, intertwining, hips gyrating slowly, smoothly, in rhythm with the sensual songs played only in the minds of the participants.<br />Lips meeting, tongues tasting, seeking, probing, and tasting yet again.<br />My mind produces the images faster than my fingers can type. <br />I give up.SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-11439907451376961772010-07-27T00:19:00.000-07:002010-07-27T00:24:15.159-07:00Rant Rant Rant! Vent Vent Vent!I insist that I don't want to be entangled with anyone who has ANY issues at all! Call it selfishness, but hey, that's what I DON’T want!<br /><br />I have enough of my own issues to deal with. Apart from the normal moodiness and stuff that come with being a woman, that is. So why would I want to take on a 'friend' who has issues and hasn't learnt to deal with them?<br /><br />Fine, so you have been through a lot. You come from a broken home with a lot of nastiness flying around. Okay. Sorry. Why am I supposed to be at the receiving end of all the nastiness you've soaked up over the years?<br /><br />And what if you come from a poverty stricken family? Why should I be the one to suffer from your complexes and insecurities?<br /><br />Everyone should learn to deal with their issues. Keep them away from public view. I don't want to suffer in your hands because your mother was a cruel sadist who inflicted grievous bodily pain on you at every opportunity. Neither do I want to be distrusted by you because you caught your first girlfriend on top of your best friend. I feel for you, but that's where it ends! Open your blind eyes and see that I am NOT her!!!<br />And if you cannot make that simple distinction, then, please leave me!!!<br /><br />If you are so old and you are still tied to your ma's apron strings, forget me!<br /><br />If you are this successful in your career but are still so uncontrollably addicted to drugs and alcohol, then I don't need you.<br /><br />I won't sit here and watch you strip me of my independence, my dignity, my pride.<br /><br />I won't stay with you in the midst of your friends and be the butt of all their jokes, I will not!<br /><br />I refuse to become your slave and sole bread winner! I refuse! How can I work so hard for my money only to hand it all over to you at the end of each month to give to your greedy family? How?<br /><br />I'm fed up of men (or women) who have psychological or other problems.<br /><br />Honestly. I am.SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-37348567813068164822010-06-15T08:17:00.000-07:002010-06-15T08:21:40.512-07:00Father forgive me, for I have sinned...<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Father forgive me, for I have sinned…<br /><br />I have lied, I have hated, and I have been greedy. But above all Father, I have committed fornication with one of your own…<br /><br />I feel guilty, because for a long time, I had harbored sinful thoughts about Pastor Tom in my head. I found him a handsome man, and I thought it a pity that he had taken a vow of celibacy. Every time he stood on the pulpit to preach, I admired his height, his eyes, and the way his lips moved as he expounded the word of God. I imagined those holy lips on my body father, and many a time, I lost concentration during church service.<br />Father forgive me.<br /><br />The day Pastor Tom came to my room in the boys’ quarters where I stay, I wasn’t expecting him. He said he had gone to counsel some of God’s sheep who were about to stray, and he remembered I lived in that area. So he decided to stop by. He had hoped to meet my roommate and I, to share the word of God with us.<br /><br />Father, I offered Pastor Tom a seat on the bed, because the only chair we possessed was hidden under a pile of books and clothes. So was the greater part of the bed. As a result, I had to sit close to him on the bed. He asked me questions. I answered. He enquired about the state of my poor family, and my father’s health. I began to talk. He is a good pastor, father, so I unburdened myself to him. The sad talk made me cry, and the man of God offered his shoulder. He took me in his arms, and I forgot the cause f my sorrow. I wouldn’t let go. The pastor held my hand. <br /><br />Father, forgive me, for I proceeded to caress his chest, his neck, and any other place my hands could safely touch. The man of God offered a little resistance. He must have sensed that I needed the comfort of his hands on my breasts. He did put them there, and I didn’t complain.<br />I pushed Pastor Tom down on the bed and kissed him. He kissed me back, to drive my sorrows further away. When I pulled his shirt from the waistband of his trousers, he was as surprised as I, because we both had no idea that he shirt had been unbuttoned.<br /><br />Father, I do not wish to sin further by desecrating holy ears such as yours with the details of what I did to the holy man. But I am sure that when I kissed him there, down below, and took him in my mouth, he was shocked. I do not believe that he had ever felt such a sensation before.<br />I pleased the pastor as I was sure that no woman had ever done before, showed him almost all the tricks I had in my book.<br />When it was over, and the man of God awoke from the little slumber into which he had fallen, he looked sad, and he said to me, “I have sinned”.<br /><br />Those words put the fear of God back into me, and I sought to confess at once. But first, I wished to confide in a friend of mine, whom I knew to be holy, and who keeps strictly to the commandments of God. So I went to her room in the evening, a few days later, to tell her of my unholy conduct. As I approached, I saw that the lights were dimmed. I decided to give her a surprise. I went to the window. I was going to shout “boo” and give her a fright. But father, she gave me a fright instead!<br /><br />The sounds that emanated from the room were almost animalistic in their intensity, grunts, loud moans, a little scream here, heavy panting. Sounds that reminded me of my time with the man of God…<br /><br />Wicked pervert that I am, I was riveted to the spot, drinking in the sounds, wishing I could get a glimpse of the man who engaged my holy friend in such terrible sin.<br /><br />The sounds became louder and more intense as the occupants of the room climbed to the peaks of ecstasy. All of a sudden, they went quiet, panting softly, satisfied with their carnal pleasures.<br /><br /> And then, Father, I heard the familiar voice of a man say softly to my friend…“I have sinned”.</span>SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-34490214583151237592010-03-31T23:22:00.000-07:002010-03-31T23:31:29.200-07:00A long while ago<em><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Its been a while since I was in your warm embrace, and felt your passionate kisses. </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"></span></em><br /><em><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Ah! A longtime since we walked hand in hand through the streets, not minding the neighborhood gossips, or the funny stares from passersby.<br /><br />How long has it been since we stood together under the shower, the water cascading over our heads, you and me both, naked as the day we were born, smiling at each other , unable to keep our hands to ourselves?<br /><br />How long ago was it, when we held hands and ran through the rain, getting thoroughly soaked, laughing like children?<br />Could I ever forget the frequent nights out, the long periods of sitting outside, gazing at the moon, and making up stories about it?<br /><br />Oh! How I long for the long walks down unfamiliar paths; Getting lost, but feeling secure in the knowledge that we had each other.<br /><br />It’s been a while. A very long while.<br /><br />I do miss those days.<br /><br />Your sweet voice on the phone in the middle of the afternoon, driving out all worries from my mind and placing an ecstatic smile on my face.<br /><br />Your random kisses on different parts of my body at times I least expected them. The sensation of peace from your strong hands massaging my body!<br />Did I ever tell you I felt as good as a well fed, properly groomed horse thereafter?<br /><br />Those were the days of happiness.<br /><br />I do miss you.<br /><br />Give my love to your wife.<br /><br />I hope she makes you happy.<br /></span></em>SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-71433540453676439502010-03-25T02:13:00.000-07:002010-03-25T02:18:08.792-07:00All in the space of five minutes…The inspiration to write this came from looking at a man. His too-large trousers, held up with a belt. It made me think… why doesn’t he ever wear the right size of trousers?<br /><br />I hiss, and shift my angry gaze to another location. Only to be confronted with another ugly sight. Another man. He is not wearing over sized clothes, but he’s wearing a smirk. One that says” I know I got on your nerves yesterday. It was deliberate, and I’m still basking in the knowledge”.<br /><br /><strong>The bastard. The stupid friggin’ bastard.<br /></strong><em>*insert as much vehemence as possible*</em><br /><br />Work place professionalism or no, I promise to get back at you for keeping me back for a frivolous reason when I really wanted to get out. Just because you think you have the power to do so.<br /><br />Now where was I? Oh no! Now this lady comes in looking too casual again. A short sleeved blouse over a characterless skirt, and extremely flat shoes. Why doesn’t she just wear bathroom slippers? Don’t people know the definition of formal business dress?!<br /><br />And whose perfume is this that’s threatening to suffocate me?<br /><br />Is this an office or a market place? Why is someone bumping into my chair so violently? How fat are you?!<br /><br />It seems everyone is out for me at the same time. To get on my already frayed nerves, this early morning. Or am I just paranoid?<br /><br />So, I am writing them out of my system. After this, I will shut them out and interact with my computer (and the people in it) instead.<br /><br />Thank God for Technology, The Internet, and Blogville.SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-36357804918215844322010-03-14T08:49:00.000-07:002010-03-14T09:05:52.377-07:00For My MotherI’m glad I still have you around<br /><br /><br />In spite of all the trials and pains.<br /><br /><br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/3mecNrIaWOA&hl=" fs="1&" width="480" height="385" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always"></embed><br /><br /><br />God be with you.SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3978395087955092074.post-59415530982232664792010-02-12T03:21:00.000-08:002010-02-12T03:31:58.877-08:00This is NOT a POST !Yes.<br />You got that right. This is an official announcement to any who comes across this blog, that what you are about to read is NOT a post!!! Call it a rant; call it a tirade, an outburst even, anything but a post!<br />I’d hate for it to be on the records that I, “SHE”, of talesbytheriversideblogspot, did a post on such a frivolous topic as <em>valentine</em>.<br /><br />I swear, if I hear that word one more time, I’ll do seventeen somersaults! Yes, I mean it! If one more person talks to me about it, or I hear one more advert connected to it, I will <span style="font-size:180%;">scream!</span><br /><br />Haba! I wake up in the morning to find messages on my phone from MTN, that I should download one song or other because this is the season of love.<br /><br />All the way to work, the adverts I hear are all related to it one way or the other:<br />Get valentine dental care! Recharge your phone this valentine! Go shopping this valentine season! <span style="font-size:130%;">bla! bla! bla!</span><br />I was half expecting the banks to start opening valentine accounts as well!<br /><br />What?! Do we absolutely have to tie everything to everything else?<br /><br />Then I am at work, my mailbox is full of messages. Buy something for someone. In the name of valentine. Think on this; reflect on that, because it is valentine. Junk emails, all of them, now have valentine undertones: "who's your val?", "single girls' guide to surviving valentine"... I even got one that is supposedly a letter from St Valentine himself!<br /><br />And then I come under attack personally, for the simple reason that I am wearing a red shirt!!! Everyone comes along with their silly, oily smiles and ask me if I am in the spirit of valentine already. It takes all of my will power not to tell them what I really want them to do to themselves, so I flash an equally oily, shallow, lip deep smile in return, just to set them promptly on their way.<br /><br />I don’t care what valentine is all about. I don’t believe in it, and I do not intend to start doing so. I’m not even going to bother myself with a research on the significance or benefits and what-have-you of the season. I’m just fed up of the whole thing!<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Say what you will, but that is my stand! Ok?<br /></span><br />Now, will everyone just get on with their lives and stop bothering me with valentine?<br /><br />Thank you!!!SHEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04410439697908739923noreply@blogger.com12