5 mins.

Skin

feels too tight,

need to get out.

 

Ground

feels too soft,

need mountain rock.

 

Air

feels too heavy,

need the stratosphere.

 

Life

feels too big,

need to think small.

 

a stillness

a moment of great incomprehension

a speck of dust

a blip in time

a universal awareness of mortality

 

Heart

beats too fast,

need less adrenaline.

 

Hand

shakes in spasms,

perhaps need some therapy.

 

Eyes

water in torrents,

need to stop weeping.

 

Throat

choking me,

need to count …

one

two

three.

 

Keep it in.

Contain it.

Stop being so melodramatic.

 

Its just life,

seven billion and counting.

Its just synapses,

one hundred trillion of them.

Its just hormones

and the mystery of earth.

 

a prayer

a wish

a sigh

a sign…

a life

a moment

a breadth.

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Treasures

The worn out teddy bear

that used to be very dear.

A cheap, sparkly ring

much happiness did it bring.

The cards saved over the years

careful not to make a tear,

there are no words, no way to measure,

the lost joy in a little child’s treasure.

 

(Written circa 2003)

Dylan, Edna and Death

Confronted by a sudden death, these two came to mind. And specific parts of their writing spoke to present emotion. Below I share their words.

” I shall die, but that is all I shall do for Death “

(Conscientious Objector by Edna St. Vincent Mallay)

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Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

(Do not go gentle into that good night, by Dylan Thomas)

 

Alpha Beta

 

alpha_beta

I was three years old when I found my best friend.

Alpha-beta

Her lines and crosses and curves combined to make sound.

It was wild!

With each year that passed Alpha-beta became better.

She gave me more than I could have ever hoped.

Words: thought, spoken, written …

She demonstrated the love of the feel of a blank page,

which competed for my affections

with the divine smell of a freshly cut book,

all pointing back to that one true friendship with AB.

 

Like all great friendships, although we immediately clicked,

we were both a little mistrustful of our good fortune.

Well maybe I was, because AB was the belle of the ball …

Everybody vying for her attention …

trying to impress her with their dos, cans and sacrifice …

combinations, at once brave and stupid …

in their desperate reach for wit …

insosophysicalmentimentilysations, spell it.

 

However, like Elizabeth Taylor’s divorce lawyer,

on retainer,

she kept her cool at our antics.

Because she knew it was just the lure of the new

That sparked all the affection.

But for me, it was true friendship.

And the onus was on me to prove my feelings true,

with no shortcuts, just the slow passage of time

and the courage to always be kind to the lady

who first showed me kindness.

 

Alphabet showed me the way out of my head

and gave me the key to darker places.

But added a map of lighter places,

drawn with the blueprint of the homes of wondrous fairy tales.

She gave me a free pass to non-existent planes,

That made my personal thought – jumble

seem like the most exquisite of algorithms,

a veritable masterpiece in logical thinking.

Alphabet was so crazy, giving meaning to herself,

she gave meaning to me.

 

Our friendship through the decades has moved from impressionism,

through surrealism and professionalism.

She always gave me more than she took,

But now she forces me to stare myself down

And confront concrete realism

Of those grey, dark and twisted shadows

that she helped me escape so many years ago

and though fear sweats my brow and terror chills my heart,

I can walk through the murk

and stifle the scream when tendrils of despair lap at my ankles

because on the other side

Alphabet waits

 

 

 

 

 

INSPIRED BY THE SUN

He had red hair, red skin and redder eyes.

Like something out of a tale told to frighten naughty children … conjured from feverish imaginations as they stare into the flickering fire.

It was on the kind of day that the old women dreaded.

Hotter than hell.

That sort of heat that was unapologetic in its cruelty.

Heat that overpowers the senses, the type that goes beyond feeling.

An assualt that you can hear, smell and taste on the cracked parchment that used to be your tongue.

Many could not stand the onslaught.

Silently, their breaths were stolen in that orange afternoon when the world stood still.

Yes I remember.

It was the kind of heat the defied men into inanimation.

Sitting still for hours.

Only shifting surreptitiously when the shade threatened to abandon them.

The red man came… walking through the haze … a shadow … a snake… a twisted skeleton … then a man.

Nostradamus

There is a question I have always asked myself when I read books about the apocalypse… what will happen in Africa whilst the Americans are busy trying to save the world?

Do we have stories about the end?

What do those stories say?

Do they talk about fires…or floods or aliens?

Where is our place in a future that is doomed?

Are we the first casualty or the final refuge?

You Only Live

Some one close to me died today.

He was only 24.

When I read the news in a whatsapp message from my sister, all I though was ‘I am not surprised . At least he can stop running now’.

May his Soul Rest in Peace

SOCIAL CONTRACT: terms and conditions apply

What do you do when the world doesn’t make sense anymore?

Plus, you know the last rebel without a cause died in a car crash in 1955, which is like sixty years ago.

Well, you write a blog post.james-dean

There have been a lot of expectations in my life: from parents, grandparents, friends, society and let’s not forget my spiritual guides ( pastor and imam .. depending on the stage of my life and which parent had greater influence).

‘You should be a Doctor’, ‘You should start your own business’, ‘wear more dresses’, ‘I think you should apply for this’ and my personal favourite ‘you should get your masters’.

Expectations make me itchy, claustrophobic… the only expectation I expect people to expect from me is the unexpected.

James Dean died in a car crash, in his thirties, at the peak of his career (oh the tragedy!) but if that’s the destiny I have chosen for myself then, fine.

I mean ‘Dream as if you’ll live forever. Live as if you’ll die today’ speaks to me more that ‘don’t rock the boat’.Rebel-wallpapers-rebel-without-a-cause-13219350-1440-900So yes, sometimes I will wake up early, drive around aimlessly and get to work late. The boss can frown and caution about how ‘leaders should set the example’ but those forty minutes of going nowhere and observing the marvel that is life, something as simple as seeing a child brushing their teeth over a gutter, keeps me grounded.

I always say no one is born into the world, clutching the pen they will use to sign a social contract.

Also the first gift God gave to man is free will, the ability to choose. Which is why the tree of knowledge was not surrounded by an electric fence.

But I have a child now, so you know those terms and conditions that I threw away?maxresdefaultWell I am elbow deep in the trash, searching for the crumpled paper, desperately smoothing out scraps I find and cringing to myself when I tell her to ‘sit like a lady’ or asking her to edit comments of unvarnished truths.

Its no longer me against the world, a la Tupac Shakur.

My daughter needs an introduction to the world, and I must find a way of making sense of it all for her.

But then again….

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Keeping sane with drops of Jupiter

First off, I am really working against the clock to meet my mid-year resolution (that should totally be a thing!) of two blog posts a month.

Luckily for me this past week has been a roller-coaster of events (also known as inspiration) for blog posts.

I could talk about sens8 (brilliant new series by the Wachowskis of Matrix fame)

Or about 4 non-blondes…hearing whats up after decades of floating in the obscurity of memory was great … and yes it was on loop for about an hour …

Or I could talk about the avalanche of nostalgiac tunes it spawned (hello Avril, red hot chilli peppers and train…been a while!)

Also my daughter ‘graduated’ from pre-school … this is great inspiration for a post on the ridiculousness of the modern education system. How do you ‘graduate’ when technically you haven’t started school yet? (will def come back to this rant later)

But I decide to talk about convergence!

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Ah the drama! the sweat! the tears! the laughter! the heartache! And enough cliffhangers to make a telenovela writer green with envy.

Basically the future of broadcasting is in converging radio, print and online operations into one gigantic cross-platform multimedia approach.

That’s great …. technically… but my station is the first to try this in Ghana.

Translation: we are guinea pigs in a giant experiment … with no controls.

So we have the usual ego clashes (cue: you might be an editor at TV but know nothing about radio Jon Snow! Shadow the intern…), the geographic conundrums ( you now have to share your desk and computer with virtual stranger who treats your windows desktop as a landfill site …) and the leadership shuffles (follow me…no follow me…. no follow me instead… erm how about I just do whatever the hell I want? yeah? brilliant!)

So what do I think about convergence? Well the old African proverb does say a broom can bend but won’t break, but a broomstick snaps easily. Together we are stronger I know … but I have to give up my independence and be squeezed together with other sticks, bristles and all, not to talk about the choke-hold of the twine that binds us together.

In short… convergence is a bitch.