NIGERIAN GOVAHMENT

so, our govahment people are lost in a trance. abi they think corruption is an elixir? myopia..they take her to bed each night! this article, i'd describe as idealistic extremism, but there's much truth in it, of course. the implications of such a bill will be so greatly intricate with sometimes unpredictable results; as these people forget they will not be orchestrating activities of the Nigerian government in the after life. such a bill in the most extreme of hands, will generate an outcome-indeed-as the article portrays: a NIGERIAN "BRAIN" DRAIN..considering Nigerians have been designed by circumstance to be an EXPRESSIVE PEOPLE! this govahment people are determined to lose Nigeria to a tragedy! a black intent! that we may one day wake up to conditions of an 18th century nation, fiddling about-blind-in 21st century times! abeg... me sef know sai nor be by talk! but we are seeing now sha that talk is taking on black market prices! this kain patch-patch govahment wei we dey! they refuse to demonstrate an understanding of the people, but the people have mastered them! this same united chaos they wish to avoid, will find a catalyst in such a bill! little forecast, plenty nonsense!


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CATTLE CONSCIENCE

Once, there was a herd of cattle grazing on a farmland, they knew not its owner, nor their own gentle nomad. What was surely apparent was how the field popped with green and golden brown. This would have been a sure feast for man, in constant fear of unknown winds. Yet feed for the animal, always aware that basics are intrinsic and satisfaction-not greed, guaranteed. Much had been consumed for digestive pursuits: A lot of regurgitating to be done, with no fear that the fields may burn or the day worn. Each fed and each lay to rest with sun come-down.

"A time for everything", Solomon would remark, centuries down as these affairs of nature spoke to his fears, "Freedom".

Unfamiliar as it was, this field; out of routine, as it was, this moment, the large herd heard no mysteries in the wind. they knew not appetite for deduction; to deduce what influences may cause such ecstasy: neither the how, nor why, or the when, entertained their attention. It was a Creator's invention and so it would be. Freedom.  

Their attention, steady, as they gazed ahead and grazed. nothing to lose and nothing pursued. They lay with acres and watched before them, the sun, routinely exit for stars to blaze. It was the first they had ever seen, but they had strict vision or what may be called attention to Existence.

Contentment was the message they relayed- come little or surplus, they made hay with the sun rays.. and the sun shined each day.

Freedom as it were, held a taste for them. A taste all too familiar but always new. Green as it was on the other side, every side left them satisfied. A strict diet to the soul, this is what it was. Earth owed them nothing but gave them much. A fine Existence. 

It was Day 5, and the Cattle were created from the land. Mother Nature as it were, knew not pollution, but pollen; and the Creator, Time: from start to new beginnings. A capturing of a time when definite instruction led all man and creature: that all Creation must serve other Creation. Like everywhere the cow gazed it could graze off Earth's plentiful fields and natural lakes. This was Day 5 and not even 7's perfection. Manna was never an addition to the Plan, it was the Plan; Existence as natural as few fish for the mouths of a multitude. But man must always fall to his knees, undignified by fear. Man-made disharmony since time and time aplenty for more. Freedom is neither strictly a state of mind, nor a state of affairs... Freedom is the understanding of a Guarantee. 

no one said life will be hard. none said easy. u make it what it will be. i say life's but a camouflage. u sought the tree & found its seed

if you know not, say you know not. if you ask for, many shall come forth. we live in a disciplined universe. ask & ye receive.

DJANGO'S TATTOO

before riding wings, i touched dreams of you. before ever seeing the vast wings of legends who guard sky's gates, it was always you..an image of you.

it was like a tattoo: green and sunshine new. more actually, like a mirage: once there & never there, all at once; this was a pale of rain behind the gates of hell. only a drop or two for uncountables left in hell to brew.

innumerable indeed, you'll find, were the drops, but un-quenchable was the thirst that pain itself knew. oh yes, it grew; the pain grew..as i held an image only of you. an image not even of you, but a simple tattoo.

just as the uncountable having remembered thirst, know now of hunger and how it grows from the belly to the chest, it's become a holy pandemonium. a drop of water for once, in a burning desert and ambitions are reborn. hell's fury hath no hearth like ambition reborn inside my chest. one drop in a burning desert holds an ocean view for me, it's truth.

a silhouette of you traced into skin on my back...a silhouette i can view only as light hits a mirror. what then must i do, but ride wings unto wings, from sky to greater skies. i must flee earth for the sun. beneath its unshaken love for our world, and its scorching fury this is what i'll do: i'll put forth my back and watch as the silhouette of you is transposed and transmitted; reflected and returned back onto the grounds of that one planet earth.  

as the sun sets, it will feature your face for the world to get an open view. i know i have found you, for the world wants you too. and not only you, but the source of the view: not the sun but the tattoo.

as i cried to be reborn, i found an ocean within my many tears. hell hath no fury like lovers lost. you must have known i'll always find you.

music || Nigerian Mix .. headphones, speakers, motorcycle or car .. MUSIC!!

Link---->        SMALL GROOVE

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TRACKLIST

A SIXTH SENSE

the ideal vision: full & complete, mirroring what we call the spiral. 

it covers breadth and it too, depth. to look always, in three ways: within & without & around; taking no leaps, it's complete. 

just imagine. only a few learn to master this sense.

a perceptive void filled by an observer of things; bearer of tunnel vision with 360 degree precision. 

just imagine, as only a few have learned to master this sense. 

perhaps the sixth sense becomes consciousness with such a vision. this quiet awareness in every moment & an awakening to its subtle directions; a vision in awe of such consciousness, a humbling experience. 

some see in circles-understanding with a 360 precision-yet holding loosely, the details that unearth depths. others see depths as far as the cylindrical telescope goes-an understanding, born of tunnel vision-yet, insisting in resisting still, breadth to be realized in looking both ways.

different perspectives will take us around and introspection will take us in. it's a map & key. 

observation spirals and it's deeper than life itself; 6 feet under, maybe farther.

life is not only about gratitude to God, but also, compassion toward man.

INTUITION OR FEAR?

Self-aggrandizement- I suffer from this always.
We hurry sometimes in forming ideologies. Not realizing that the impetus of an ideology knows not haste but constant exposure & re-exposure; eventual crystallization, and occasional, time tested distillation. Of the cycles of life, this is one.
Consider what pay offs could be, if we learned, over time to prolong—perhaps even postpone—our opinion formation. If sleep be the cousin of death, the maternal blood line of war is ill-informed, advertised, demonstrated opinion. Are we really that entitled?
We imagine ourselves so important in the grand scheme of things, but to conceive of reality and its duality.. a mere task, far beyond our capacities. How crucial does your existence become when you wonder about the numbers operating in the galaxies? How much imagining can your imagination withstand? Fathom a single existence & its relative importance as you recall these words of destiny spoken through man: that some die so others may live.  We are inhabitants of an infinitely infinite universe, with laws abounding through time: from that of synthesis to fractals within nature. We observe but hurry to formulate Laws from Laws until we're left having Laws with no cause! We are in a haste, with little progress and much delay! It's at your door and at mine with each passing day- many religions yet much dismay!     
As plenty have regrets when they come close to death, to what end, then, do we hurry in haste, as laws from laws with no just cause?
Many cycles of life and this is one. Plentiful pinnacles for love yet fear is reborn. We must understand when our egos are operating intuition and when they but only disguise fear as intuitive precision. Let's begin to watch ourselves while we watch our television to see what seeds of uneven ideologies have been planted within you and I. When fear creates a forest of weeds, we are sometimes left much too blind to see what we have fostered indeed.
As you disregard Her opinion, ask yourself just a moment: was that intuition or fear? Wisdom or haste?

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

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?

maturity is good for beauty

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

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:]

education is all about relationships. identifying relationships that exist between ideas. no, actually, this is learning. what is education?

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.

music || 'Love in the Sky' - The Weeknd

this world is filled with people who are fighting themselves, but think they are fighting you.

Meta-cognition is a Door to Many Paths; Open it to Your Purpose

sometimes, all it takes to realize your purpose is a recognition or awareness of your thought patterns, & the accompanying nature of the force driving those thoughts. There are strengths to be found in these patterns, and by keying into them, one establishes an understanding of boundaries, & pure, self-directed enlightenment. Follow the thoughts where they lead, and know thyself, my friend. Think about what you're thinking and understand the source of your personal, cognitive force. Be consistent in your pursuit of this understanding, so much so that you see the end in your beginnings often; and by doing this, eventually comprehend the power of all that constitutes your identity as a living forecast of your own mind.   
It can be a fearful thing to see most thoughts to the end. As I sometimes peruse my thoughts, i do a funny thing- I find the courage to halt one or two, as if suspended in mid-air; to these thoughts, i somehow command that they do a gradual, complete 360. In doing this, I gain clarity like no other; depth of ages and even sages; it feels even, as though I have established a successful communication between such a thought and myself. It is powerful beyond measure when we think daringly, fearlessly and with great command over our mental scenery. When fear of taboo, of inadequacy and such many fears one faces, as one dives within oneself- when such fears whisper words that create a fog in this your mind-beautifully crafted for exploration of reasoning- you must recall, simply that "you are the master of your fate; the captain of your soul". Fear laughs out in approval at the man who knows the authority he commands. 
Seize your inner landscape my friend, and you seize liberty: a purposeful life is lived freely!
Think and think about what you're thinking- this is meta-cognition. When you stumble in a fog of fear, as fear is often rooted in emotion, breathe through & with the emotions. Follow your thoughts right to the essence, your emotions are cheering you on! AND PLEASE DO A 360 WHEN YOU'RE DONE!

Just as the artist paints shadows in colors of his choosing, so it is with pain: we alone, choose the mark it leaves. Light up your shadows!

Loud Silence in Our Rearview: Hiding the Past Without A Future

The places I've been, odd places seen. Of narrowing roads-clean, but old and never revealing. Secrets and pain, exploding beneath.. A rising ocean and lowly sitting bridge. tarred and clean still, yet worn out and thin still. cracking and crumbling against such pressure and waves, tumbling.
Clean as it was; just a moment and a long pause.
Discovered now, drenched, thin, in oceans of muddy water. filthy from the cracks traveling through this road's swelling secrets. Clean as it was; clean as it once was. Just a moment and a long pause. 
All together, all at once, burrowing my imagination of tomorrow's acres; acres welded into mountains born of sky... Another colorless season and formless mirage.
Truth be told, this traveler's not alone ..yet dredging solo; one-eyed; blood shot sight; incisive bearing of the mind, free from myopia. A wholesomeness concealed beneath the blooded and wounded eye; just as the road's era of secret knowing and inertia. Traveling light, all but hope left behind in flight.
Dreamed of this revealing and concealing at night. Now heavily breathing into waking, catching a quick glimpse-out beneath the sky-of a mirage. several mirages after: dredging, still. this is the stuff futures are made of, is the thing they say. This may be faith in how they pray. The sweet taste of spinning ribbons off of packaged dreams. Never had they imagined the un-earthing of such pungent taste as dust. One broken eye, one rushing mirage and a few un-promised futures. imagine this quick scene of the ocean and narrowest roads, with pressure & boiling-traveling acres-between...a mirage ahead, a brightly charcoal-ed view of  loud silence, edging behind.

let the ignorant talk; they believe they have conceived that which came before the sun. let the wise keep awe, honoring the sun's tales.

in my understanding of life & growth, there is always this debate about cause & effect: 'what' came first; the chicken or the egg? when in reality, these things occur at the same time, just not manifesting at the same rate.

Immaculate Madness; My Red Rose

Beautiful madness; my red rose. Fields of people; tied up white roses: They stay lovely for such & such a time, and their love- never all mine. Observe their loveliness as it fades: not sublime. because you come and you go; your fragrance and your halo. This sweet madness I cling to, gone like a mist- of dreams, and real too. Turning every imperfection to the serpent's conquest: of Moses' stride and silhouette dreams; Moses' speech, time-less hours.
beautiful madness, do I seek the world, or does this world seek me? Having no ties to this world, I see how true ugly can be, I see you as beauty for free. too sane, this world that exists; this field of white.  Does it just hold fast to a moment, a time? I did, I did get my forever today; little worth these days, it's all about the bay. maybe it's all they need: lavish moments in seed, without ever a tree. sweet madness, my internal world has begun to promise me eternity..past eternity...Tales of walking silhouette dreams and an architect of my subconscious and things. Oh, these memories of dreams & dreams of memories designed by the the awoken imprints in me. Of fear too, poured into my world: A simple casket of white roses. I told you when you go, their halos are no more. All this, I tell you in secret, magnificent madness. The architect had forever with me, yesterday, but I did pray. All of the angels searched for you, for me. Seeking the rose, they held your scent and saw silhouettes of you, but never you.... A painter could never have red in such a hue. Another night in the hands of my gripping subconscious: immersed in tales of dreams and fears and memories. I shall, this time, break into the boundaries of sanity... I shall this time, break into the boundaries of time at its most vulnerable hour. The world shall know my name and think me Moses. I promise them madness and I promise them now. Another night designed by this architect of loaded things: my subconscious, whose clock never works and knows not when to stop. I will rise and awaken those who sleep forever. A resurrection of every dead; let dreams exist no more. Let the subconscious burst into fields of white roses: where there were walking silhouette dreams, let there be those who slept forever. Beautiful madness, they shall-each one-know your name. They shall-each one- know our pain. How we had roared out of many swinging eternity's. Once, how we cried to be freed from the hours of this world, and its imprints and silhouettes and things. Immaculate madness, within the imprints of the conscious, the ties of the subconscious, during time's stand still, you heard a whisper: of the angels and the living-those resurrected, and those insisting on breathing. Each whisper, calling out to "red rose". this madness is a thing called love now, you know? My red rose, my love with you is unlike tendering fields for February, just to have them die in march. My love for you is like the painter's search for your hue. His heart searches for you openly, but sees you in secret, quite regularly. One rose for the world: perhaps, Moses told this one a secret, to make it bloom as it does. My sweet madness.

Pride Begets Pride: Newton's Forgotten Law?

Just like a poison and its antidote, we speak of pride, and humility is always implied. Unlike the antidote beget by its poison, pride only begets pride. this is no Newtonian law of action and reaction. perhaps, maybe it is a chemical reaction governed by primal rules: those of natural laws of reason, and of karma.
The proud one, forever proud, will one day self destruct- the Holy Bible spoke first of this chemistry. A quick little tale on the combustible outcome of your favorite disposition, it reads: 'Pride comes before destruction, and an arrogant spirit before a fall'.
I listen as you speak of all that go on around you, yet you are one man, blinded by elements of pride within and without. This pride is a tough skin, kindred one. Often you will deliberate and reach for an idea, only to realize you have reached nowhere at all. Your voice of reason, lost to the pull of motions, orchestrated by vulnerable emotions. These emotions, disguised as pride. I will tell you of anger, I will tell you of jealousy and regret: conditions of the heart, that love itself hates. Elements of combustion, elements of pride: such emotions will certainly steer one from purposeful action and intention. Examining the condition of my mind in the presence of pride, it suffers in pain: clouded, suffocating, confused. You will have to picture a forest waking up to sulfur, where carbon should be. Much the same way, pride emerges where love should be. What a struggle to breathe and exist; what a struggle to simply be. Call it anger, call it jealousy, but I bear this to you, kindred one, we lack humility.
Sitting atop a mountain, is humble heart, brave, and watching as the world sits beneath. Of all the worldly pomp and show down below she sits in the sky, and what does she see? one wave for every ocean, and a simple rainbow for the flags of every nation. With clarity, humility begets humility and quietly commands complexities. My friend and kin, with a humble disposition, 'forever' becomes a mere glance.

music || 'Careless Whisper' - George Michael

LEGACY: History's Concubine

The restrictions and the definitions. Always, we quantify our moments between the sunrise and the sunset. 

The children; oh, how they play with time, yet find you with none: having nothing. One of a lineage of beggars, you are forever seeking time. You run, and run so hard. With each step hitting the ground, and the whole world is awake to time's chasing after you. 

Unlike the child, well aware that this is not a race against time; unlike the child knowing that we must simply attempt to touch time, in order to change the times. Unlike that child, you continue in your trade, packaging time for an empty, worthless eternity; this is what you do.

In every room, you find the clock; in everything you find the taxation of the watch. Exchanging time as a commodity; this is what you do.

Perhaps, on a good day, we would find our exchange of time no different from the exchanges-of guns and mirrors and liquor-made, in an attempt to shackle the African race. 

We would find history unkind as a lover scorned. Of all the stories of history "amended"; of all that history knows of this lineage, how shall you ever find time, and not smoke and mirrors?

Yes! The world hears your feet upon the ground, indeed it does. It listens as you stomp between the sun, rising, and its setting. You fear a battle with time, do you not? What have you learned from the child, my friend?

Stop now! This time you quantify with a tick and a tock, I demand to see you qualify. Show me how your time has made it as one of History's concubines: Of quality, I see the work of Dashrath Manjhi's hands. Of quality, I hear the tales of "the Crown of Palaces". Of quality like no other, but the pyramids of Africa. 

Show me the quality of your time and History only, will reveal your heart: of this, I ask. I speak of time, I speak to time.... Of all the catastrophes abandoned to her in captivity, how do your own talks with History, not bind you so immaculately to this living currency that you say is time?

You run from-and prepare to battle-the SUNRISE; this is what you do.

music || 'Mesmerize' - Ja Rule & Ashanti

DISCLAIMER: THIS POST DISCRIMINATES AGAINST UN-REPENTING CRIMINAL MINDS

Oh, nobody ever told you? You are right to think that you are right.
Be YOU today, everyday, and in every way. Look in that mirror, smile, and don't say sorry.
Watch your eyes as you smile, they tell you one or two things, my friend. Of the man that you should be, they will tell you. They will tell you too, of the man that you once were.
To focus on who your are now, wander through the eyes, until you find the eye of the mind.
Three things I hope you have for focus: STRENGTH, CLARITY and COMPASSION. With these, you will look and see; see and understand. You will find all that you are now: battle marks and all the glory. I hope you still smile, and do not say sorry.
Know now that tomorrow, you will become a sibling to who you once were, and that, my friend, will be a COURSE on evolution.
One day you will look at your reflection and find memories in every line upon your face. Memories of all the smiles that you never apologized for, and all the YOU's that you rightfully were. Nobody will have to tell you: You're very right, my friend. Right to think that you were right.                                    

The Garden Bleeds

I never knew a love like this. My pen, she beckons me with whispered longings...wanting only, to scribe the promised fortitude found while exposing me. She searches; she walks, as I walk, straight into me: into this far away temple, unkempt, within me. The pen knows this jungle of a heart, and won't let it be. Seeking to plant a garden for scorching days, and a fountain of promised wishes. No more aging temple, no more ravaging jungle. It's an ambitious longing of this pen, for I, you see? Incense of the gods, diffuse, as my pen walks into me. A temple of the past, awoken now, to the fragrance of several tomorrows: a fortitude of beauty's enduring poise. Every line on these palms, she exposes. Each line, composed of an eager tale, bleeding. See this love of the pen, for I; see the blood of my mind's eye. On paper, hard at work to bust these veins, I let love shine through, holding her with a bleeding palm. I bleed the incense of the gods, now. I see tomorrow's promised wishes, now. My veins broken, and my heart throbbing; I know love for this pen, for she has drenched me in blood. I work hard, tilling the garden, as she pours the incense in the fountain. I am now tomorrow's promised wishes. I am now blood. I am the incense of the gods. I have been exposed: exposed to love.

music language & appreciation || 'Sorrow, Tears and Blood' - FELA Kuti

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Sorrow, Tears and Blood: Their Regular Trademark

            Fela Anikulapo Kuti was a Nigeirian musician, and is the grandfather of Afrobeat music: a fusion of funk, jazz and West African Highlife.  A rich engagement of instruments, polyrhythmic sounds, and a great deal of syncopation, characterize the Afrobeat music. Following the richness and unpredictability of sound, Fela Kuti’s lyrics are mostly controversial, precisely reflecting the true situation in the Nigerian government, and with the Nigerian people. Fela was a Human Rights Activist and a Political Maverick and so, free-thinking naturally served as the theme of his music and his life. It comes as no surprise that Fela is still heavily identified with around the world, as a force of action, giving his unique sound and potent lyrics. Across Nigeria, and some parts of the world, his music, even without the lyrics stir up memories of a certain era, just as if it were an image or a piece of literature. 
             Indeed, Fela Kuti’s music has been pervading the global music scene very quickly in recent times, and in spite of the language barrier, people of different descents find his music to be quite magnetic.  He is ranked in the HMV Magazine, as No. 46— six places below Michael Jackson—on the list of 100 most influential musicians of the 20^th century.  The song, ‘Sorrow, Tears and Blood’ by Fela Kuti was released in 1977, following a violent experience with the Nigerian military and government, and the 1976 Soweto uprising in South Africa in which students rioted. This Fela song is one unlike majority of his discography, which are usually very metaphorical and emotive. Fela employs direct language in this song, succinctly drawing the listener into the situation at the scene of the events, and straight to the heart of the message, as though it were a real time event, preceding a conversation with him, Fela.  With such direct language, he paints a real time, vivid picture of violent acts of authority, in almost a way that, however oppressive these actions, the listener is left thinking of authority in light of cowardice.

            Fela breaks into the second verse, with a seemingly evolved agenda. He uses extreme depictions of fear that seem unreal at first, but unhurriedly awaken a subliminal truth within us, of the expression of these extreme fears in our everyday lives. Still, using the plainest words. Fela Kuti employs minimal metaphors in this work, but uses cliché’s, not forcefully delivered, and neither disguised, but directly tendered with a clear intention to our everyday state of mind; as if to say “you have been caught”. 

            The opening instrumentation almost communicates the genesis of a play. Fela also, occasionally, mimics the sound of a police troop on their motorcycles.  In my opinion, these are all language, and serve as part of the reason why I have never experienced a song the way I experience this one. ‘Sorrow, Tears and Blood’ plays on the understated illusion of liberty and control often adopted by a people, when they are most evidently under oppression. Fela Kuti uses this song to tear this veil of illusion by hitting us with language, so untarnished and unshakeable, that it might as well serve as a rock to a veil. When I listen to the song, I ponder about how thin a line exists between ‘power’ and ‘cowardice’, and the use, misuse and disuse of power.

                                                                                                                         

music || 'Somebody Already Broke My Heart' - Sade

music || 'Sweet Disposition' - Temper Trap

rituals on the ocean. low tides, it's 5am. rituals at the beach. the birds perform, as do I. tradition as sure as the sun rise. rituals of the sky & the ocean & I. temple or body. ritual & tradition. emancipation with freedom. religion & the lies. The temple should first be the body. Good for goodness sake should always be the ritual, for in our actions, we pray. The SEED of tradition is this prayer: THE RITUAL. freedom is the fruit. As a tree comes alive and a forest breathes, so do we, when we seek emancipation from the definitions of men. redefine love. And life. And 'quality of'. And know that these are your religion. For in our actions, we pray. It's 5am. The ocean tides are low. The birds, with the sun, know THEIR religion. #Godbepraisedalways

music || 'You Got Me' - The Roots ft/ Erykah Badu

music || 'Slow' - Kylie Minogue

This is a journey I hope to embark on with you my lady.
You will see the sights and hear the sounds, experience the movement every time our souls mingle. Do you not feel them? They walk out into the great outdoors and those heavenly bodies, they applaud them for the way that they stir each other. Let us be two, and not one my love: that's another person's recipe for loving. In your magnetic simplicity and subtle complexities, I want all of you. Let me call you Home, just like I felt the day we met.
You know, Khronos watches with the others in the sky, as we stir one another: I pull you into me, and you pull me some more. He finds our mingling befitting to last a little while: Cherished memories for you and I. Let him -Khronos- hold time for us. Have no worries, The man you marry will have you, just not while we walk this walk.. Heaven's still watching us. Your husband will have you some day and this is what I would out rightly promise: if we match each other's work while we have one another, whoever catches you for both love and family, would desire to have you by his side through every lifetime. With me, a spectacular woman is what you would become. You'll leave me, in the least, a gift to the world, and you, I would leave a gift to many lifetimes and changing universes. I cannot make your promises for you... But I want you. (Let's walk on that lane that never seems to end.) Use me ma cherie. Tell me that your love can conquer fear because mine is ready to.

seasons, species and land. this is the earth that shelters us... this is the stuff it's made of. Yet, they remain beyond comprehension, the system and miracle with which plants, animals, soil and weather know a purposeful existence. With each entity that exists-utilitarian or aesthetic-a recipe for progress, and sometimes transcendence is the outcome. All I say is, Honor the physical, circumstantial, biological & emotional units of YOUR PACKAGING. Trust & Respect the Almighty's command of not only the Factory, but the Owner's manual... Know that you are a recipe & a perfectly delivered package. Not delivered to over-populate, but to overcompensate and re-create love and peace and progress: the stuff of the earth, the stuff of the living! 

In writing to express emotion. A few, when sad, will write about the swans' glide upon a lake spotted with wild lotus flowers. Others, sad also, will attempt to drag the planets of the galaxy far into the ground with words. Each person with their literary disposition: Some Poised, like a sculptor's work of art, others bearing the disposition of a starving tiger. Packaged emotions, is all it is.

you define your relationship with the world. you, alone. choice-making is the ultimate art form. choose accordingly everyday.

i dont think about you. i never do. i do, however feel you on the occasion. and when i do, i immediately feel tears flood me. and it ends.

Let me know the fire, and its hot meal

Sometimes, before deciding that change is the answer, aim to first only understand. understanding ourselves is sometimes all we need to make the strengths triumph over the weaknesses. it doesn't mean we changed the weakness, or it went away. it just means we have accepted to free ourselves. freedom is life.

a text msg from me to a friend:

You told me once: life is a balance between what we want and what others want. I agree. To take it further, life takes the form of a 'broken boundary', and can only be illustrated, demonstrated and captured, but not encapsulated by singularity. So, to further the former definition, life is a balance between security and freedom, in every waking moment and within every art of decision-making.

must seek Jah's wisdom, to see the strength in the difficulty, the courage in the danger and prosperity in our hands. "Turn painful to graceful."

if justice were appropriately defined in this world, compassion would be in its place, and not spearheading a cause, where justice is required.

When the devil attempts to try us, he is hunting for God. So, we must encourage him to try harder. All is to the glory of God #alwaysbelieve

Think NIRVANA. Enter NIRVANA. And meet the enemy WITHIN. This world holds a great number of people fighting us in order to fight THEMSELVES. ..Enemy lines..

Whatever u place a tight grip on in life, will always pose a threat to your peace of mind. You will bear "crucifixion" for ITS OWN SAKE.
We must find the basis of our identity: What we are fastened to. Observe it, as it is often an incentive for the choices we make. And when we do, we must Master it like a light switch.

Lust is a confusing and confused emotion. It steals from all the ones we thrive on, and creates & re-creates the ones we need less of.

I have seen sadness. Of such depths that I could but only live in one moment. Every care about tomorrow, I handed to the wind. To set the future ablaze, if I could, I would. To feel pain over loss & to be-yourself- lost, all at once. Certainly u do not wish to entertain life's gimmicks for another day. Let tomorrow get lost in time, while u drench urself in ur battle to cry out memories of an everlasting moment.