rut my word

I have you in a rut…

And you have me coursing through literary articles…

The greatest of tidings should be remembered in the golden pages of history books as they should be in a commoner’s blog…
When I am happy, I often have none of the creativity in me to write…
Depression is my fuel…
Calm surrender is my literary poison…
How odd that these times of breathing in the morning air are left to the Earth’s memory alone…
For no journals have been kept…
No memoirs published…
You are at the point when there is actually none to complain about…
None to open the floodgates that keep you up nights orchestrating words into coherent sentences…
Come to think of it…
That’s actually a good thing…

letters to africa...

dear africa,


it doesn't feel like christmas. not here, not now... not to me. with everything all perked up with color and twinkling lights, all i could think of is how i'd be able to escape my self-made prison. the cold yuletide air is an aid that i am thankful for... at least i'm not the only one who's cold. not for this season, that is. christmases were meant to be carefree... now, they're but the deep breath that preceeds a great plunge. i'd rather freeze in mid-air... than burn down south.

letters to africa...

dear africa,


i ditched the music that was my friend... sometimes, a girl just needs a half. in my case, i need a whole lott'a set of halves. maybe that ought'a do the trick.


went to the mall with an old friend. just checked out a few things... and got ourselves checked out by people as well. not that we tried. and i, for one, am a natural stand-out in this black & white city. the mall was unusually crowded today... not that it ever wasn't, especially on a sunday afternoon... but, quite a number of people made cameos in the flashback that was your mall trip. and with all the other faceless people, you come to realize, what they say you are. though, it's only as far as it goes... still, the affirmation stands. i think to myself... they don't know me.