MAY SAY ( OBLIVION)

Myidlepen had been really idle now for months and finally, I remembered it while meditating. I may say that this May may be a beautiful one after all with new write ups and writing techniques. Here's a little something for May and you.

"Are you in it now? In that world"

"What world?"

"The little world that forms specks of lights before your very eyes"

"You dream again don't  you?"

"How do you define a dream when right now we are not real and our real selves have been enclosed in this body, this mortality"

"What body?"

"Your body"

"My body?"

"Our body"

"I do not understand."

"Oh its only you that do not. I do"

"Why?"

"Because I am your mind and you're a mortal" 

"Shut up"

" I would... Only if you desire for me to kill myself"

"But you cannot die without me dying first"

"And then we would be immortals"

"Shut up"

This time he said it loudly in the board meeting and all eyes flashed at him in anger, in surprise, in wonder, and in confusion.

"Did you just demand that the CEO should shut it?" The assistant asked with cold stoned eyes.

He stared in disbelief and excitement

"Yes I just did" he replied

There was silence again and the members stared at his mouth, eyes, face. He listened to himself in horror. It couldn't have been his mouth but it transformed into a smile and then a frown and then a pause. His forehead sweating he stood and said

"Yes. I said it because I do not see sense in what he is saying. I do not believe this plan would work and I do not understand why we do not focus on one thing rather you make us focus on so many things that we do not focus anymore... We just float"

" You float eh?" The CEO said as he sat up and all 10 fingers touched the table.

"Again?"

"What again?"

"I do not agree with what you just did but I concur"

" Seriously... Not right now"

" I understand. You have been promoted"

Into what? The imaginary immortality being code land?"

"What does that mean?"

"I should be asking you... You're the mind"

"Oh... I mean you have been promoted"

"Shut up"

"I thought about what you said and I realized how true it is. For that you would be my chief Adviser". The CEO said.

He smiled. He just did get promoted in the real world...  and the other.

Imagine a world of endless opportunities and greater prospects...

...There you have it.

THE PERFECT COINCIDENCE

I would not have expected so much as to say that I would be 419ed into a conversation I had felt had existed long before we met on that Saturday. My eyes had blurred with despair and disappointment when I encountered the mass of people that had arrived at the expected venue that morning; the 7:30 morning. I saw the eyes stare at me from my front, back and side eyes. ‘ Oh! A lady with a guitar’. But my eyes and facial expressions may have failed me, because I remembered looking at the mirror when I was once angry and my face had been emotionless. My disinterest and non-commitment to comply with their ‘play for me’ might not have been noticed. But this was not what had really bothered me enough to create a lingering memory in my head. It was you with the glasses that came looking scared, holding a capo, like the one I had once bought. It was spoiled in the same manner as mine had spoiled and you looked unto my capo as if your life depended on it. You might have cried eventually if I had said No because you were to me but a stranger requesting to make use of my capo which will be given back in a few minute. I had resigned to the fact that I would be compelled to give you a resounding No because my greatest fear was not because I did not know you, it was because I did not remember faces. Your face might melt away immediately you left.” ‘I saw you with Dotun; please can I have your capo? Okay let me give you my phone so I can call my number when I am done” You said to assure my dumbfounded, perplexed and extremely wondering face or my intended dumbfounded, perplexed and extremely wondering face. I softened a little. ‘Of course I knew who Dotun was! He was the guy I had met last semester and had seen him only once’. I also think I remember seeing you, with that same glasses and same haircut. You were seated beside me. You were with Dotun. Although you were taller and more outspoken, I remembered you had chased me away with your ever domineering quietness and I had shrunk to my thoughts. And there you were all talking at the phase of a want; the capo. I must confess I was shocked that you also sing, with your entire introverted prowess you could afford music and strangely, perhaps, have a great voice. You called me soon enough and thanked me relaying your ordeal and that you do not think you were chosen. You told me you were going because Dotun was waiting for you and I wondered aloud ‘is Dotun here too?’ You did not wait to reply, you trotted off without forgetting to have my number.  After we had spoken on the phone for countless number of times, you were still able to maintain my surprise. You were friendlier and conversed better than the person I had met earlier who had been rather cold.’ How little things change so many things I had thought. But you would surprise me even more when you told me of a Dotun I never formed an acquaintance with. Your Dotun was not my Dotun and I had been talking to a stranger who I thought was familiar. But you were really a stranger and that was the first time I would meet you. You were not the quiet guy I had met the other day, you were someone else. But in all of your strangeness, we connected. I felt I had known you longer than that Saturday. You were the friendly stranger; the perfect coincidence. Happy belated valentine.

Different Shades of Blur - Obirin Abiye

Old age does not save one from punches. That was something he could have thought of before he decided to go settling issues that was not any of his business. The fist tightened, fingers embracing themselves; bracing up for the wonderment that was about to happen. The man watched with fascination as the fist landed on his cheeks, he felt its tingling after-effects. His eyes bulged out involuntarily. Could it be that he was imagining things? His mind would not give way to thinking one thought. It raced in different directions. Another hit brought him back to life. He staggered backwards and he was able to understand that he had just been hit on the face. Not once but twice and that was that. Pathetic. He could do nothing as far as his body was concerned. It had lost all its youthfulness embedded with impatience. It was the young man's time now but he had disrespected him. "Ah! Agbalagba!" the young lady had said. "Baba!" She later remembered his face as the man who used to praise her. She did not understand a single word from his several chants which he titled "oriki". "This is how we praise you in your home" he would say. She did not understand the movements of his mouth quivering in strange tones embalmed in strange words. She just smiled and pretended to understand. He would tell her stories of the old. One story caught her attention. She never forgot the song he sang about oluronbi. She immediately learned it. "Olukaluku jeje ewure ewure ewure Olukaluku jeje aguntan aguntan aguntan Oluronbi jeje omo re omo re apon bi epo". His hands and body moving simultaneously to the song that came out of his mouth. She did not understand why Oluronbi would have to give back his daughter to the god Iroko. "Iroko join join!" It was later she realized that Oluronbi had made a foolish mistake by promising to sacrifice what was given to him rather than other things of which she assumed, he deeply regretted. When he made a not so funny face, she laughed as hard as possible. She was grateful to him, but she did not feel he needed to stress himself that much. And after sixteen years she did not like the way her eyes welcomed Baba; the man who came once in a while to their house. The bright-eyed peacemaker. She would have expected that her eyes smile along with her but her face decided to abandon her today; in fact all of her body. She ran towards Baba who had already lost his balance again. This was an urban setting where there was little or no regard for an elder. At least he should not have wanted to make peace with two "Agberos". They were as crazy as louts should be. His eyes stared intently at hers. He remembered her, quite alright. She was the little girl he once knew. He murmured his blessings to her and ordered that she left him alone. She moved a bit backwards and watched in horror as the man metamorphoses into a yeti; a thing alternating spirituality and the physical realm. His long fingers and long teeth shined in the sun. And all smoke bellowed from his head. He made a movement which she could not fathom. It was a walk or a run of some sort which he made towards the two louts. His body vibrated on the floor and people who were once spectators where seen running for dear life. The young lady stood amazed. He tore the two men apart, in peace and in pieces. Their body parts were seen sprawling in the air as Baba stared at the already petrified young lady, panting and staring. Baba was tired of the disrespect he had received in the world. He looked round to see people running to safety screaming "Iwin! Iwin! " . He drew near to her and said his last oriki to her and disappeared into thin air; nothingness. She never stopped staring.

Different Shades of Blur (The Dress Code)

I cannot recall the day, week, month or year I started to hate choir uniforms. Always ensuring that they wore a color on black; pink on black, yellow on black, blue on black, black on black, white on black, green on black, all shades of colors on black, black, Back!. I would in turn wonder what would happen if they perhaps wore dinner outfits and looked tidy. It would be an everyday sunday breakfast event with God( since church services are held in the mornings) The berets, the ties and the shoes. I wondered if they got bored with the traditional choir gown adorned with such beauty so that uniformity becomes beautiful. Yet another suit and an unequal distribution of ironed and un-ironed dresses. A mishmash of emotions I'd say. I wondered if wearing traditional wears almost every week would kill, or what do I know? Restrictions, Restrictions, rules? Or the intense eye service and unwillingness on the part of some choristers. Would I love to join the choir? Of course Yes! Would I want to wear the same cloth with every other choir member? Okay I change my mind NO. Restrictions, restrictions from expressing self. But we are all different. So why do we have to dress the same? I remember a band wouldn't wear the same colors, but then something beautiful. I don't want to get bored while staring at a chorister's dress, or give a disgusted look at the site of their wears. Then I ask myself this question. Does christianity have to be this way? Different shades of blue on faded black or bright black. It kills me! When I have to admire the dresses of the outside world and yet wonder why the family would wish to stick to antique thoughts. And skirts! oh skirts! Why cant we wear gowns to save our souls even if most churches believe in trousers not being biblical. Peace untold peace. It all balls down to this, I believe, God is happiest when you do things from the heart and dress in a way befitting to see and be in the presence of a king. And then I wonder whether this is how one would dress if one wants to see a king and especially when it has to do with celebrations. It cannot kill to be different. Perhaps experiences of untold heat emerging from over-sized choir shirts and long skirts have repelled me from embarking into such activities. Then I ask another question - is it scriptural to dress this way? And then it puts me off, dressing simultaneously like school children who wish to try something new and dress casually but responsibly with a sense of fashion to class. I never liked school uniforms. I doubt if my dislike for choir uniforms will toll down a bit it either. But then, does being a christian and a chorister in the vineyard of God makes us dress shabbily and forget that God himself is fashionable? Yet we would dress our best for outside events. Things dedicated for God are beautiful. There is perfection is simplicity.

Different Shades of Blur Open Up the Door (The Muse wants in)

She inspired me to begin a little story; that woman in her 80's singing beautifully and standing there youthfully. I watched her as she sang with all of what she had; calmly,steadily, beautifully. In her christian voice she looked pristine, without blemish. Without any care in the world. "Open up the door" she sang with her eyes bright beaming with happiness. I feared that she might fall, she looked so fragile, too fragile to be doing anything in particular. But there she was, the rarest of the rare Nigerian Woman. I imagined her being the Choir Mistress at a very young age. I imagined her being a newly recruited choir member who wanted to be away from loneliness. I imagined her experiences. I couldn't go too far for I could not picture totally her experiences. It was massive, like the world itself, like space. Vast in every way immeasurable Perhaps a lot of happiness in her life, maybe a lot more sadness. One thing was sure, she was not willing to let time tell on her. She inspired me as she sang "oh Happy Dayl" along with the choir. Only her was whom I could see and that was immortality to me. Such youthfulness in an old body. She clapped with grace, such poise in her walking I could not fathom; without a hand to help her, without walking sticks. She was almost perfect and that was beyond beautiful. She inspired me, she inspired my thinking. That was God manifesting his glory in her life. Death would by no means be her end. For she has cheated Death and life immeasurably. Oh Happy day! I found her. What could I tell. She was a one in forever. I hope not to forget her. She was one of the blessings I had received in church; I didn't leave empty handed after all. 29th of November 2014, 3:30am. The muse.

Different Shades of Blur - This is Me. (The Denial of The Obvious)

Emotion is human and it is a weakling. Tunde would never have thought he could cry when he was rejected from the employment office. People change, don't they? He was also able to maintain his stance as he walked rather absurdly, rather fast to the bus stop. "This is Tunde! This is Tunde... Comport yourself, you were not like this and you will never be like this". His voice told him silently, almost in a whisper, as if trying to sympathize with him. His voice was shaky too. It didn't blurt out the courage it was insinuating. Yes it was Tunde, the guy who had been the King of women in the University. Counting women like money, they flocked around him and he was, as they said, a "cheerful giver". By this time, his eyes were red, like a smoker who had just finished four wraps of Marijuana. His mouth quivering as if they were unhappy with the redness of his eyes. By the time he entered his room, they were tear-stained. Who told you a man doesn't cry? Tunde took his credentials and dropped it carefully on the bed like an egg. He sat on the bare floor and wept out all his unhappiness, hopes, disappointments. Several thoughts came into his mind, those thoughts had a way of entering into his head. Yes... This is Tunde, it could not have been anyone else.