Rant, Random Thoughts & Acute Insomnia

My marriage to writing, to literature, to culture is sacrosanct. It is a marriage that was sealed in heaven between a man and his missing rib. It is not the ceremonial kind of marriage where I have to prove my love to my spouse by wearing the same Aso Oke--It is just that we are so one.

A man does not need to leave his father and mother in utter abandonment to cleave to... that is the character of a lot of cosmopolitan marriages. For writing, it is in the teleology of chaos and the in-betweenness of everyday life, father and mother inclusive, that courses the love and the konji for writing through one's veins.

In the night, you cannot sleep, because you are an Obanje- 'Coming and going these several seasons' with a lengthy conversation from the many baobab trees scattered on the tabernacle of Ogbanje playfulness. In the night, you can hear the noise of silence, the electricity of darkness and the ambience disturbed by the humming mosquitoes-A worthy distraction that flips the script. 'Naked I Stand' before you, my Cherikoko, Original Mammi Water, figure 1 and 9 like bottle of Carlo Rossi.

I ask a spirit compatriot to pass me a bottle of wine and her sentences becomes the first lines that birth the second line of a song. Her smile punctuates the stanzas. Her body is Transfiguration on the mount of introspection.

You cannot see what I see because you are married to Jesus.

NB: This post is not for everybody. Cheers.

#Writinglife #BaronofIbadan #SonofLagos