I went to school in a desolate land. It was a hard and dry place. It is still a hard and dry place. It had perilous paths and teachers who barely taught you anything. My school never graduates students, not like it mattered to the students at all.
In my school, if you listened closely enough, you’ll learn few virtues and more vices. The only way to be good is to close your heart and your ears. In my school, good deeds are a punishable crime and evil is celebrated.
My school had seniors with no conscience. People who ran the affairs of the school on behalf of their fellow students with no regards or afterthought. Promises were made in the open but when it’s dinner time, the lion share of it is devoured á deux. We, the junior students, would have loved to report them to the authority but we fear the terrible reprisal that awaits us.
My school had broken windows. It got terribly cold in the mornings and nights and when it rained(it hardly did) it drenched us all. The sandy breeze met no barrier as it smites us meanwhile our seniors take classes in the recently renovated dining hall. These broken windows were good only for one thing. They provided an escape route whenever the seniors wanted to punish a class en mass.
My parents do not know of all these things and I do not intend to inform them because one day I hope to be a senior student too. I want to do to those unsuspecting and innocent students what had been done to me. It wouldn’t feel fair if after all that I’ve been through my parents just pulled me out of this hell hole. I wouldn’t leave. I would stay and terrorize them as it was done to me.
Who are you to judge me. Would you be any better? Would you try to change the system? Would you look at evil in the eye and defy it? Would you? I seriously doubt it. Yet you sit in the comfort of your homes, reading this from an expensive piece of equipment and swearing within yourselves that you’d be better. That you will forgive. That you’d oppose the evil system. That you’d PROTEST!
The sad truth is that you wouldn’t fight the system. You are too tolerant. You have no resolve for things of this nature. You pay thieves monthly to renew services that are pitiable at best, outrageously exploiting by default and you do this without even raising a decibel of your voice in protest. Shame on you. Shame on you all!
I shall neither graduate from this school nor oppose it’s laws rather I’ll transform myself into the MEANEST MURDAFUCKING SENIOR! In the wise words of Guru Kanye West: “I’m a murdafucking monster”.
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Imagine me oh! I promised that I’ll write more often. Not only that I’ve broken that promise, I broke it for a very lousy reason. I should be stoned(or flogged) for being so inconsiderate to people who live by my every word. I can imagine the agony of the wait(I’m feeling myself too much right?).
I have been busy chasing a misty dream in the guise of music while my peers have been pursuing more noble professions. Not that I’m saying that music making isn’t noble(oops I just said it), it’s just that if you are not making the “Tuface’ish” money it seems like an awful waste of time and energy. Many of my friends are either bankers(with outrageous monthly targets if I might add) or lawyers(ish) or doctors(I know two and they both rap by the way). Many more of them are currently employed at one firm or the other, making big bucks, while I sit in my studio daily, hoping the next beat is going to be my “Oleku” beat. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I’m just wishing I had been a bit more sensible and taken up a normal job.
Come to think of it. I’ll really be better off with a normal 9-5. I fancy myself a computer genius and can envision myself working for a telcom company. I’ll have to work long hours and I’ll have to give up my nasty habit for waking up when it suits me(who’ll want that sef?). I’ll have to wear a tie everyday and answer to a very nice man called “Boss”.
Life can be all the more fun if I had chosen the normal route, just like my friends did. None of my friends work throughout the night(maybe with the exception of my telcom buddies) like I do. Does it matter that my nocturnal work usually takes place in nightclubs and GOSH! Who’ll want to do all that socializing I find myself doing with drunk people every now and then(I promise, I don’t end up being one of the drunks). Who’ll want his/her work place littered with naughty celebrities being themselves in the absence of an all seeing camera? And all those fine chickZzzzzzz… No, I’ll rather stay home, pressing my shirt and tie in preparation for the next day’s work.
I really fucked up. Now I have to make sure that I make a national hit song and have nasty scandals in the news to be very good at my job. I have to be in several countries almost simultaneously to get promoted and I’ll have to charge outrageous sums to upcoming artistes for beats. How else are they suppose to know that I am a very good badt guy eh?
I’ll have to live an idiotic life to excel at my job. Oh well. My name is Thompson Edolo and I am a confirm IDIOT!
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A friend of mine once told me of a beautiful young lady. This lady was a bombshell. She had grace and style and she had charm.
This lady was an icon of everything that can be good and a beacon of hope for her peers. She radiated with prosperity and grace.
The woman also had a deadly secret that gnawed through her soul. She was piss poor. Even though she had a fat bank account, she did not derive any satisfaction from wealth. In fact, she has not been properly happy for as long as she can remember.
This emotional poverty was of the result of her past ventures in life. A life filled with beautiful lobbies and huge hairy bellies and carelessly “forgotten” envelopes.
This life had brought her so much wealth. This life had taken the life of the only person she had ever loved. Now this life has had her living in small towns for the past five years.
Her name always changed with every telling of the story(not that I cared much. I knew my friend was lying anyway) but the core of the tale remained the same. For the sake of this iteration I’ll call her Sarah.
Sarah had a deep yearning for success. She was highly ambitious but had a reckless conscience. She’ll do about anything.
Sarah graduated from the university with a second class upper degree only because she knew that she couldn’t defend a first class degree if she was required to. She served in Abuja and quickly found herself working for a top commercial bank. That was when she fell in love.
Richard was his name(also for the sake of this iteration). He was your normal guy, slightly comfortable. He was dependable and loving. He wasn’t wealthy. She loved him anyway. Oh how he loved her! She meant everything to Richard and the poor fellow would do anything for her. Little did he know that everything was being done for her by some other people.
This little complication grew to be a major hassle as Richard started doubting the authenticity of Sarah’s stories. In the end, when everything was apparent, Richard left Sarah. She was heartbroken and so was the US economy.
She did not survive the recession “sack”. As soon as she was out of work, her lovers suddenly had a new yearning for someone younger. She had lost almost everything. Somehow though, she was convinced that Richard would take her back. Only then did she find out that Richard had died of AIDS. She had the virus too.
This story is not about Sarah or Richard. It’s more about me/us. Maybe we should take a recap on what is important to us every five minutes.
I had promised myself that when I start writing, I wouldn’t stop. I had told myself that I’ll blitz through twenty posts in my first week. Alas, this is just the third one.
I had recently promised myself that I would quit smoking. Problem is, I knew I was lying to myself when I made that promise too. And so I botched many more promises I made to myself and to others.
What have you been doing to make good of these and more broken promises, folks would ask. To be honest, nothing much. Maybe a little, at least I am writing this blog post. But really I ought to be doing a whole lot more. The problem is that I find myself doing about a gazzilion things at any given time. This takes it’s toll on me(hey I’m not superman).
I’m really more than your average everyday guy. First off, I’m a MAN. I don’t mean this in the context of gender. No, it’s more about my everyday responsibilities and I’ve got loads of them. I have to wake up and take a shower(mighty hard work!). I have to delegate the house chores to my better half(matrimony rocks!!) and I have to go to work(oh blimey!!!).
All these can be exceptionally tiring, especially doing the house chores(did I say that I lovingly pass it over to wifey?) but I still get round them like a MAN.
Then there is matrimony and fatherhood. A lot of promises get made and broken as a father and a husband. Some, unfortunately and some intentionally. Again the hard work associated with being a husband and a father takes it’s toll too.
Imagine what turning down a steady stream of advances from hot “smallies” can do to a husband’s mental stability(yeah I stay faithful *tongue out*). That has to make up for (almost) forgetting my wife’s birthday. I had promised to take her out but I spent most of the day making money for US! That should earn me an extra point too right?
Then I botched a trip me and my family were supposed to take to the beach. The excuse, no money. The real excuse, I didn’t withdraw money from my no-atm account on time on a friday because of… Yes you guessed right. Work. My daughter is too young to be disappointed so I guess I saved some change that will go into her welfare in the nearest future.
Then there is work. Oh, you should talk to my dissatisfied clients. Or maybe you shouldn’t.
The truth is that as long as I am “on the grind”, I can’t help but break some promises I make. Most especially if those promises contradicts my present goal. So if I’ve made a promise to you in recent times and haven’t come through, I am truly and deeply sorry about you being on a LONG TIN.