They say a nigga return, but I never left
It’s been a while.
How I’ve always wanted to say those words.
Just for the personal triumph of leaving a stone unturned.
Has it gathered moss? Are there earthworms beneath, wriggling through a layer of wet, fine red soul so neatly subdued?
Aahh old habits, most of them pensionable, wistfully resting. Dusting them from a store room behind the main house: always a welcome relief.
See, a blogger passes, the blog remains.
Will you blog about it?
It doesn’t feel right to be served supper with a side dish of comments on a post.
No, it wasn’t that bad.
Some evil alter-ego nemesis masquerading as my adventurous self is to be framed.
Speaking of framing, have you ever held an item for so long before finally deciding upon appropriating it a position it deserves?
Yesterday I put up a painting of some African women in song and dance. It was a gift from some quarters. As I stepped back and looked up on the first item I’ve ever hoisted up my wall, there was a sadness about it. Inexplicable. Perhaps, it was in terms of : is that my only achievement to date?
Last interaction, a transaction. Gone wrong. Circumstance of elephants on the loose, rogue!
Sparsely furnished. Minimalist. Ha!- who-am-I-kidding. My place, I mean.
So yeah. Postmortem: They phone notably on a higher end. Sleek even. Also, on my dressing drawer were coins.
It hit me too late: she counted them.
Every single one of them.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen.
playing: uptown anthem ~ naughty by nature