Life is absurd. Reality is absurd. Society is absurd. Samuel Beckett could not have been more spot on in ‘Waiting for Godot’…waiting for Godot, waiting for the unattainable, waiting for the unobtainable, waiting for the unreal, waiting for…God.

Ken Ham and Bill Nye “debated” a couple of days ago. Quotation marks because it really was not much of a debate. There wasn’t much to argue about. One side: Evolution is true because there’s a mountain of evidence supporting it. Other side: Creationism is true because it says so in my Holy Book, and my Holy Book is the word of God. Well, how do you know your Holy Book is the written utterance of God? Because it says so in my Holy Book. Circular reason 101. How can educated adults in the developed world believe that the world was created in 7 days? Sigh. Absurdity.

Who is God, I wonder? Where may he be found? Once upon a time I searched for him. Earnestly. I looked in my heart, I looked in the trees, I looked in the sunset, I looked in the scriptures, I looked in philosophy, I looked in science. I looked. I looked. And I looked. Until I realized I was searching for a dream, searching for a mist, for a non-reality, searching for nothingness. God was my Godot: much had been said and promised about him, but his existence was almost certainly mythical. 

As for heaven and hell…those exist, along with Mordor and Wonderland, in the realm of the imagination. Neither fear them nor hope for them. Our world, our earth, our tiny little speck suspended in a vast and indifferent universe, is all that we have. And we can make it a metaphorical heaven or hell depending on how we live our lives and how we treat our fellow human beings.

C’est tout.

Always a sucker for flowers.

Always a sucker for flowers.

Be wary of Prejudice, lest it blind you and strip you of your humanity, till your soul is naked and bare.


I think a person is purest and most innocent when they are asleep. It’s a beautiful thing to watch - eyes closed, breathing constant, huddled under a blanket dreaming psychedelic things. What could be more lovely?
Not to be morbid or anything, but I sometimes wonder what death feels like. I suppose it doesn’t feel like anything, does it? It’s just a deep sleep you never wake up from. So then why do we fear it? 

I’m sitting here in my room, under my study lamp, reading about cross-cultural psychology in preparation for my exam this week. I looked outside and I saw gorgeous flakes of snow falling pirouetting down from the sky so gracefully, covering the concrete with a fluffy white blanket haha. How aesthetically pleasing.

I feel like it’s a precious skill to live life in the nuances. To look beyond the obvious and the ostentatious, and into the barely distinguishable layers of existence. There are so many tiny pleasures to be found in those delicate little spaces.

Doomsday by MF Doom from the album: Operation Doomsday

I’ve been feeling this cat recently. Sick beats, strange lyrics, and overall good vibe.

It’s a word! No, a name! MF - the super-villain!

K-tel “Record Selector”

I walked
through the valley
of the shadow of death
and planted flowers in it.

I am old

Sometimes I get so enthralled by old things. I remember a while ago I found a 200 year old book in my school’s library. I was so thrilled to hold it in my hands, to smell it, to run my fingers through its ancient pages. I made up stories in my head about people who had read the book in the years past. I thought about that era, the culture at the time, the way the buildings looked, and how people dressed and all that jazz.

In the macroevolution course I’m taking this semester, my professor speaks of fossils discovered that are hundreds of thousands, millions, or hundreds of millions of years old. Wow. I want to touch those fossils and feel the dust of a forgotten time. As my professor talks about these things, I begin to imagine what life was like back then. What was the earth like? What kind of living creatures roamed that human-less world? Take me back…

But today I realised something. The earth is about 4.5 billion years old. That means that all the elements that comprise earth as we know it have been around for literally billions of years. But what exactly does that mean? That means that the table on which my computer rests, the laptop keys I am tapping, the fingers which tap those keys, the muscles on my fingers which contract to allow me to tap those keys, the brain which is composing this tumblr post, the air I breathe, the glasses I wear, the shoes on my feet, ALL those things are composed of elements that are billions of years old.

Damn. I am old.

By “I” I don’t mean the human being you know to be Josiah. I don’t mean the conscious being with this personality and these idiosyncrasies and character traits and all that. That “I” was born only 20 years ago. But by “I” I mean the raw materials - the elements - of which the other “I” (Josiah) is composed.

I am billions of years old and it’s amazing to think about that.

Pensées sur l’enfer…

Nothing is permanent. Except hell. Every time I think about hell, my mind gets sucked into this thick raging black hole and I have to exert myself (meta)physically to pull my mind out. Hell is a dark dark place and I’m not really a fan of it. How can the human mind comprehend a time scale as large as Eternity? Infinity is a concept too wide to wrap my very finite mind around. I can’t do it. In my lectures, my feeble brain struggles to grasp the multibillion year time span that Darwinian evolution must have required to transform life on earth from simple single cells to complex, conscious, and clearly confused creatures as human beings. That’s hard enough. But then hell comes into the picture. Hell is a place of torment, punishment, suffering, sadness, misery, and all such nouns in that family of words. But the real killer, the real murderer of my sanity is the fact that this bleakness will last an eternity. Sinful souls swallowed by the darkness of hell shall remain in its belly for an infinite amount of Time. Time in fact becomes useless in a place like hell because the main utility of my wristwatch is to help me mark the beginning and the end. Hell has a beginning, but has no end. You jut suffer endlessly. What a terrible place.
Dear lord of peace, love, and mercy, how could the eternal suffrage of children supposedly created in your image possibly be compatible with any of those aforementioned qualities?

Dear Homeless Man

Dear Homeless man
sitting on the bus
staring into space
beard overgrown
mane wild and unkempt
but with a distinct bald patch
like a desert in the middle of the Amazon,
when we made eye contact
for two precious little seconds
I began to wonder…

I wondered what your name was
and where your mother was born
and what kind of music you liked to listen to.

I wondered if
people treated you like a human being.

I wondered if you had children
and if you believed in an afterlife
and if sky blue was one of your favourite colours
and if you had ever dreamt of becoming a doctor
and if you had friends you hung out with on Saturday evenings
and if you had ever kissed the lips of a girl you were in love with,
as the world around you melted
into sweet nothingness
and if…

Dear Homeless Man
sitting on the bus
staring into space
I often wander
I suppose you and I
aren’t that different.

Kush & Corinthians (Feat. BJ The Chicago Kid) by Kendrick Lamar from the album: Section.80

Live your life, live it right

Be different, do different things

Don’t do it like

He did, cause he aint what you is…

Love is simultaneously a disease and a cure for many of the world’s ills.

I am learning that in life I cannot please everyone and the sooner I begin to live my life in a manner that it most meaningful to me, Josiah, then the sooner I can find purpose and make sense of my existence. I just can’t live my life in constant fear of what other people would think of my decisions, or of how they may judge me. That’s their problem, not mine. Of course I’m not advocating a totally egotistical, self-serving, not-caring-about-anyone-else’s-opinions lifestyle. But I believe I must remind myself that I am a thinking being who is capable of making his own choices. It’s my life to live, my path to carve, my trail to burn, my meaning to find. And yeah I’ll make mistakes; I’ll do silly things. But who cares? They are all lessons for me to learn and what is life, but a prolonged education?

Clothed in the garment of my people.
PS Check out my friend’s online dashiki store. It’s the first of its kind.

Clothed in the garment of my people.

PS Check out my friend’s online dashiki store. It’s the first of its kind.