Mad Men

He was always terrifying, that man at the food seller’s junction.

Everyone called him a madman, struck with madness after a mob killing at the market in which he stirred the contents of a fifteen year old girl’s womb with the thorny branch of a small tree.
They said she cursed him, laying there screaming while her teeth were kicked in by faceless feet and he grasped her by the hip, a crazed excitement in his eyes as he twisted the stick into her, not minding the catches of the thorns on her inner walls or the blood that coated his arm while he performed his task.
She swore by her virginity, they said, that the womb that she would never get to use would forever birth evil for him until the day he died a death more gruesome than hers.

This was pure bullshit to me, even though they said, that after that she went mad, laughing and moaning to the torture, until the people got scared and only he was left to deal with her, while they stood watch.
She spat on him, a direct hit to the eye, with some of her teeth in the bloody mix. It was like he was possessed, they claimed, as he dragged her by her faux locks, now dirtied with sand and blood to the stack of tires and placed her through two. All by himself, he doused her with gasoline. All by himself, he set her ablaze.
According to them, she laughed even while she burned. I think it more likely that she screamed, but they insist she was laughing. I wasn’t there, I wouldn’t know.
Three months after the incident, his neighbor ran into the street screaming, crying in uncontrollable sobs. He raped her five year old daughter, she said. He ran out after her, dazed and apologizing, claiming that he had no idea when he did it. The young men in the area were on him in seconds, giving him blows from different directions.
It would seem that they were not surprised, only intent on dishing out punishment. My guess is that they already figured that he had some sick, twisted sexual urges from what he did to the mob victim. In five minutes he was dirtied and bloodied, meticulously beaten by one young man who was a soldier. The soldier was the dead girl’s boyfriend. They say the soldier would have killed him if not for the fact that he ran mad at that moment.
He grabbed the soldier by the foot, and tossed him into the crowd. The rest of the boys cleared away after that. While everyone watched in shock, he undressed. He began to run around, and when the crowed cleared to make a path for him, he made a beeline for an orange seller. She screamed and ran like a frightened rabbit.
He didn’t want her though, he wanted her knife.
I wasn’t expecting it, but they say he castrated himself. With the dull blade of the orange knife. The locals say it was not pretty.
They called the police, but they couldn’t find him. He escaped into the nearby bushes. The people say the girl’s spirit didn’t want him found, so she hid him from their eyes.
A year later he emerged from the bushes, with whip marks covering his entire body, and took residence at the junction. Nobody called the police again. They felt it’ll be futile. I joined the community a little after his reemergence.
Now three years later I’m standing over the madman, my ax going chop, chop, chop in time to the gurgles he’s making as blood spills out of his neck and mouth unto the ground of rotten leaves.
His eyes still hold mirth as they film over with the whiteness of death, and I can’t help but smile back at him.


The man who killed my sister.


I See


November 7, 1988

I am a white man’s wife.
You may not understand the gravity of those words, unless you are in a situation like mine.
I am a black woman. I probably should have led with that. Is my cross coming into view?
You are probably already thinking of what could be wrong. A million questions dancing around in your head.
You probably think he hurts me. Or that he has me chained to a fence with a collar.
You are wrong.
It is you that hurts me.
Are you black? Are you white? It doesn’t matter. It is you.
Are you in my time? Are you a stranger from the future happening upon this letter? It is still you.
It is you because you are them. You are born of them. And deep down, you still think like them.
You are white. My husband’s people. And I see the way you look at me. You, women huddled like turkeys at the feed. I see your distaste as you eye my large buttocks pressing against my evening gown.
I see you hating the fact that the gown is wasted on an animal like me. I see you incredulous on how I came to snag the man who could afford such a gown.
“It must be voodoo”
You mutter.
I know that you ostracize me on purpose, flinging yourselves at my husband right in front of me, with malice in your eyes.
You don’t know that I am unbothered, because I know he accepts to dance with you to be polite. I know he enjoys to see these obscene buttocks bounce against his hips.
I see you, white men, leering at my voluptuous figure with yellowing, coffee-stained teeth, wanting, and hating that you do.
You are black. My own people. And I see the way you look at me. With your eyes full of hate and judgement.
“How can she lay with the monsters that label us animals?”
You say.
I see you, black man, the way you look at him. Your hunger for revenge, clear in your eyes, certain that he is the one that hurt you.
I see you, and I have to wonder. What do you know of him? What do you know of me?
I know more about the people that label us animals than you do. And I know they are not my husband.
I met him 31 years ago. It was 1957. His mother brought him to my zoo. I was nine years old, and I thought his blue eyes were beautiful. Not because of the color, but because they were the only pair that looked at me, like I was a person.
I moved towards him, accepting the piece of bread his mother offered, wiping my phlegm off, on my arm shyly, knowing he was watching me. I just wanted to impress. I will never forget that day.
“Look at her Tom. So dirty. Isn’t she the ugliest little thing you’ve ever seen?”
My heart broke, watching those blue eyes squint at me.
“I don’t think she’s ugly, mother. I think she looks like… Me.”
I was certain I was going to fly. He kept his eyes on me, as he was dragged away by his mother, and none of my zoo mates knew why I suddenly ran behind a cage to sit and cry.
He came back the next day, with his butler, and stood by my pen, until I came out to see him. He talked to me, Tommy Hill.
It took three days for me to finally get the courage to respond in my bad English I learned from the Zookeeper. Tommy didn’t mind, he was overjoyed at my response.
He handed me a page, and made me swear to never lose it. My zoo was moved that week, and it was not until 1969, after human zoos were banned, as a young woman, that I realized, that the page was a hand-drawn map, and a painstakingly lettered address.
He knew he would never see me again, unless he made a way for me to find him. And I did.
How long did it take you to realize that you are reading pages lettered with blood? I certainly am curious, sitting here going slightly dizzy from all the blood escaping my right wrist.
I just wanted you to know, that I see you. And that I forgive you.
I forgive you, black men, that took my Tommy from me. I know you have paid with your lives, but that only brings me sorrow for your families.
I forgive you, white men, that want to take the family house away from me. It is alright. Tommy and I have no children to inherit it. And I don’t want it.
I only want my Tommy.



Photo Credit: Me


I No Longer Need You

Do you remember, the times when I told you everything?

The times when I bled out my heart unto your frozen chest, watching my hot blood cast steam from your unforgiving exterior, but affect you no more?

Do you remember, the times when I whined for your attention?

When I knocked desperately at the door to your head; where a raucous party ran alongside a cultured class of prodigious enigmas, but was denied entrance?

Do you remember, the times when I cried over you?

Those days when your tongue was harsher than the barbwire whips used to christen the body of Jesus the Christ?

Do you remember, the times when I couldn’t do without you?

When I sat patiently by the side, waiting for you to stop ignoring me and touch my face again?

I would not have believed it then, but now I know it is true. I don’t have you anymore, but I am alright, because when I think about it, I never really did.

Now I can raise my eyes; the coals of a volcano, and look into yours; a storm in a teacup, spread my lips in a smile, say

I no longer need you (Name removed)

And mean it.





Photo Credit: Me




“We were never different, you and I, sitting on the porch drinking beer and playing ludo while the scary reverend sister who worked at the morgue stuffed a body in her back seat. Except while I thought it was scary that she brought work home, you found it hilarious.”

“So imagine my pain when she came out of her house in those horrendous skirts, hefting a body bag along and I shivered in cold fear with the stationary dice in front of me, but you weren’t there to holler with laughter at the unsteadiness of her feet and crack jokes about the weight of the dead person because you were in the body bag.”
With that, Old Joe tapped his good friend’s coffin fondly and reached into his coat pocket to retrieve the revolver that he shot himself dead with.









Hello WordPress. It’s been too long. I am here to stay. 

Photo Credit: MeIMG-20170929-WA0075 


“The Genesis” Teaser.

No words, in whatever language, would suffice to encompass the glory, and awesomeness of the praises of the heavenly worship service that day. Not even if it filled an entire book. He had led the Holy Choir, breaking melody into new crescendos, coordinating each note into a blend of perfect harmony.
No words could describe the feeling, when his hands bent and altered the notes of sounds, each resultant wave, a stroke of genius, bringing tears of awe to the eyes of the beholders.
Awe for the Most High. He had to remind himself. He smiled as yet another group of angels passed, giving him marveling glances, approving pats, and murmured ‘Hallelujah’s’.
He saw Michael, the great warrior come out of the Most High’s sanctuary with one of his captains and give him a small smile, and a wave. He returned the greeting and walked alone towards the glinting gold streets. His eyes taking in the beauty all around him. Everything bathed in the light exuded by the Most High. The glory of the Eternal One shone into every nook and cranny, the supernatural light leaving no room for umbra or penumbra shadows.
He shook his head as he easily made his way to the flower covered gazebo at the heavenly crossroads. Right in the center of the left, right, back and front roads. What it must be like, to be the Most High…
Sitting on the throne on the mount of the congregation, in the sides of the North. Above the stars. All of the glory – including his – belonged to The Lord. The praises were his meals. Lucifer smiled as he thought of what a delicious meal his praises must make.
With a laugh he stringed a few tunes between his fingers, drawing the threadlike spirits taut, before releasing them into the air, letting their melody move his feet to tap to the vibrant strain.
He reached the gazebo and stretched out. The long bench, already used to him gave for his weight comfortably. This had become his spot. For the past few days, he had taken to it. Letting his thoughts wander.
Now, he began again. His thoughts, roused by a particularly loud roar of the creatures of the vast space of lower creation below.
He still did not understand the reason for the creation of those ugly mortal creatures. They looked nothing like The Lord, nothing like the 24 elders, nothing like the four creatures constantly before The Lord… Which looked pretty weird themselves. They were just…grotesque.
The creatures below were huge, with incapability to speak without shouting in that strange, tongue-tying language of theirs. Their existence was very much acknowledged by the citizens of the heavenlies as their roars of everyday life could be heard even in the confines of the great library.
Where God got his insane inspiration from was a total mystery. Why create more creatures? All of them to praise him. Were the praises of the heavenlies – his praises – not good enough? Yes, God ate the praises, but exactly how much could He eat?
The gazebo gave him a splendid view of the perfection all around him and in that view he could see Gabriel approaching. He couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips at the sight of the angel.
Now, this handsome, warm featured angel, was one of the first, him, Michael and Gabriel but his purpose was quite different. The Letter. Gabriel had his way with words. While Michael rules with swords, Lucifer in song, Gabriel got The Word. He was always with a scroll. At every point in time, journaling every event he came upon. For this he had been nicknamed ‘Scribe of the Sanctuary’.
He always brought with him a jovial, friendly or tranquil aura. He took the ribbing goodnaturedly, laughing along or giving an amused eye roll.
Now the angel’s face exploded into a grin as he looked both sides before switching into angel velocity and crossing the distance before Lucifer could even blink, so that it seemed like he suddenly materialized in front of the gazebo window.
“Hail to thee Lucifer!”
He said, the excitement evident in his voice.
“The worship service was stupendous as usual.”
Lucifer waved the compliment away, more intent on teasing Gabriel.
“Many thanks, brother. Surely you are with every second there in your scrolls. Aye?”
The soft blush staining his cheeks gave him away and Lucifer guffawed away, his shoulders bouncing in his mirth. Gabriel frowned playfully.
He said, with the flattest tone he could muster, even though his eyes were laughing along. Lucifer released a toothy grin, causing Gabriel to roll his eyes.
“I wonder though…”
Gabriel began,
“You have taken to this place. Never a day goes by that you are not here. Why?”
Lucifer considered the question. It was his brooding spot. Angels did not brood though, how could he tell this angel that he had begun to find God…greedy?
He bit his tongue.
“I find that this place suffices, to…marvel at The Lord from.”
It wasn’t a lie, it just wasn’t quite the…truth.
Gabriel didn’t seem to notice though, as his question filled expression immediately turned lovestruck at the mention of The Lord.
“Aaah, The Lord! What a wonder he truly is!”
Lucifer wasn’t sure why he felt sick all of a sudden, but he just let the conversation go with a weak smile and a heartless
Leaving Gabriel to go in his way, singing the new Temple song Lucifer and crape acted that very day with fervor.
The Genesis
Copyright ©


Diary Entry 1

Well, it’s been quite long since my last post. I’ve been terribly busy. Too busy even to write. 😦 I had a few thoughts about starting to post my diary online. SCARY! I’m willing to try though. It won’t be something I do all the time, but I WILL post now and then. Right now I’m lying on the couch in the living room, glaring at the ceiling. My friend Steve just really annoyed me. I won’t say anything of course, being myself. Insulting someone in an indirect way seems to be his talent. Like a teacher of mine, Mr A.Y. who claims his God-given life quota is to abuse other people’s children verbally. Lol. But then Mr A.Y. is insane. I’m not talking to Steve right now cos my data connection is off. He must think i’m so upset i’m ignoring him. I have to admit, I am tempted to continue to let him think that… Ah, but then i’m not one to torment others that way. See you whenever dear blog…


I’m back!!! With my latest adventure! “For Adam was not deceived.” It’s sorta weird, but i’m determined.

The worship service was awesome as usual. His amazing voice had led the Holy choir in harmony, authoritatively. He smiled as yet another group of angels passed, giving him marvelling glances and approving pats with murmured hallelujahs. He saw Micheal, the great warrior come out of the Most High’s sanctuary with one of his captains and give him a small smile and a wave. He returned the greeting and walked alone towards the glinting gold street. The eminence of the Lord himself was the light of the heavenlies… and of the vast space of lower creation below. He still didn’t understand the reason for the creation of those MORTAL creatures. Not to mention the fact that they looked nothing like the Lord, nothing like the elders, nothing like the four creatures always before the Lord (which looked pretty weird themselves ). They were huge, with incapability to speak without shouting. Their existence was constantly known by the heavenlies. Even the spirits of them who had died and come up were noisy! He had to wonder when they were created. Was the Lord that bored? So bored that he was creating all sorts of anomalies just to amuse himself? Were the praises of the heavenlies – HIS praises not enough for the Lord? He reached the gazebo at the intersection and sat in it’s little covering. The wooden bench should be used to him by now. It had become his usual private place. A lovely view of perfection lay just in his sight. Anyone on the road could be seen from his vantage point. And from his point of view he could see Gabriel coming his way. He smiled. This handsome young angel with his close-cropped black hair and gentle brown eyes seemed to always be with a scroll. For that he had been nicknamed “Scribe of the sanctuary”. It seemed every event went into one scroll or the other. The angel even looked studious. Gabriel noticed him then, and his face exploded into a grin. He quickened his pace, stopping before the gazebo’s window, adjusting his scrolls and wiping his face with a sweep of one hand.
“Hail to thee Lucifer! The worship was wonderful! As usual”
He just waved the compliment away
“Many thanks brother. Obviously you are with every moment there in your scrolls.”
Gabriel blushed a soft red. He laughed. Gabriel made the wiping gesture again.
“Well, yes. I do wonder though. Why is it, for the past few millenniums you have taken to this place? You are always here!”
Lucifer smiled. It was his brooding spot.
“To marvel at the Lord”
He said. It wasn’t a lie, it just wasn’t true. Not the way Gabriel would expect anyway. Gabriel’s question filled expression immediately turned love-struck.
“Aye, the Lord. Such a wonder he is!”
Lucifer wasn’t sure why he felt sick all of a sudden, but he gave Gabriel a weak smile and an “Aye”.