place in existence could have been sans Christ. I say existence
because we are such vain creatures that we've imagined that the only
reason we don't have regular extra-terrestial visitations is that
there's no one else out there. I'm not advocating for or against, but
I have a problem with people who imagine there aren't better places to
visit than earth. I wonder what they call us where we're only noticed
as a star. Where we loosely refer to as Orion's belt, is somebody's
home. What do they call 'my' home? As I write this, I think I've had
it with this insomnia. I lose productivity recovering from listening
to sounds that fuel my imagination at hours that are popularly
referred to as ungodly. I need to change time zones urgently. Will
someone please answer this cry for help? Thinking aloud, but listen to
this bout of honesty.
I am a man. I have to daily deal with my parents' unintentional
failures, my personal failings, & the negative garbage that comes my
way via the society I live in. It is hard to be productive in a place
that slaps the shit out of me when I attempt to speak of a pattern
that I recognise and attempt to put together in my writing. I'm
privately glad that my words are tolerated by you few guys. Why? Are
you kidding me?
Brain Waves are a thing of the future, except for a few. We use them
now. I feel like a man who had the football skills of David Beckham in
the mid-19th century. Pretty to look at, but no one's going to pay a
farthing to see or use to further the British Empire.
I'm not depressed. I just realised how insignificant all of this is
outside of God. Insignificant.
I have been told to ground myself, to find stability... I couldn't
agree more. But when you've faced internal suicide as often as I have.
It is pretty hard to be 'sensible'.
As I close this blog, it is my intention to ask God to step in or drop
me off. Not a threat. Just a need for clarity.
To quote Conan the Barbarian: One thing I ask of you, Crom. Grant me
revenge. But if you cannot even do that, then to hell with you.
Well...he got his revenge. You know what revenge for me is?
Success. Success is the ultimate revenge. I don't care for 300k women,
who are total strangers, harbouring fantasies about me when with their
husbands.
Success is actually getting my work to work for me. My writing
becoming the basis of a novel series, television series, movie deals,
or some kids I don't know from Adam walking up to me & telling me that
my books changed them for the better.
An SL 500 won't be too bad either. Or a few literary (cash) prizes,
critical recognition, or a nice house to sit about to dream up & write
down in, or wife & kids who know when not to disturb Daddy, or love my
french toast and curl up in bed with me to listen to my tall stories
about how Lagos was a hard place to live in when I was a child in the
80s (Daddy, what do you mean there was no internet? So how did you
talk with people abroad? Oh, cell phones right?)
Thank you for sharing this private moment with me. I will endeavour to
reduce the insanity next time. Endeavour is the key word.
P.s. Know any entreprising mad men willing to work a series of
literary ideas all the way to the big screen? Or at least a short
length feature at Cannes?
--
Sent from my mobile device
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