Thoughts

Empty Cups

In Anticipation of Coffee: http://www.instagram.com/tchassakamga

In the end, it comes down to one sip. The last drip. The moment you hear the faint drained intolerance to the unsaid bits.

Echos unspoken, crawling behind the smiles — fake. You know they know. You know because you can’t unknow the ‘unuttered’ hate.

But you sip. You can’t spit. Because you know good and bad things come in threes. You know it’s inevitable. Variation is the way of the end, the truth of growth, the price and prize of change.

So you sip. Cold, hot, warm, milk, dark, chocolate. You sip. A blip. A spot. A smudge. You sip.

Because only empty cups get to be filled again.

 

Originally published on our medium publication: Self-ish.

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“They that speak not” #Poetry

Source: skitterphoto.com

Source: skitterphoto.com

Fear they that speak not.
Watch them. Learn their ways.
But, be not like them.
With extended utensils, dine.
From a distance wave.
Embrace, wrapped in kevlar.

Fear they that speak not.
Listen to their words. But watch their bodies.
The lies and treachery permeate.
The sickening urge disgusts.
Be careful, my friend.
Mistake not sneers for smiles.

Fear they that speak not.
That watch you muddle through the holes.
That whisper hate and splatter make believe compliments.
Back handed. Muddled with rotten mind egg stench.
Carcasses of broken dreams.
Dorians from within.

Fear them that speak not.
Neither good, Neither bad.
That watch with plastic expressions.
They that coat truth with malice. And stain honor with envy.
Watch as Karma serves their cursed soup.
As the unknocked wood comes crashing from the wall of fate.

Fear them that speak not.
Remember, my friend, to embrace them that speak.
The good. And the bad.
Those with hearts on their sleeves.
Take their counsel, albeit.
With pain; With caution.

From your enemies and your friends.
Find yourself.
Find your true self.
Take hateful words- make true assessment.
Take loving words- make potent commitment

Give up?

1.16 a.m.
Screen, blank. Stare. Tears. Blink, twice. Home, silent. Headphones, blaring.
You should sleep.
Maybe.
You should lie down and continue tomorrow.

Maybe.

What’s the point working on a piece only you see everyday?
No one might enjoy it. In fact, you could be hated for it.
There is a chance it will be nothing like the picture in your mind.
This is not the first time you’ve felt deleted from history. Probably won’t be the last.

“I’d better be deleted than not to have existed”.

So, you sit up. Crank up the volume . Type.
No one got rich lazy. Plus, I am at the prime of my life.
My future self would never forgive me if I gave up now.
I won’t.
I can’t.

We can’t give up now.

Time and (all) my high school friends.

It’s interesting how time doesn’t change high school relationships.
For me anyway.
I still laugh at the same jokes and get bored at the same instances.
I still click with the people I did ten, fifteen years ago.
And, ( very important for me at this moment in my life plot) I get to know why there was a tiny,itsy-bitsy voice that said:

“Dude, this ‘friendship thing’ just won’t work out”.

At the time, I thought it was the cold in Belo. That waking up and taking an ice cold bath at 5a.m. for 7 years had traumatized me to “Ghost Whisperer’ mode.
Or rather, “Cynic Whisperer”.
Now,I know better than to NOT listen.
When the voice says:

“Dude, something is off with that guy/dude/person”.

There is only one thing to do: Run like I would if I were in Pompeii.

P.S: Pretty hopeless run huh?

P.P.S: It’s my birthday month! Yay. I once wrote a pretty “sad” post about my birthday. Actually, this would be the first in a long time that I celebrate without being in some sort of school.

Totally rad yeah? ( Er…for me anyway… 🙂 )

I’ll be getting pretty pretty old in 7 days. I’d be doing a special post.
An “answer post”. So!

What would you like to know about me?

All this time I have been away, I tried to put a summary here. It’s a very short summary. Trust me. Also, I know there are things I have mentioned that I haven’t written ( or made a poem ) about yet.
So, for my 26th birthday, tell me what you’d like me to write about in the comments section.
Thanks in advance!

P.P.S.S ( Is that even allowed?): Thank you so much for following my blog. Every ‘like’ thrills me immensely.
It means a beautiful human somewhere on this beautiful earth of ours thought that what I wrote was pretty cool enough to click “like”.

Your attention is priceless.

Thank you.

The Value in Silence

It’s easy to say : “You’ll be alright.” Especially when you’ve never been there.
Empathy is not a concept. It’s real.
And you can’t fake it.
A real friend knows the value of silence.
Silence, to me, doesn’t mean you lack stuff to say.
Sometimes, it means you understand the gravity of the situation and acknowledge your inability to fully grasp your friend’s feelings.
Silence is golden. Not because it’s expensive.
But because it’s valuable.
It actually means something.

That one person on the bus.

If you travel enough, or use the taxi too often, you might notice that one person who sits quietly.
Guarding his/her private space jealously. Possibly with headphones.
That person who just answers questions related to his/her destination and costs.
Not involved in the group conversation.

Happy to just be. Alone in a crowd.

If you’ve never been that person, you can never understand why.
You might wonder internally: “Who is this recalcitrant renegade avoiding civilization?”.
One day, you’ll have ‘one of those days’.
And then you’ll understand why we sometimes need to be renegades.

You’ll understand.

It is already hard as it is.

What if we never grow old? What if our bodies do but the same self born years ago just finds better ways of expressing inner needs. I want to think that being human is like an extreme sports experiments.  You’re born. Inbetween , you have to ‘find your passion/dream/goal/[ Insert scary term expressing ‘the’ life quest and subsequent melancholic outcome assuming a lack thereof] And as soon as your’re aware of your existence, you inevitable demise is laid bare.

One of the principles I strive to implement is the daily practice by James Altucher. With small daily increments of the four bodies: Physical, Mental , Spiritual and Emotional.

I try to improve 1% everyday. Like everything else in life, it is not easy. But, I have proof: I watch myself react differently to the same situations I had faced earlier. 

Watching onself.

How often do we try to separate our thoughts from our actions? “ Why did I do this?” ” Why do I feel this way?” ” What is this feeling? ” 

Am I being too rational and not ‘thinking with my heart’ or is this a form of salient self-awareness? I hardly lose my cool whenI expect to. And when I don’t think I will( e.g  during reccurent usage of the phrase: “It is yours?”( intonating a question into the statement ) when the speaker means: Is it yours?

I am far from perfect. In fact, the more I think about how difficult it is for me as a member of this species to attain ANY level of Greene’s Mastery, the less I take life literally.

Life is already hard enough as it is. Why bother with grudges or pretence? If I don’t enjoy your company, I reduce our contact to the bare minimum. Period. I deserve happiness. And so do you. So, I actively escape any avenue for unhappiness or any atmosphere that turns on my melancholic propensity.

It is hard being human. But, what choice do I have?

What if I were a girl?

I have had a headache now for three days. I don’t want to take medication. First of all because I don’t trust anything that gets into my system (except food) and second, I think I deserve the pain.

Every once in a while at least.

I have difficulties sleeping too. I start reading books and I can’t stop. I read till 3a.m. I always considered myself a book nerd. Now I am certain I wasn’t.

I AM a book nerd.

 

  Black Holes and Confusions

This post is not about my headache or insomnia or reading. Like every other post I have written from my heart, is it is about a certain kind of confusion.

Who knows…maybe it is the confusion that has clotted an artery in my brain and is giving me this pain.

Or maybe I just need to sleep. Meh.

Anyway, what if I were a girl? I am not the typical male. No, I wasn’t born with both sexual organs. And no, I am not attracted to boys. Let’s leave anatomy and homophobia for another time.

I am not the ‘alpha’ male. I am not particularly handsome and I don’t have the required ‘charisma’ to hide it.

    The Charisma-ed Knight

A lady once ended our two week relationship because (true story) :  She: “You have no…what is the word…’charisma’…yes. You have no charisma”.

Me:“…”

She: I don’t think this can work out.  Then she left.

Me: “What the fuck is ‘Charisma‘”?

She didn’t reply. She had left the room and I had been so confused I didn’t see her leave. Story of my life.

Anyway, what if I were a girl? Not being the typical male…little or ziltch charisma…horrible build…astigmatic and short-sighted( you need to see me without my glasses, you’d weep for my mom.  Oh…and for the record, ‘The Charisma Story’ took place in 2012. And yes, I have moved on but no, I have not completely been over it. Seriously, what the…is Charisma?

To Break or Not to break?

If I were a girl would I break up in that way? I don’t know. I mean…we all have our goals and aspirations, our dreams etc. Maybe she needed King Charisma and I was just Dude Typical. I was hurt.

Yep. I would probably have said the same thing if I wanted to make a point. I admire her focus. She knew what she wanted. I hope she’s found it.

If I were a girl, would I sleep better? I don’t know. There is a period of the month ( or so I have heard) when human biology provides( for a select female quota of the human race) a surmountable amount of pain and non-deadly liquid exudes. That is as far as my euphemism can go. Maybe I would feel pain and not sleep well.                                 But, we both know I need to sleep early. So, forget that.

   A Question of Stereotype?

If I were a girl, I would have to wear make-up and gossip and talk about boys…and….                                                                                                        HA! See your face! You were already thinking:                                         “This dude is just another ‘dude’…thinking every girl does make-up and talks about boys…

Well, guess what? You’re right. I think a majority of ladies wear make-up. That is why the ones who don’t stand out.  Oh…I know guys who wear make-up too (Yes…I was shocked when I found) .

I also know boys who talk about boys (and no, they are not attracted to them. Think of t politicians; I want to believe Mr Romney talked a lot about Mr. Obama in ’08’). My lady in ‘ The Charisma Story’ did not wear make-up. Not that I remember clearly. But she was pretty. Still is.

If I were a lady…would I wear make-up? I don’t know. That would depend on many factors. I am sure one of them would be what I’d eat for lunch. I know it doesn’t make sense.

 

My Unadulterated Love For Food

I don’t know how to cook like my mom does. I wish I could. I love her food. If I were a girl, would I be able to?                                                                 Yes.                                                                                                                                         My younger sister is an excellent cook. I don’t think that is fair.  That , now, is the age old African Stereotype: the woman stays in the kitchen and the man in the parlor reading a newspaper.

I wonder what the ‘typical man’ read before the Newspapers….parchments?                                                                                        Who cares?

I would be an awesome cook if I were a woman. I would relish my mother’s food and I would probably not lose all the weight I am losing now because of poor feeding.  Fact.

I still relish my mother’s food. Fact.

 

Purpose And Other Truths

Last, confusio! (yeah…I just had to pull the Harry Potter card):

If I were a woman, would I write this post?                                                            I don’t know.                                                                                                                          I write to figure things out. I write to think. When I start writing, it is because I have a problem I need to address. I am a coward. So I run around and the problem is stuck at my heels.

Writing makes me stop and turn around.

I will never be a woman. I will never bear a child and I will never know what it is like to break up with a dude because he ‘has no charisma’. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. Just like I don’t know where I will be in a few months. I don’t know many things.

Here’s the fun part: It doesn’t matter!

Only through imagination can we live other lives. Through books and movies (and food).

I love those. I love travelling in my mind. I sometimes laugh alone. It doesn’t matter whether you are a man or woman, you’re alive.

You will have problems and you will find solutions. Maybe not. But you’re alive. That is all that matters.

So far as you’re alive, you can either sit on your ass like me and pretend to solve a problem by writing about it or get out there and live.

I need to sleep. Maybe I will find out what ‘charisma’ is in my dreams.

 

P.S: I love this song. I think the best age for rock music was 80s. Enjoy.