Knowledge: a burden

Everything I write here is personalized; every issue I complain about here is adapted to fit my own life. However, I do not feel selfish in the least bit. I am not the only one going through these shitty issues and I hope I can help someone or at least jolt them to realization.

Knowledge: a burden; and stuff. You might think I’m gonna go philosophical on this bullshit. You might think I’ll take some scholarly route, or some religious route. Fuck all that bullshit. All of that shit is secondary shit. Today I am speaking about what you want, what I want, and how the knowledge that I can do it but I can’t do it is a burden. Today I speak of how that knowledge is dangerous and mentally disturbing.

Let’s localise this; speaking generally just turns my fucking brains inside out. I listen to music; a lot. I play music; not so much, but I could. Because of my experience, I know that when I, who has musical talent, when I listen to music, I hear more than what you could ever hear. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to put you down or nothing, I’m just trying t explain the situation. I have knowledge of music, you don’t, but I have to listen to music and stand by the musical sidelines just as you have to; cus you don’t got no talent.

Annoying is not the word here; I believe tortuous is the word here. I LOVE music my people. When I’m down and everything is going wrong, and everything is just generally fucked up, and I put my fucking fingers on that beautiful piano, everything goes away. Everything. I could literally be in Iraq, with all those bombs dropping all around me and I wouldn’t give two fucks, or two bombs, because I have music with me. Doesn’t it make sense that music should be my life’s work? Doesn’t it make sense that music should be what should accompany me on my life’s journey? It does make sense, don’t it?

BUT.

That’s not what’s gonna happen; at least from the view that I have here. That’s not what’s gonna happen. And it’s tortuous. It kills me slowly every day. That’s why I don’t really give a fuck if I’m smoking cigarettes and smoking weed, drinking continuously for weeks on end, and killing myself. I don’t give a fuck because all those things put together cannot kill me faster than seeing my dream slip away steadily, continuously, and uncontrollably.

When I listen to a song, I naturally discern the bass from the treble. I can close down all other parts of the music and listen only to the drums if I want to. I can play all those parts if I wanted to. I can sing. I have the talent. I can do all that shit, but still I can’t. Because I ‘m a fucking African, and I love rock music. Because my mother feels like school is more important than anything else, and she won’t let me bring my guitar and my keyboard to school because she knows that they will distract me, and she doesn’t want no fucking wishy-washy cumulative GPA. Because she won’t buy me drums. Because there’s nobody else in this fucking country that shares my passion. Because I’m not a rich kid, and I can’t finance my dream. Because I don’t got no opportunity in this fucking place. Because of where I come from, and the people I have to provide for, and because they feel like me making music is like throwing all their eggs in one fucking musical basket which is being transported to wherever it’s going in a rickety truck on a road filled with potholes. Because I’m here. Because I don’t got no fucking time to make music so that I can solve all the immediate problems that line up at my door every fucking day. Every fucking day. Because of all these things and more, I will most likely end up wearing a fucking suit and doing math for subsistence.

Now, wouldn’t it be so much better if I didn’t have this knowledge of music? Wouldn’t it be so much better if I had no talent? Then I have no choice but to be a banker or a doctor or a lawyer, or whatever else fucking profession your parents like to hear you say you wanna be.

The knowledge is a burden.

I was talking to my older cousin a few weeks ago and he asked me “What is the most common thing that is done with talent?” My response was automatic, it seemed I had been pondering this question all my life, and it was his destiny to ask me this question. It seemed that I was The ONE. It was my destiny as a superhero to answer this question and save the world, the world symbolizing myself.

I answered “Waste it.”

It is needless to say that it was the right answer. I have never hit the nail on the head so accurately before, and I doubt that I ever will.

Some fucking Samurai dude has stuck his stupid beautiful katana in my tank of talent that I placed so high that even I can’t reach it, and I’m watching my talent waste away every day, steadily gushing out.

It is the worst thing to experience. EVER.

The lead singer of Bloc Party, Kele Okereke, said that another band, Three Days Grace, are a bunch of pretentious rockers. I like Three Days Grace; they’re aiight. They fulfil my emotional requirements. But I agree with Kele still. As a band, their musical talent is quite frankly, wack compared to the musical talent the world has seen since its existence. However, if I say this, what the fuck does it matter? It doesn’t fucking count. Even if it’s the truth, only Kele can say this because he’s a rockstar. If I say this, which I have already done by the way, what the fuck does it count? I’m nobody, musically.

Man, I’ve met some dudes who had it, who have it, but because of where they are, they can’t do it. Because of their environment, they can’t make it. But they have it in abundance, and probably more than those who are doing it do.

I met this dude in the studio over the last holidays. Skinny motherfucker, skinny motherfucker. Calls himself Slim. There is nothing Slim cannot do with the keyboard. Nothing. At least to my eyes. Nothing. Gave me a few tips too. Slim hustled his way into university, studied Mass Communication, and worked on his music in the process. He finally got out, still nothing. So the dude just hustled some money, set up a studio to make some extra cheddar on the side, works an odd Mass Communication job on weekdays, and plays at random churches every Sunday as a hobby.

You ever see a skinny motherfucker wearing a suit, sporting dreads, and playing the piano at your church, it’s Slim.

Talent like Slim’s, that’s not where he’s supposed to be. Working all day, and staying up all night so that some talentless fool can pay him three grand an hour to record his shit, and playing along to hallelujah on Sundays. Dude is not even a Christian Christian. The motherfucker smokes weed; I am so sure of it.

But what can he do? What can he do? He knows he’s better than this, and that is the knowledge that is a burden. Quite frankly, I can’t understand why Slim hasn’t run mad yet. He has his eccentricities though, so maybe they’re just signs that he’s getting there. He’s gonna be a fucked up old man.

Are you a Slim? Are you a me? It doesn’t have to be music. Writing, Math, History, Archaeology, anything you like, and you are good at, but you can’t do. Are you a Slim? Are you a me?

They say the fingers are not equal. It’s all good and fine for the middle finger to know that; he’s at the fucking top. But how do you think the thumb feels knowing that? That he’s gonna be thumb height forever and he can’t do shit about it?

That knowledge is a burden. It literally makes me mad; insane. I feel like I’m gonna lose my fucking mind very very soon.

I’m not gonna give you any advice or solutions; I can’t. But I hope it will suffice, even though nothing will suffice; I hope it will suffice for this one moment in time for you to know that you are not alone.

OTHER PEOPLE

Do you know what the problem is? Do you know the constantly fucked up thing about life? It’s that other people exist. It’s that you guys exist.

I do not mean to offend, and I know when people say ‘I don’t mean to offend’, they usually do, but seriously, if I have any credibility with you when I say ‘seriously’, believe me. I do not mean to offend.

In fact, I don’t much give a fuck about you, but you seem to give a whole lot more fucks about me. And this is not about me; it’s about those select dudes and dudettes who are just doing their thing and then you lot just always find a way to bring drama into they fucking lives.

Other fucking people.

You know, there’s this little thing about a chick and a video and shit in AUN, and my rants above might just fit into this scenario. Our very own LadyInRed feels most passionately about this issue, and yes she’s right. Just leave the fucking girl alone, wouldja? I mean, if you wanna crack jokes, do it in the privacy of your ‘peers’ and stop bringing more drama into this chick’s life.

I have this stance that I’ll maintain till I die. All you motherfuckers is hypocrites. All these motherfuckers jumping up and down Twitter would very much like their girlfriends to pose such a gesture at them. However, since it was not their girlfriends that got caught doing this, it’s very much alright to point fingers and damn the girl to hell. Man, she was just DOING HER THING. And it leaked. Yeah, yeah. I mean, crack a few jokes about it, leave it the fuck alone, and maybe, just maybe, get your own.

I was trying to explain your need for gossip to LIR, saying it’s what y’all do, that y’all just have sand in your vaginas and stuff, that your blabbing is inconsequential, but she raised an important point that does not give y’all any excuses. She said “What if the girl can’t take it and she proceeds to commit suicide?” It’s not an other-worldly scenario; these things happen. How would you feel then? You’d feel sorry, uh? You’d mourn and bring out candles and do a procession, uh? After you killed her? You’d do that, wouldn’t you? It’s all fun and pointing fingers and laughter now, and I greatly hope she does not commit suicide, but just put yourself in that scenario. You’re a fucking murderer, that’s what you are. Just because you couldn’t stop your mouth from wagging and your fingers from typing shit.

Think about it. If you need to learn how to think before you talk, or simply learn how to think, you can contact me at +234807FUCKYOU. That fit in quite well; eleven digits.

But this is not about the chick. This is about me. This is about me.

This goes a lot deeper than people talking about me. This is about people simply existing. It’s annoying.

All I wanna do is be with her, y’know. I’m not the most mushy motherfucker, in fact I never knew I had it in me, but all I wanna do is be with her, you know.

All I wanna do is kiss her lips. However, in that little space between our lips, and that little pause before the kiss, there lies the reality that you people exist. There’s always something going on that prevents the maximisation of that kiss. There’s always something in the back of my mind, or in the back of her mind that prevents the kiss from being the pure unadulterated bliss that it’s supposed to be. And it’s because you motherfuckers exist.

Teachers, students, beggars, bankers, celebrities, acquaintances, ants, cows, security guards, all you motherfuckers are the cause of the degeneration of the kiss. If y’all didn’t exist, there would be nothing in the back of my mind, and nothing in the back of hers.

I just want a place where we can be and not be disturbed, and not have to think about anything but ourselves.

See what I mean now? I mean no offence, I just want y’all to be wiped off the surface of the earth. That too much to ask? I didn’t think so.

If you like, as an alternative, all seven billion of you can contribute one dollar each (Hey! Hey! You guys in Somalia are not excused. I know you like make one dollar a year, but this is a sacrifice. For me! You’re doing a good thing! And that one dollar doesn’t really make a difference anyway! Plus you’re used to starving! So get with it!) so that we can get a space shuttle and go away for a while. Maybe never come back.

Ok. I’m sorry about the Somalia rant.

One of my friends sent this Woody Allen quote to me yesterday:

To love is to suffer.
To avoid suffering one must not love.
But then one suffers from not loving.
Therefore to love is to suffer, and not to love is to suffer.
To suffer is to suffer.
To be happy is to love.
To be happy then is to suffer.
But suffering makes one unhappy.
Therefore to be unhappy, one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness.

I only suffer because other people exist; and they create other things that she must do, and then she goes away more than she’s here. I don’t have to suffer if other people don’t exist. She doesn’t have to go away if other people don’t exist. She doesn’t have to go away in her head when she’s here, and I don’t have to either, if other people didn’t exist.

Just like one minute, one minute of nothing-but-us time. No nothing else.

I was gonna say ‘if I ever did anything for you’ but I know I’ve done something for you; as rudebode. I have added something to your lives. Even if you ultimately hate me, I have done something for you.

So it’s time to return the favour. You can return the favour simply by dying.

Just die other people, just die.

Thank you, and God bless you.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MISS SANDIEGO

On December 9 (I know you was waiting for the year, I just knew it), the Miss Sandiego I know was born.

She's a pretty cool person. Calls herself the Lady In Red for some reason; I should think that was pretty obvious (please refer to picture above if your brain cells are too slow or not in existence).

Anyway, she's cool, so she gets a birthday mention on my blog.

Please, I'm begging ya, sue me.

Happy Birthday Miss Sandiego. Have you a good one.

THE ANTICHRIST MOVEMENT

It’s real fucking simple. I’m not against your fucking Jesus Christ; I don’t give a crap about your fucking Jesus Christ. All I give a crap about is the old woman who’s sitting down in her son’s house in Iraq trying to get some fucking food in her stomach when the shrapnel comes in her son’s house and fucks up the whole house (and guess who else in the process?). It is because of this woman that I have created the Anti-Christ movement. If the Anti-Christ was on earth, woman-in-son’s-house-trying-to-get-some-fucking-food-in-her-stomach wouldn’t be dead.

Have you heard of the Tower of Babel? Hmm? You Christian fanatics woulda heard about it. You know, before I continue, I have to remark here about the coolness of the bible as a book. Just as a book, not a religious book. It’s a great book; that is without the divine and prophetic crap. It’s a really wise book inspired by the struggles of the Jewish people. Some people have gone as far as to say that it is the most complete book of history that the Jewish people have. I think I agree. Without the bible, and its cool quips, the Jewish people would probably be one of the most fucked up races of all time. Ironically, their history kinda quotes them as being one of the most fucked up races in the world. You know, Egypt and shit.

Off that. So the Tower of Babel. So once again the people of the world were misbehaving and God got pissed. God said to them go build a fucking tower in Babel, but truly, he wasn’t really fucking specific about the height. But whatever. The people got creative with the shit and thought “Oh my Yahweh, why not build the tower so high that it reaches heaven?” So God was pissed. He was thinking, “These fucking cocksuckers, they’re gonna get to heaven before they’re supposed to.” So he fucked them up and punished them by dividing them up at the Tower of Babel and by making them speak different languages.

I mean, we hear this story in Sunday school and the other kids go “Oooohhhh. Aaaaaahhhh. He punished them. Ooooohhhhh.” I’m fucking thinking “Why is that a punishment? He made them speak different languages, so what?” You wanna know why it’s a punishment? It’s because today, the product of different languages, countries and nationalities, is the main cause of war all over the world. God, Yahweh, Mr. Fantastic, Mr. Know-It-All, knew that this would be the product. We would not be able to “understand” each other, and we would fight amongst ourselves.

Women-in-son’s-houses-trying-to-get-some-fucking-food-in-their-stomachs would continue to be killed century in century out.

That’s why it was a punishment. So all you ”Ooooohhhhh-ers” and “Aaaaaaaahhhhhh-ers” in Sunday school, shut the fuck up and get your fucking mood dampened already. Nation. Nationality. War. More war. Why did George Bush go to Iraq? Because they had oil and America didn’t. But if we were under the banner of the “Anti-Christ”, or more literally, a President of the world, Iraq’s oil would be America’s oil, and America’s zero-natural-resources would be Iraq’s zero-natural-resources.

The advent of nations and nationalities has poisoned the human race immensely. We have become filled with hate. We instinctively don’t like the other guy. Ever get that feeling when other people are conversing in another language, that they’re speaking of you? Because you’re the odd one out? Because you can’t speak their language? They laugh and you just know that they’re insulting you? The motherfuckers, right? That’s your fucking ego talking. I’m different, you’re thinking. Fuck them. In my country, we have girls with large firm backsides. So fuck them. This is the fucking ego that we acquired with the advent of nationalities.

Take all those fucking egos and multiply them by 50 million at least. Then we have come to the national level. The country-level. Countries are so fucking proud. So fucking arrogant. Hey, hey! Ahmajinedad, what the fuck you doing with nuclear technology? We the only ones supposed to have that! Stop playing with shit that’s bigger than you boy! Say what? Fuck us? Nah Nah Fuck you!

World War Three Starts. Or Cold War Two. I’ve always wanted the Cold War to have a sequel.

So what the fuck am I talking about? The Anti-Christ? Most of you are thinking. “This dude done lost his mind.” And I’m not gonna say I wouldn’t blame you; igna’ant motherfuckers. The minority understands what I’m talking about. The Anti-Christ is meant to bring world peace, but the books and prophets don’t say how. But they also tell us that he will be ruler over the entire world. It is for this reason that Christian fanatics are so fucking scared about the progress that organizations like the EU and the AU are making. They are scared that the world is getting smaller, and real soon, we will be under one banner, and the Anti-Christ will have his allotted time.

I’m not scared, because I don’t believe in that bullshit. But I am excited at the idea of a leader of the world. A world where there’s only one country. A world where there wouldn’t need to be wars because if we’re all under the same banner, then who the fuck are we fighting? You get my point now? We need an Anti-Christ to put an end to all these senseless, exploitative wars. We need an Anti-Christ to end the murder of helpless, unarmed kids, and women, and pregnant women, and people in advanced years. We need an Anti-Christ to bring world peace.

That’s how the Anti-Christ that they tell us of in church was meant to bring world peace. He wasn’t gonna come here, stand on a rickety boat in the middle of the Pacific, do a Jesus, and say “Peace be still.” Nah. He was just gonna remove boundaries and nationalities and reverse the punishment given to us at the Tower of Babel.

Have you seen them kids? Them kids in Somalia, Sudan, Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Israel, Lebanon, Palestinian kids, all those kids. Have you seen them? The fire of life in their eyes is extinguished. They don’t give a fuck no more. They seem to have the knowledge that they’re never going to make a good life for themselves. They’ve given up. And now I’m gonna say I wouldn’t blame them. You got no parents, no shelter, no food, no siblings, no clothes, no education, your government isn’t helping you, the economic and political infrastructure in your country is non-existent, and even if you worked hard you ain’t getting shit. What the fuck do you expect such a kid to do? See you and NOT rape you? See you and NOT rob you? We all hate the Somali pirates because they take shit that ain’t theirs and they kill people. Man, what they’re doing will never be enough to counterbalance what’s been done to them.

We complain and complain about these by-products of war, but nah, why not let the war go on? I’m very fucking pissed about it. Until the shrapnel comes into your own house, you don’t care about it.

Think about it. Are you a mother? A father? Do you have siblings? Do you fucking love yourself? Think about it. Motherfuckers blow up your house just because you’re a fucking Nigerian. Your country don’t give a fuck, and it’s because of them they blew up your house in the fucking first place. You’ve lost everything; you’re a refugee. The only things you get are the things that get handed to you or the things you steal. All this misfortune jumping out the shadows attacking you, and it’s not even your fucking fault. Think about it. It don’t gotta come to your doorstep before you can imagine the pain, anger, depression and helplessness that the victims of war feel.

Dude. Just fucking imagine what would happen to you if war came to Nigeria. They don’t give a fuck now; imagine how much they’d give a fuck if war came here. Ask the fucking Ibos of the Biafran war. Dude.

You think it’s just something you see on TV. The fly stuck on that kid’s mouth, following him around as he manages to eat his first meal of the week. Charity organizations putting a number for you to call up on TV right under the mouth with the loyal fly. You think these people are kidding? You think it’s a fucking joke? You think it can’t come to you where you are? Even if you’re not thinking about these people, think about yourself motherfucker. Think about yourself.

This is the Anti-Christ movement. I don’t give a fuck about this movement seeing the light of day, I just hope it gets you to think. I want you to see that I’m prepared to float the banner of the Anti-Christ and get a stake driven through my heart and earn the hate of billions of people just to stop these endless, useless wars. I hope this inspires you to do something. Even if you’re not thinking about these people, think about yourself. Think for a fucking second. Think about yourself and support the Anti-Christ movement.

World peace.

P.S: I am not the Anti-Christ. I know, I know; you’re disappointed. But according to the myths, if I was the Anti-Christ, I’d be totally way more handsome than I am. World peace.

HITLER OR M&Ms

Aiight, aiight. I’m in Kalakuta Republic now. Just chilling. Just chilling.

Aiight, aiight. Back up. Back up.

Back up to what?

That’s a very good question.

Back up to what?

I haven’t smoked any weed in three days now; three days and running. It’s fucking tearing me inside out. I have found myself in this weird calm. A raging calm; a calm filled with anger. As the more colloquial would say, the calm before the storm.

Back up to what?

I can’t even remember how the fuck I got to this fucking place. Whenever I try to remember, it’s just a blur. It seems the blurriness of my past is even affecting my present. Everything in my present seems to shimmer. Like they’re not really there. Like they can disappear at any time. I made some new friends and whenever I see them it’s like I just met them for the first time. When we’ve established that we’ve been hanging out for a while, I ask them in my head, “How the fuck did you get here? What the fuck you doing talking to me? Do you even know who I am? Maybe you’ve mistaken me for someone else. What the fuck are you doing here with me?”

The lack of a past removes the possibility of any future. You’ll just be moving from present to present. No discernible future. Your life becomes foggy. You can’t see in any direction; backwards or forwards.

What am I doing? What the fuck am I doing? I’m unconsciously consciously undoing all the hard work I’ve put in this last year. I’m fucking up my own glory myself. I’m my own hater. I’m my own enemy. I hate myself for having more than I have. I hate the fact that I’m shining and I have to bring me down. I’m jealous of myself so I have to do all in my power to fuck myself up.

This is, I think, the higher road to suicide. There are those hater fucks that hate their lives because they don’t have shit. They see everyone around them stunting and they’re so fucking full of hate. Like who the fuck does that guy think he is? Who the fuck does that girl think she is? I can’t take their smugness anymore. And they fucking kill the other guy (Literally or metaphorically; as it pleases you).

I’m my own other guy.

If I ever kill myself it will not be out of pity and depression about my fucked up life. It will be because I hate myself. I hate what I can be and what I have been. I’m jealous of myself because I am no longer myself.

Perhaps that is why suicide is against the law. Maybe that’s why it can be simultaneously seen as murder of one’s self. You kill a dude out of spite. You hate him. He fucked with you, fucked you up, whatever. You just wanna take the breath from that motherfucker. You have no fucking right, whatever the motherfucker did to you. That’s murder. That’s against the law. But why should suicide be against the law? It’s your own life. You’re the one living it, so why shouldn’t you be the one to end it?

It’s against the law because you’re doing the same thing as the murderer I just described. The only difference is that the other guy is you.

Them leave sorrow, tears, and blood.

(Them regular trademark)

[Sorrow, Tears, and Blood by Fela Anikulapo-Kuti]

Yeah.

Sorrow, tears, and blood.

Those things blaze the trail ahead of me. My sorrow and my parents’ sorrow over me. My parents’ tears. The tainting of their blood. The blood I bleed from myself every day, fucking with myself.

My regular trademark.

When your parents and your friends feel like it’s time to give up on you, then you are truly fucked.

Fucked-up-ness becomes your, well, regular trademark.

In the blur of the past few months, I have totally fucked myself. I can’t see the cause in the blur, but in every shimmering present tense that I find myself, I can see the effect. It’s like the world in Resident Evil, the scene I see.

And this is the only time I can see it; the calm before the storm. The winds have fucked themselves and there’s been gestation and all that fucking bullshit and the chic wind is now in labour. Very soon their child, the storm, will be born. Is it going to be a bad storm like Hitler (to the Jews anyway) or is it gonna be a good storm like the chocolaty tasty slickness of M&Ms?

Who the fuck cares? No one but me.

And that’s why I’ve dropped so low that I’ve come to be in this hell. Even in this Dante’s Inferno, I have worked my way to the ninth level.

Because who the fuck cares? No one but me. And I don’t give a fuck.

I still don’t know if I give two.

But I think that’s the factor that’s gonna decide whether I get Hurricane Hitler or Hurricane M&Ms.

Thing is, it’s still a hurricane. Whether it’s good or bad, there’s still gonna be damage. It is inescapable. There’s no motherfucker that’s gonna wake up on a rickety boat and say “Peace be still.” There’s nothing like that.

There’s still gonna be some damage even if I change my ways now; because, this time, I fucked up for real. I fucked up real fucking bad.

In the calm of the storm, we prepare for the storm. There’s no running away from it now. What we do to prepare decides whether the storm smashes us the fuck up, or whether we ride the storm to the shores of paradise.

*The name “Silver Surfer” comes to mind.

Boom Boom

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