some
of us limit ourselves to thinking that seeking the Kingdom of God
starts and ends with reading God's word or any form of teaching. when
has the world ever recognized the physicist without the lightbulb? #knowthyself is the most thorough summary of any owner's manual there is. #Godlivesinyou
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
when
you work a job you love, who you love takes up your thoughts in a way
that does not cripple but drive. when you work a job you'd most rather
not, thoughts of your love become a daily reason for skipping out and a
disguised, crippling distraction, as "love". but love is the spotlight
of all life. in that case, where is your love?
Friday, August 23, 2013
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Guts Per Second: Genuine Goodness & Grace
"if you get down and you quarrel everyday, you're saying prayers to the devil I say." - Bob Marley
to be good, one must live against unnecessary outer influence- and that too, is to be real. realness and goodness are measured in nothing but guts per second. grace, of course, is the constant.
but who am i to judge my goodness against yours, my brother?
when did i forget my place beneath grace, my brother? my goodness, why do i live my life: sleep as I do at night- dream my own dreams, doing my own things- waking up only, to God's own day, gifted to me as i pray. immediately after, turning in rebuke of the neighbors' breath, as try only they do, for a momentous morning prayer?- this living, rightfully theirs, in every way and on God's own day. when shall i eventually, awaken to the sharp stench of my own breath beneath even my silence? at what staaage did i rise above grace, finding each day, the face of the almighty on the inside of my own mirrors? as i live with my deeds as my prayer beads, why do I stomp my feet and mark a grave for my brand new neighbors and oldest pals?
i rather start out now, living to find peace in reaching my own grave, not even in reaching my mother's. i hope that celebration becomes both the purpose and movement as one day, i am laid to ashes and dust and thin cloth like the others.. i owe my clan of awe-inspiring folk-even unborn and yet to be known-such a celebration of a life led in spread of emancipation and dedicated to frustrating oppression...let my life be the start of a folk song, but let it not be a perfect one- a gratitude song will find the right chords. let it be said how imperfect my ways were, but how perfect grace was. this is a love note to life and an ode to the ones who have passed on. i wish they would never have had to cry those tears, the way i have witnessed some do: their nostrils in search of one more breath. in that moment the body seems stingy with breathing and so generous with tears. quick flowing tears mirroring past years; tears for tears. and now a letter to my clan- let's pray for one another, to never experience the pain of such a hang over from mirror-ing tears of past sadness, desire or regret. amazing grace, has me on a request line tonight, for my brother and my clan, my neighbors from earth to mars.. i pray that we pray more gratitude prayers for that grace that keeps your guts in check and our breath at a stretch.
Bless your folk, bless my folk, and in one breath, SALAM.
"if there is one thing i know, i know i will die. if anyone cares, some stranger may critique my life" - Tracy Chapman
to be good, one must live against unnecessary outer influence- and that too, is to be real. realness and goodness are measured in nothing but guts per second. grace, of course, is the constant.
but who am i to judge my goodness against yours, my brother?
when did i forget my place beneath grace, my brother? my goodness, why do i live my life: sleep as I do at night- dream my own dreams, doing my own things- waking up only, to God's own day, gifted to me as i pray. immediately after, turning in rebuke of the neighbors' breath, as try only they do, for a momentous morning prayer?- this living, rightfully theirs, in every way and on God's own day. when shall i eventually, awaken to the sharp stench of my own breath beneath even my silence? at what staaage did i rise above grace, finding each day, the face of the almighty on the inside of my own mirrors? as i live with my deeds as my prayer beads, why do I stomp my feet and mark a grave for my brand new neighbors and oldest pals?
i rather start out now, living to find peace in reaching my own grave, not even in reaching my mother's. i hope that celebration becomes both the purpose and movement as one day, i am laid to ashes and dust and thin cloth like the others.. i owe my clan of awe-inspiring folk-even unborn and yet to be known-such a celebration of a life led in spread of emancipation and dedicated to frustrating oppression...let my life be the start of a folk song, but let it not be a perfect one- a gratitude song will find the right chords. let it be said how imperfect my ways were, but how perfect grace was. this is a love note to life and an ode to the ones who have passed on. i wish they would never have had to cry those tears, the way i have witnessed some do: their nostrils in search of one more breath. in that moment the body seems stingy with breathing and so generous with tears. quick flowing tears mirroring past years; tears for tears. and now a letter to my clan- let's pray for one another, to never experience the pain of such a hang over from mirror-ing tears of past sadness, desire or regret. amazing grace, has me on a request line tonight, for my brother and my clan, my neighbors from earth to mars.. i pray that we pray more gratitude prayers for that grace that keeps your guts in check and our breath at a stretch.
Bless your folk, bless my folk, and in one breath, SALAM.
"if there is one thing i know, i know i will die. if anyone cares, some stranger may critique my life" - Tracy Chapman
Friday, August 16, 2013
K O B O K O [find content below]
See as life wipe me koboko, I begin dey dance.
As you laugh finish, my matter sweet you toh rehearse.. you no cun know sai mehn, chukkas love toh dance. talking drums wei be sai, den wan spoil her shoe reach france..she go carry dance show una say na all una teet, all of una mout wei cause am toh stumble upon quite a sweet romance. So back to di remembrance of days wei breeze blow my yansh: a strike and many by life on me, wit immediacy I cun do etigi. all of una beat drum, I pass immigration. Now I laugh as I dey chop carviar. You sef still dey join mout laugh wit ur rolling belle wei sabi only garri and pepper. Dis your own laugh e don get temper now sha.
Shey na my matter you wan use do classic village festival. I nor get your temper nor time for a town crier. as life dey wipe me kobo, I just dance. So simple.. So sweet.. I cannot hide my teet.
[Pls follow this link to the video if you cannot access it on your mobile phone:]
Thursday, August 8, 2013
My Favorite Story
what a fantasy I long to hold. you make a delightful comedy of every night. truth be told, you are best for my soul. i'll chase your shadow; even that, I am mad for.
i recall-with utmost vividness-the lineage of muses gone before me, before you; the characters that touch my imagination when I become inspiration. i recall particularly, one moment in time: when a glimpse of you brought into view a palace sitting of my most ancient muses. your form: careful architecture for pillars of the greatest warriors. if you aren't the prayer even legends' legends uttered, if you aren't peaceful tears of the heavens- translated into the painter's sunshine and the singer's rain; why then does your speech take me into this voyage: far into the heart of the sky and the secrets of ancients. you're my muse, my glory; if i lived before this day, i am unsure and like it quite this way. you're my opium, my favorite story.
i'll carry you with your baggage as we forever are reborn in the image of our blending shadows. our darkness know comfort with one another and that's the story I'm proudest of. you, you take me as your love line, your blood line, through the passage of all time; when you hold our fantasy, you ignore passion's demise. down the blood line, in our past lives, i stole neptune and made it yours, now they say it holds the dreams of every population's lineage. let's keep it secret, how we've saved our fantasies in that great mass for several centuries. our love has become a tribute to every night and it's dreamers' lost plight: images of our love's might and inhibitions lost to such delight.
will you watch again, and spot the comedy of the night sky? as the sun and the moon take turns in peeking at neptune's dreams- dreams of our dreams and greatest fantasies. those are the stories i'm most proud of; and you, i'll always be mad for.
i recall-with utmost vividness-the lineage of muses gone before me, before you; the characters that touch my imagination when I become inspiration. i recall particularly, one moment in time: when a glimpse of you brought into view a palace sitting of my most ancient muses. your form: careful architecture for pillars of the greatest warriors. if you aren't the prayer even legends' legends uttered, if you aren't peaceful tears of the heavens- translated into the painter's sunshine and the singer's rain; why then does your speech take me into this voyage: far into the heart of the sky and the secrets of ancients. you're my muse, my glory; if i lived before this day, i am unsure and like it quite this way. you're my opium, my favorite story.
i'll carry you with your baggage as we forever are reborn in the image of our blending shadows. our darkness know comfort with one another and that's the story I'm proudest of. you, you take me as your love line, your blood line, through the passage of all time; when you hold our fantasy, you ignore passion's demise. down the blood line, in our past lives, i stole neptune and made it yours, now they say it holds the dreams of every population's lineage. let's keep it secret, how we've saved our fantasies in that great mass for several centuries. our love has become a tribute to every night and it's dreamers' lost plight: images of our love's might and inhibitions lost to such delight.
will you watch again, and spot the comedy of the night sky? as the sun and the moon take turns in peeking at neptune's dreams- dreams of our dreams and greatest fantasies. those are the stories i'm most proud of; and you, i'll always be mad for.
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