I know what I shuldnt be

Okay, there are some people that should be bloggers and some other should just be happy to be readers and blog-stalkers.
I mean what was i thinking??? wasting my time and some of the other people that have ever bothered to stumble on my page and look here.
And would you know if it wasn't that i wasn't (my grammar o...) always on the internet, one would understand, but i'm always here, looking at writing, books, hair, fashion, jewelery, craft, kitchen-sinking etc.
then I go over to what is the excuse of this straggly site, tut-tut my head, promise to do better, and then leave.
And guess what happens?
Sigh, sigh.....im shameless, i tell you.
and then something i have thought about I remember exactly ten years ago, that there were two broad categories of people in this world, the players and the audience.
and most of us like to think as players, but guess what the truth is?
And like everyone i have spent so much time convincing myself that i was a player when the truth might be different?
I believe the world ,might just be an easier place if people (and i'm talking to myself here) defined where we were supposed to be, where we want to be ( and then work hard enough for it) and stop biting nails.
SO i make a promise to myself to move my body and brains and put an end to this life lethargy.
here's hoping

Getting out of a rut

3 days ago, i took an unplanned journey of of Lagos into Ibadan ( I was just about to type "the city of..." in front of Ibadan, one of those things we find ourselves saying without really knowing why.
Ibadan has a somewhat glorious reputation as a quaint city, rather full of collective memory, representing something of a certain era, perhaps a certain je-ne-sais-quoi of arts.
But what i found was a city that had a certain peace, while still hinting of something old but deep inside.
Even taking a walk inside the hot air, on the grounds of the University of Ibadan, I felt a certain something that I was trying to put on paper later, but could not quite.
I will blog later about the event that I went to Ibadan for, but what i can say is that Ibadan has reminded me that I ought to leave Lagos behind a lot more often.
There is a place I have been for almost a year, that makes moving forward, being excited, making new things and daring life, quite ardous, but here I am again life,
take me!

and this should suffise...somewhat

Of course I would have had a post about the awesome charity concert that i went to on
Inspire Africa for the street child, at the EXPO centre Lagos, on saturday, but being that the evening ended with my car with being towed away, and me having to go look for it in the middle of the night (actually, morning..2am) its taken away a lot of my mojo for that post.
all I'm going to say is that it was truly awesome...Carl Thomas can sing like nothing funny...
I have been reading a lot of Oscar Wilde...this is not (entirely) what explains my time away..but he is certainly my type...
I mean, I dont really have a type...but if I did, Oscar...you would be in it

making a case for the computer

part of me that always wanted to be a writer actauly fell in love with the picture of the glasses, and the type writer (white corona beauty, natch), and the frenzied tap-tapping hunched over the beautiful mahogany table.
I blame the movies for making this seem so easy.
In real life, not only is the romance of novel writing completely over done because the publishing shadow hangs willy-nilly over your shoulder, it is also because the frenzy is a lie.
Well, most days.
Most days its a deliberate, slow, stiff cog wheel, and when you have been at it, inhaling and exhaling for long enough at your table( which by the way is corrugated metal, and like mine, missing a leg) its gives you a gratuitiois give, every oh, say forty-nine minutes or so
that is not to say those periods are not their own rewards, because truly they are...but then again....
Oh, yeah, the title of my post is making a case for the computer, which is my two kobo about blogger tayari, who by the way i COMPLETELY ADORE here
http://www.tayarijones.com/blog/archives/2008/08/the_case_for_pe.html
I happen to live in nigeria, where you cannot always power your laptop, (you cannot always do a lot of things, but forgive my lassitude right now with all of those)
I bought, 3 years ago, a fountain pen to write with and while i write a mean cursive, and i like the accomplished-for-the-day effect a full day of work can look like on a white page, i have to say , that ultimately, for me, nothing beats getting into sync with my words( whenever that happens), and listening with my inner ear, the tap-tapping of my fingers on the key....
Im working...im typing...look ma...its actually happening.....
and with that, i have to push off right now, and go and tap-tap somewhere else, where the pages really do matter....

Book shop bail out!

Ok so I know Im supposed to suffer for my craft, but this is ridiculous...
I went into a book shop and as usual started drooling spittles of desire on several hard-cover books....
Since I bought my book shelf, (previously owned mahogany beauty, from Lagos ministry Alausa furniture auction) i decided as much as I could, to only put hard cover books there.
I love me some hard cover fiction title.
So I was minding my own business in the fiction titles, when Salvador Dali strecthed one of his fantasio whiskers and whistled to me.....(like he was calling a cab)
I walk over there, and there is still coffee-table-style-biography, compendium-of-works book.
Now the relationship between me and Dali is hard to explain, (technically, all of his and most of my own relationships are a bit of work for most people) but ill tell you this, twice in my life, I have been experienced deliruim while sick with a fever, and both times, my hallucinations have both been about me walking about bare feet in a dali-esque landscape.
we share a connection I insist, and one day, when im grown and rich, I will own a painting by Dali.
As you might have guessed the 600 plus page miracle is fatally expensive.
But. I.have.to.have.it
Only its too gorgeous to be for display only on a coffee table.
this one is for reading, and keeping, and reading, and keeping