I HATE YOKO ONO(S)

The Beatles are perhaps the most successful and talented rock band to have ever graced our world. They did not only offer such pioneering and revolutionary music but they brought true art into music and lyricism. Their album Sgt. Pepper and the Lonely Hearts Club Band was for most of the world, the beginning of the stimulation of immense artistic creativity coupled with music. After the Beatles, artists were forced to also integrate art into music or else they would not survive in the music business. The Beatles left the world a standard that is being followed nearly fifty years after their breakup, after being active a mere ten years.

All this greatness, artistic genius and legendary music, was destroyed by a bitch called Yoko Ono.

Bitch.

Have you ever thought that if perhaps Yoko Ono had not entered John Lennon’s life, there might not have been squabbles between he and Paul McCartney, and the Beatles would not have broken up so soon? Furthermore, if they had not broken up, George Harrison might not have gone all those fucked up places he went and contracted cancer. And might not have died. John Lennon might not have written Imagine, and he might not have been stabbed to death for it. The Beatles would still be together, and their members still alive, if it wasn’t for our dear Yoko Ono.

Bitch.

But of course I must concede that if Yoko Ono did not enter John Lennon’s life, he might have never written Imagine, he might have never become an antiwar activist (which was for a good cause), and he definitely would never have fathered his son Sean (who has a right like any other child, to live). Most importantly, he might have never been happy. All these things Yoko Ono brought into his life.

But she is still a bitch. And I try to say this with the best intentions that I can gather.

If you asked John Lennon (before he died), I’m sure he would tell you a great many good things about Yoko Ono and all the good things that she had brought into his life. As I have mentioned above, she did many good things for him and as a result, also for us, John Lennon’s audience.

But why the fuck couldn’t she leave it at that? John Lennon could still have written Imagine if he was with the Beatles. He could still have been an antiwar activist; in fact the other band members supported this cause. He could still have fucked her until his John Sperm Lennons reached her Yoko Ovum Ono and conceived Sean. So what the fuck is her problem? Why did she have to fuck all that greatness that came before her? She didn’t need to fuck up a good thing to create another good thing. She didn’t have to.

But that was the problem. She wasn’t a part of all that past, and if I might add, sustainable glory, and that was why she fucked it up. She did it because when John Lennon went on the road with the Beatles and did all that Beatles shit, it wasn’t all about Yoko Ono. So she fucked it up. Ended it. Removed the stumbling block. Killed George Harrison and ironically, John Lennon in the process.

A quote from the bitch about the Beatles’ split (and I was pleasantly surprised to find this, because it renewed my hate and multiplied it a thousand fold): “I felt the weight of the break-up because he had been communicating and having an extremely intense and intelligent exchange with three very intelligent...guys and now he expected all that to be replaced by me.”

Why wouldn’t you, bitch? Didn’t you enjoy the attention and the high pedestal in his life that he placed you? Wasn’t replacing those “three very intelligent...guys” your mission, bitch?

Don’t answer; all are rhetorical questions.

When two people are in love, in lust, or romantically attached to another, it generates, if you will allow me neologism, side-feelings. Especially jealousy; which is closely tied with hurt, neglect, and the need for attention. Let me explain and put it in modern terms so that you might understand. Many people have complained of this to me so I will use it. Your send your boyfriend or girlfriend a text message and they don’t reply for a long while, or reply at all. Not knowing why, you assume, aided with the “love” factor, the worst. Oh, he/she doesn’t care about me. Or he/she is out with their friends again and has forgotten about me. Or he/she is fucking someone else. Or he/she likes someone else now. Blah blah blah. You assume all these things because you are in love, or in lust, or romantically attached to another.

But all these things are not always so. The individual probably misplaced his/her phone, was sleeping or had something important to do. Innocent shit like that. I will however add that although they are not always so, they are usually so. My point here though is that because of the “love” factor, you do not give the other individual the benefit of the doubt.

You want the person to do what you want. You want them to be your own. You assume because they are involved with you, they must devote themselves totally to you. Everything that they do must be to please you. Every action must be in your honor.

I do not criticize these feelings. It is what every human being craves. When they are romantically attached this is what they expect from their other in the false and blissful aura of infatuation. It is not wrong. It is what makes us feel loved.

Where I begin to draw the line is where you think that if any action taken by the other is not in your honor, then it must be against you. No, no, no. They also have their own lives to live. When two people understand this, then they have become mature and have left the insecurities and perhaps the greater degree of bliss that is offered by puppy love.

People with romantic attachments feel these things and it is natural for them to want to avoid dealing with it. They don’t want the situation to degenerate into one in which, following from the example above, their other does not reply their text message promptly. They don’t want to have to think those ugly jealous thoughts that are sure to come. So they proceed to remove what they perceive as the causes for this, again following from the example, delay of the text message.

This is what Yoko Ono did. That is why the Beatles do not exist any longer. Instead we have the, compared to the Beatles’ music, substandard, and crappy music of Sir Paul McCartney. No offense.

There have been many Yoko Onos in human history. Anne Boleyn for instance who destroyed a holy thing. Cleopatra, who destroyed a great thing. Patricia Anne Boyd who nearly destroyed a friendship. And of course Yoko Ono who destroyed a beautiful, Beatleful thing. Most of them are women and that is why I have decided to symbolize them using Yoko Ono.

You know that girl that says she doesn’t like your friend? Or she thinks you should stop doing this or that? Or stop seeing a certain person. Or stop wearing certain things. Stop doing things the way you’ve been doing them. It’s all so she can have you to herself and fuck anybody that gets in the way. She is a Yoko Ono.

I’m not saying that every time your girlfriend says that you should stop seeing that person or stop doing that thing that you like, she is doing it for her own gain. Sometimes her demands are justifiable and even for your own good. But you have to examine it and judge for yourself. And a fair, without-the-love-factor judgement should be made. Because if it is not fair then you are also a Yoko Ono.

I’m also not saying that all who Yoko-Ono (when I asked for your permission for neologism earlier, it was just a formality. You know I don’t give a fuck) are women. I am not sexist. Men also do this. Fuck with the woman’s life to preserve his ego and battle his inner demons of jealousy that he feels in his chauvinism, he should not be having. But most of them are women and that is why I have chosen Yoko Ono.

Also, I hate her by default because I love the Beatles.

And why are most of them women? It is the power of pussy, my friends. I mean no disrespect toward women, but “pussy” is just the best way to symbolize it. When I say pussy, I do not mean the vagina alone. Work your way up from the vagina to the heart and the brain (and mind). Men are vulnerable to women who give them their vaginas, hearts and brains (and minds). As men are logical beings, they also give their penises, hearts, and brains (and minds) to such women. Most women desire a compassionate man, in other words, a sucker. And all men have to show some semblance of weakness to please such women (all women). And that is why it is mostly men who are susceptible to this Yoko Ono-ness. Women are not nearly as vulnerable as men in romantic attachments because men do not require them to be anything but themselves – emotional, caring and loving, and having a vagina.

This, added to the fact that women have easy substitutions for penises (such as dildos and other penises), is why women have all the power. In economic terms, the scarcest resource is the most expensive. This is why women are treated with such reverence; because it is not easy to find a substitute for the vagina, and women know this.

By the way, God bless all those women that give up their vaginas without fuss; or for money. You shall inherit the earth J.

This is why women have such a hold on men; and why most Yoko Onos are women. Because with their pussy-power comes the power to influence men into relinquishing those things that they found that they liked before they met the women. A very good example is when your male friends ask you where you’ve been, and you and they very well know that it has been pussy that has been keeping you away from them.

Men can’t really make women do the shit that they want; they need that pussy. Please don’t take offence; I have already described my version of pussy above.

However, we must realize that some Yoko Onos go about Yoko Onoing blindly. They love this guy so much and they blindly, under the influence of the ‘love factor’ destroy everything that came before. They are too deeply attached to see what destructive work they are doing and when they realize this, they stop, are apologetic, and try to rectify the damage that they have done.

Some do it on purpose. To keep the love of the other (admirable) and sometimes along with it, his cock and bank account.

It matters not. I hate all Yoko Onos. Knowingly or not, they destroy beautiful things. Such as the Beatles.

Who knows if Yoko Ono did this on purpose? All the alleged whisperings in John Lennon’s ears against Paul McCartney could have been in blind love. But she still destroyed the Beatles. Knowingly or not. For that, she is a motherfucking bitch; for taking away a good 500 potential songs that could have had “The Beatles” by the side of them in my Windows Media Player.

Bitch.

I AM ...

We are never born into humility. We choose it.

To prove this, I remind you of that motherfucker that’s so unbelievably arrogant but still when you look at him, you see nothing. You’re thinking “What the fuck is wrong with this fucker? What does he have that makes him so fucking full of himself?” That single arrogant motherfucker is my proof.

Humility is my edict, although I might not show it much. I have embedded it into every cell of my being because I know how I was made. I believe that for a person like me, stupidly arrogant, humility is a virtue that can guarantee me success. It will make me do more and therefore achieve more. If I place myself at the bottom of the ladder I will need to climb further to get to the top. And if I am not really at the bottom then when I climb, I will climb higher than the top. With humility I can do this.

However, this has been going on for far too long and I cannot ignore it any longer. I cannot continue to close my eyes to it. It plagues me; day and night it follows me around in its black masked hood. Its face is pale and although I only ever catch a glimpse of it under its hood, I can see that its face is distorted and ugly. It follows me around day and night, hides in shadows and only shows itself for my eyes. It plagues me. It comes into my most private of places; my mind, even when I lock the door. And there it plagues me too.

In the streets, in the corridors, and in rooms. Through the transparent windows of the car, the glass encasing of the airport, the vulnerable open space of the fields and in cramped spaces. It follows me around. It never shows itself to me, but I can see it through your eyes. You can see it too and that is why you stare.

In the streets, in the corridors, and in rooms. Through the transparent windows of the car, the glass encasing of the airport, the vulnerable open space of the fields and in cramped spaces. You all stare at me. They all stare at me. Because they see it too.

Everywhere I go, people stare at me. Everywhere I go. Sometimes I walk with a beautiful girl or I walk with a flashy friend and they stare at them. But they stare at me differently and longer. Sometimes it seems like they hate me, sometimes it seems like they are praising me but most times, they are simply considering me. Like “Who are you?” “How did you come to be here?” “How does a person like you exist?”

I’m not the best dressed in the world. I dress simply and comfortably, although I don’t dress as I please yet, and I am content with it. But they still stare at me. I’m walking with someone wearing skinny jeans and a contemporary t-shirt and all that popular shit and they stare at him/her. But they still come back to me; they still come back to give me that long appraising stare. Like “Who the hell are you?” “What do you do that makes you you?”

It’s been happening a long time. I’m walking down the street and I see a dude with his chic and he’s looking self-satisfied. When he looks at me, it’s a look of pure hate. Like “Stay away dude, I’m warning you”, and I’m wondering what the fuck I did. I’m walking down the street and I see a random dude. I’m not the only one on the street but he says hi to me. Because he feels like he should and there’s that look on his face, and through his eyes I can see the plague.

I can never see it through the mirror; I am either too humble or too blind for that. I see flaws and areas for improvement every time I look in the mirror. I can only see it through your eyes.

And none of you know me.

I’m walking and I feel like people are making way for me. I feel like they are all looking up at me. I see them look up at me and admire me. I see them as the bow their heads without knowing it. It has been happening too long for it not to be true.

It has taken every ounce of my humility to resist acknowledging its presence all these years. Every time I see its reflection through your eyes, I close my eyes and wish it away. I bring out my humble dagger and battle its arrogant sword.

We are never born into humility. We choose it. This plague though, we are born into. It comes with a responsibility; a responsibility full of hard work, self belief, tireless performance, and arrogance, and that is why it is a plague.

However, I cannot deny it any longer. I cannot deny my inheritance from whomever the fuck is my maker. I have to embrace it for there is no other thing I can be; there is no other person I can be. This is who I am.

I am...AWESOME.

KINGDOM COME

Volume 3: Why (?)

There’s this thing I do that pisses everyone the fuck off. I believe it’s called the “impertinent why.” I always want to know why. If you tell me you did something, I want to know why you did it. I would never ask you why if the reason was obvious, but if it’s not then I ask. Why? It annoys the fuck out of people because when people tell you some shit, for some reason, they don’t tell you why. It doesn’t make sense to me if I don’t know the why. I remember my ex-girlfriend pissed me the fuck off by doing this. I consistently and persistently asked her why for about 3 weeks and she later said she wished she didn’t tell me.

Duh.

It’s like telling me I’m your child. Yeah thanks, but why am I your child? Then it has meaning; then it’s not just a fact. Then you can do something with it.

Hello diary. I’m back yeah. Every time I come back it’s always cus there’s something wrong. See now don’t you feel better now I told you why I keep coming back? Now you can do something with it. Perhaps get offended and never listen to me anymore because I’m a user and I only come back when shit is ugly.

The only reason you could do that is cus I told you the why. Imagine if I said “Hey diary, I always come back.”

You’d be like “Dude what the fuck is wrong with you? Are you ok? Sick?”

You’d say that because that’s an incomplete sentence. Just like a sentence can never have life without the verb and the object, your words will never mean anything to me unless you tell me the why.

So I’m saying sorry to all those people I’ve pissed off with my impertinent whys. If you weren’t dumbasses I wouldn’t have to be saying sorry.

But some of you are not dumbasses. Some people don’t want to tell you why because the why makes them uncomfortable. It mostly happens when someone tells me something that has a confessional factor to it. In my experience confessions have always been abrupt. It takes a lot for the confessor to come up with the confession, and when they finally say it, they feel uncomfortable continuing. If they tell you why, they would be reliving the confession and that is not something that they want to do.

But I always ask why. Most of my friends never confess directly to me; I always hear shit about this dude from another dude. They don’t want me to ask why. One of them said I’m troublesome.

Most times I ask why, I already know why. Especially in these confessional situations; but I ask why to be sure because you can never be sure with human beings. I also ask why to allow the confessor to confront their deed. It helps to say why. It gives you closure. Sometimes, I ask why just to make the other party feel stupid; especially when they’ve done something unreasonable and unnecessary and there is absolutely no reason for them to have done it.

I always want to know why. It is my niche in your life.

The most important why of all I have ignored; the why that belongs to my life.

Ok let’s revise this. The most important why-the-fuck of all I have ignored; the why-the-fuck that belongs to my life.

Why the fuck am I alive?

Uh?

Why the fuck am I such a fucked up motherfucker?

Uh?

Why the fuck am I here?

Uh?

Why the fuck am I so unlucky?

Uh?

Why the fuck does this shit always happen to me?

UH?

Motherfucker why?

UH??!!

Whenever I’m here, down in the dumps, lower than the earth, I always like to believe I’m talking to someone. I have to be talking to someone because someone put me here. I did not give myself life so I have to be talking to someone. It only makes sense, doesn’t it?

It would also make sense to ask my parents but they’re not really the ones that put me here. Fuck if they know why they’re here anyway. They just fucked and I came out. You know, diary, Nigerian parents, scratch that, African parents, just have children because that’s what everybody else does when they get married. To them you’re just an investment. I could go to my father and tell him all this shit I’m thinking and if he’s extremely nice, he’d listen to me for a while and nod his head sympathetically.

Before he goes “Boy, what the fuck is wrong witchu? Do you know how much I put into your education? Get your fucking head on the fucking right way. Be gone.”

Man, I respect my parents and all that but I don’t think I could ever love them, so to speak. Because they never loved me; they didn’t have me for the right reasons. How many times do I hear do you know how much money this, do you know how much money that?

Come the fuck on. The money isn’t supposed to matter. Why the fuck did you have me in the first place? I want to have a child because I want to have a child. My child can’t fuck up enough for me to go all investment daddy on him/her. Man fuck that shit. I don’t even want to know why my parents had me. I have closed that chapter of my life now. Fuck that shit.

I am so fucking tired of living this shit life. Every day is a fucking drag. Every day I have something new to curse my creator for. Every day I say “it can’t get worse than this” but the next day it does. Every-fucking-day something fucks up my life more and more. Every-fucking-day.

Last week I heard the term “slippery slope” in three different, very fucking unrelated places. I mean, it can’t be a coincidence, can it? My life is a slippery slope.

The only things in life that have any meaning are those for which I know the why. I know why I love and have music. I know why I smoke weed and I know why I fell hard down this slippery slope for Geeky Girl. Nothing else has meaning and maybe that’s why everything else is fucked up.

These things that have meaning are IN my life but my life as a whole still has no meaning. How much longer will these things remain in such a fucked up place? In such a fucked up life?

Man I’m going out of my fucking mind trying to understand all these things, beyond my control, happening to me. Going out of my fucking mind trying to understand why they’re beyond my control. Going out of my fucking mind trying to comprehend why they can’t just go away with the same seeming simplicity as they just happen. Going out of my fucking mind trying to put everything together into a meaningful entity.

My life is so unstable. Everything is so fragile. It could be there one moment and the next is gone. It’s like I’m trying to hold on to air.

It would all be bearable if I knew why. I wish there was someone I was talking to. The progenitor of this shit that’s happening to me. Someone just come forth and tell me that they’re responsible for all the fucked up shit that happens to me and it’ll make it all better.

At least I’d know why.

Maybe I’d even be able to turn this shit around.

You know diary that I wouldn’t talk crazy like this if I didn’t blame myself already. I have tried to blame myself for all this shit but some of them I just can’t pin to myself. It’s just not my fault. So why?

I wish there was a God. I remember when I was in primary school my favourite hymn was “Take it to the Lord in prayer.” I loved it because it gave me the illusion that I could tell my shit to someone and that someone would listen.

But no such person exists. No one will listen to me because they also have their own shit to deal with. No one on earth will listen to me. And no one exists outside earth.

It pains me to be an atheist. It really does. It means that I am all alone.

Fuck. I haven’t been smoking as much weed as I’d like to. I have been on earth for far too long. I have to get away. I had forgotten why I smoked so much weed. It’s so that I don’t have to be in the fucked up place that I am now.

I need to know why my life is like this. I’m just stuck in a rut; not moving backward or forward because I don’t know why. I don’t know what the fuck I should be doing.

I know though, that I have to survive this. I have to overcome it. But I don’t think I have the strength. Sometimes I just feel like it’s the right moment to break down and cry. But that shit doesn’t make you feel better. It doesn’t change shit and it doesn’t point you in the right direction.

So tomorrow when you see me I’ll smile and I’ll crack a joke and we’ll laugh still. But I’ll still be sad.

And when you all leave I’ll frown and I’ll scratch my brain out for answers. And I’ll be proper sad and I’ll think and I won’t be able to sleep and I’ll die of these thoughts. And the demons will peck and peck at me until I am a bloody speck on the surface of the earth. And I’ll die.

Every night I’m on my own I die.

And every morning when I resurrect, I don’t feel as good as Lazarus or Jesus felt.

It’s all cus I don’t know why.

Tell me why and you’ve brought light to my dark life.

Tell me why.

THE BRAIN AND THE MIND; A GIFT AND A CURSE

I used to say to people “You know how I’m sure the mind is not in the head?”

Then they’d say “How?”

I’d tell them “Whenever I’m tired of thinking and I want to clear my head, I shake my head. Very hard.”

I’d let the suspense build. Some of them think I’m just stupid and they just want to indulge me, but still they’d say “And?”

Then I’d say “And nothing happens. I’m still thinking shit.”

The joke is kinda old and I’m tired of telling it. But it makes a point. The brain and the mind; they’re two different entities. They do two very different things but they come from the same place; the brain.

Our brain controls all the shit in our body that we can’t control ourselves. Imagine if you had to control your blood flow, your breathing, your urination, your digestion and all those little things. You’d have gone mad. You wouldn’t be able to talk. Every minute you’re trying to monitor your breathing and your blood and some motherfucker is asking you “What’s one plus one?” You can’t do all that shit at the same time. You need a CEO for your body. You’re the Chairman; you own the shit. However, you need someone to monitor the day-to-day activities of your body. That’s where the brain comes in.

The mind though. The mind is yours and yours alone. It’s the tool that gets you the majority shareholding of your body. Your mind is why you’re the chairman. You have control of your mind, and you have control of your body. That’s why you’re the chairman of your body; because you own the mind. Ever wonder why a junkie is a slave to that drug? Wonder why he itches when he can’t get the needle? Wonder why every minute of every day of every month of every year that junkie lives for that drug? It’s because his mind is no longer his own. There’s been a hostile takeover. His mind is now controlled by the drug and therefore, that’s all the body wants now.

The scientists tell us that our brain is what sets us apart from the common animal. No, my friend. It’s the mind. It was the mind that invented electricity. It was the mind that created civilization. It was the mind that created language and country borders and maps. It was the mind that created peanut butter. The mind is the key component of the human being. Without it, we are but animals.

Sure the brain is a factor in this. Our brains are the largest not because we are the most complex species in the world, but because we have minds. We need a big ass generator to monitor our bodily functions and support the mind. This is why I think the brain and the mind are in the same place. The brain is the base of the mind, but the mind is not tissue or physical. It’s abstract, intangible and it takes a big ass power, namely our big ass brain, to generate something so elusive; something we can’t see. Something so intangible but yet something that has more power over the tangible. Our brain generates that very thing that we’re all looking for in religion. That thing we can’t see but yet affects all. Our brain generates that kinda shit. Our brain generates in us all little Gods.

So you see, Einstein didn’t have a marvellous brain; he had a marvellous mind.

Our brain is the gift because it gives us the mind. The mind is a beautiful thing because it gives us all these beautiful things. It showed us how to turn an ugly rock into something as beautiful as a gold ring. It showed us how to build houses and create cars. It showed us how to use a useless chemical like Neon and make our cities beautiful. It gives us all these beautiful things. But the mind is a curse because it also invented the nuclear bomb. It invented guns, and tanks, and knives. It showed us how to take a perfectly peaceful chemical like arsenic and use it to kill our fellow man. It instilled in us greed, hate, and destruction along with virtues of charity, love, and creativity. The mind is a curse because it showed us how to destroy ourselves.

The brain keeps us alive, but if we let it have its way, the mind will kill us. It is a counterproductive symbiotic relationship. Only those who have mastered their minds survive. Only those who have superior mastery over the mind come out on top. This is why all those years ago, the white man conquered the black man easy as if it was a war between human beings and ants. The white man had greater mastery over his mind, and that is why he won.

The mind brings all sorts of trouble to us human beings and that is its nature. The mind is an evil being by nature. Perhaps that is where the notion of original sin comes from. A human being must tame his mind and put it in a cage if he/she hopes to survive in this life. Every “good” human being in this world has willed himself or herself to be good, because they were originally “bad.”

My brain can reason for me. My brain can do arithmetic and process logical statements. My brain can keep a vast vocabulary and memorize the periodic table. My mind is the one that asks “Why the fuck am I doing arithmetic?” “Why the fuck do I want to know the periodic table?” “Now that I know it, what can I use it for?” It is the mind that brings all these thoughts into being.

Pretty young thing just left your room. You’re broke. You haven’t caught up with school work. You don’t know what career to choose. These are all facts that your brain provides. But the mind tells you “Dude, you’re not the only one she’s fucking.” “Dude, you’re gonna be broke forever.” “Dude, just leave the school work; you were gonna fail anyway.” “Dude, just forget about it all. This career thing is overrated.” It is the mind that brings all these thoughts into being.

All these thoughts that creates a headache. All these thoughts that cause physical pain. All thoughts. The mind creates all thoughts. Just because there are a few good thoughts, like the pretty young thing that just left your room and the sweet nothings she whispers in your ear. Or the optimistic “I can do this!” thoughts. Or the thought that God is with you and you will never want. Just because these thoughts are possible, does it justify living with the other thoughts?

I’d rather have none than have both.

The brain does great things and the mind fucks up those great things. A gift and a curse.

The brain has no bias; the brain is a machine. The mind is biased towards evil; it is a living being. A gift and a curse.

You have to fight the mind to survive. First question is “Did you know this?”

Second question is “Is life worth the fight?” Ask yourself.