RedEyeDiary. Vol II

It’s hard to admit, but misery still flourishes in my time. Nature and Government have both refused to co-operate or at least show a sign. The past months have been bleeding; forcefully, thought has deepened. Imagine my black pair of shoe, my black suit too have developed some sluggish for me; I feel so in my mind. They wear a sad look whenever I have them on. Upon them my eyes gaze for a moment with my head tilted facedown after been told no employer after employer. Lol, my attire feel it’s their fault am turned down; they are moody too. Thereby, diminishing my shine and impact in other spheres of life; re-evaluating me against my will, reducing my confidence and cravings.

I lost three relationships last year, 2014; more sadly one the year before, 2013. Most of them black. Skinny, wide shoulders, just tall like I would. The oldest thirty-three; crazy girl, after her eating meal there is need for septrin. All their problems were the same, it only had a different approach; feminine reason has evolved, they demand half the consideration in advance, or they seek in plain words void of any ambiguity, a statement in lieu of the said consideration. Failure would construe or most likely translate into stingy or broke depending on the context; right then her hearts reopens to other bidders (home or abroad, online or facee) as prospective merchandise.

Hennessy, eight thousand; what of her wine, and then the mixers? Or should I suggest beer? How can, in a club, besides it’s our anniversary. I hear the laughter of my adversaries. Okay! Thirteen thousand Nigerian naira about to leave my wallet, calmly about to make it’s way to this girl in white shirt, and a funny bowtie all for a four-hour loud music, body rubbing and emission of sweat session. We agree it’s worth all the while. Ama burst a rubber-band just for a smile with mine. We also agree that the satisfaction of the moment will replicate several subsequent times. I’ll care less about the post-chill catastrophe; the tears and the tissues. We’ll endure each and every single issue.

The bulb in the common-room is faulty, she’s been faulty about six months; well, that’s long I have moved into this hostel. But really who cares? Electricity won’t come anyway; why destroy the spider’s web? Funny how these old folks keep recycling themselves in public office. Shameless dads risking hell for an eight letter laughable word POLITICS. The past administration kept on eluding me, till I lost sight of a bright ladder they kept. How then can I climb to the top or at least out of this pit? This box-trolls-type existence has got me tripping. Lower than the earth crust seems really low. My 3GB memory is full, I got a lot on my mind, I need these grass burning; my thighs are clapping, I need this calm am yearning.

Watched my beard grow so as to get my Arab on, all in a bid to mingle with these white folks. I heard their dollars is still top, and still in circulation, means I can get me some. Pimpin aint easy! Moreso, Lagos is no joke. School fees on the rise like fuel price in the south-east; need for two kids arise. Naira is as clueless in the world stage like the Military in the north-east; hence their morale demise. The far Chinese negotiate for the generators and the rechargeable lanterns, generous we, with utmost gratitude negotiate the funds, provide the inmates, and accommodate the sub-standards. ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR THE GOVERNMENT & PEOPLE OF NIGERIA

‘give us our daily bread’ on repeat. Less instead of more is seen with the eyes, need to doubt divine promises arise. See faith running north, in it’s place dark clouds stay. Tear drops dripping down a grown up’s face like he owns Barbie. Palms wet but active drying up tears working like a traffic warden. Hurt so glaring cobbams can see. However, to God’s glory it’s not noticed from afar, guess because I spilled it all in a jar; a green one. First name Shame, last name Less. Long walks to nowhere, no good looks to attract our visual senses, nothing brings fear, never known care, none-the-less our pride we secretly held near, save for moments we could not but cry. Oh dear!
The preacher says ‘do no worrying, rather trust in Thou above’ why then exist the capacity to worry? We guess it’s something to do. How can a poor preacher argue the Creator brings wealth? How can refusal to worry fused with attracting desire, indemnify this despair and if it pleases, rebuild this torn out soul, or at least replace these lost hours in whole?

‘give us more life’ on repeat. Less instead of more is seen with the eyes, need to doubt divine promises arise. Yet we desist from all noble acts and omissions then offend the Creator. We murmur, regardless we refuse loyalty to an imitator. Sundays, we shall; weekdays, we may. Up and doing we declare been soldiers of a cause. ‘bring in the wandering ones’ is the new designation. For once there is life, there is hope. A dead Cardinal cannot make Pope. Oya! Off the stool I go, I’d rather spread cloths with this rope. @ndubuisimonchie