WARNING: Long random post. Call the cops!
To write about my new place of work will require a whole post, or two. This is a preview.
One gets a strange feeling when joining a new place. Say, a new school. Everyone in the class is sizing you up against certain expectations. Their chins are dropped against their chests as though they aren’t looking at you. It’s a lie. You’re already the new specimen in their brains, to be marked up or down against all subjective criteria they’ve drawn out. It makes a lot of sense to do random checks to know if your fly isn’t unzipped. I did on the first day.
If this were written a month ago, it will definitely be about some new characters I’ve seen here, the drama that ensued before I agreed to accept their “offer”, the general working culture, the position of my seat, the whiff of melancholy that comes with the thought of working in Victoria Island, and perhaps, the tiny tie I’m sporting right now (Who is laughing?).
Generally, it’s been a fun place. Fun people. Crazy dudes. Sinfully beautiful ladies. Mad deadlines. Workaholics. Music on repeat. Laughs. Pranks. Laughs. Jabs. Laughs.
Funny how I’ve seen a few colleagues on Blogger homepage. Hey, holla. Skinny new guy is AlooFar.
One thing I have to deal with, though - I’m quite bothered about losing my freedom (of thought) to the demands of a client who plays God. And God knows I’m not interested in pleasing God.
Yeah, two months. Hopefully this will be the most interesting
mind-blow ing job ever!
Now I have this mouthful job title that ranks me almost in the same revered position as Robert Oppenheimer. You’ve got to love corporate titles…! Will I save the world now? Keep checking the newspapers.
I’m presently reading the most mesmerizing but annoyingly big book. (Thank you, Love.)
Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts is a literary work of exceptional beauty. At the time when I unpacked it from other gift items, I’d thought it will be another never-to-be-read addition to my library, the reason being that it’s a big book. And big books scare the shit out of me. I have the most fitful attention span in the history of mankind!
The last writer whose pen moved me to orgasm was Frank McCourt. Not every writer can pull that feat. Sue yourself if you haven’t read Angela’s Ashes or Teacher Man.
Holding readers spellbound, especially suckers for good writings, takes more than a foreplay that peaked at the second page of a 400-page ream. It’s against the law of performance to exhaust all energy on a mere pre-coital episode. Writing, I think, should flow smoothly from the first page to the last dot of the blurb. Good writing should move one to orgasm. Or God, at least. Write from the heart my dear!
If you love to read books full of vibrant characters, and visceral descriptions that truly impresses… read Shantaram. In the heart of it is a precise and insightful description of the human experience back-dropped against the mysteries of Bombay, passionate love, slums, shanty hotels, prison agonies, prostitution dens etc.
I want to go to India!
This brother defended theism with such gusto that I wonder if he use his brilliant brain to do anything else. We had a session on Google Talk after which I decided I will never chat with him if the subject bothers on why God has written all the good books. I really can’t be bothered, man. Can we discuss women next time? At least, that will require fewer brain cells. Thanks for the exposition. ;)
Funny how I’m having “copyright” issues on some of the collaborations I’ve had on Google Wave: letters, poetry, and essays. Hey guys, na by force to put my name? Can we take the case to The Supreme Court?
How not to put asunder…
(My response to a soon-to-be-married friend who disagreed that the possibility of having beautiful kids is not one of the criteria that a woman considers before agreeing to marry a man. PS: Don’t take me serious. I really don’t have an opinion on women.)
“You see, I suspect that in every woman is a demon craving for beautiful kids. And that’s fucked because it puts every man’s balls on a reputation test. It’s a sad fact of life that not all men are good-looking. One day, she will look at you or conjure you up in her memory while a side of her brain will conduct some weird permutations to check all the possibilities of having beautiful kids with you. Gosh forbid that on her first visit to your crib, you’ve shown her pictures of your family members, both distant and immediate, and she spot in one of the village-set pictures, your distant old uncle who has the dentition of a walrus and a face so smeared with pimples that only a blind person with a genius understanding of the Braille can decode his facial conjectures. At that moment, her heart will skip in nanoseconds. Because. Because she is already afraid that if she gets pregnant for you, some genetic pranks may play out in form of reincarnating that said Uncle whose forehead bears R.I.P.
Dude, you’re screwed!”
After I made my point, the stoopid boy told me his fiancée has been following the chat all the while.
And then he said, “Dude, you see what you’ve caused? Now she wants to go through my family picture AGAIN”.
I logged out.
I’m a fan of Big Brother. No, I don’t spend time in front of TV watching it. I just enjoy all the fights put up by the few saints among us who are opposed to grownups playing hide-and-seek and having orgies in front of millions of Africans.
Keep a date with your vendor and the internet.
I have an idea. How about a Christian Reality Show? The housemates will be taken through a series of tasks that will test their vulnerability to sins. For instance, put Brother Mathew in a room and place pornographic literatures alongside Christian ones. Let’s see how far he can resist the devil. Or replace the candles in Sister Mary’s room with objects that look like phallus.
In want of a name for the show… “Big Brother: The Jesus Edition”.
Everything about the reality of the Nigerian society disgusts me at the moment. I’m not sure history has a record of a people so dementedly confused and who, by extension of their shortsightedness, are endowed with the capacity to delude themselves that their society will get better even in the face of glaring impossibilities.
Good citizens make a good society! Stop praying. Stop hoping. Just be the change you desire in your society.
F*ck the leaders.
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