Whenever I’m on the subway, I always wonder where everyone is running to. I want to stop them and ask “Where are you running to, Monsieur?” or “Why the rush, Mademoiselle?”. I always wonder, as I walk casually with my left hand in my pocket and my right hand holding my ipod, if I’m missing something. Is there a race that no one told me about? Is there some grand prize awaiting the person that reaches the exit door first? “Congrats, Señor! You’re the first commuter to cross the exit line! You win tickets to see Justin Bieber in concert! Woohoo!!” And confetti is sprayed in the air as two beautiful brunettes in knee-length dresses each clutching champagne bottles congratulate you and ask you to smile for the horde of flashing cameras. Hahaha is that what everyone is speed walking for?
I think we all need to overdose on chill pills. We need to calm down. I feel like we give ourselves unnecessary stress. I know living in a big city is stressful, it’s hectic, it’s busy, it’s overcrowded, it’s loud, and it’s noisy. But we don’t need to succumb to this Metropolitan Madness. Sometimes we just need to listen to good music, relax, and take life easy.
Whenever I have dreams I try to connect all the bizarre elements of my dream to things I actually saw and heard in my waking life. Last night I dreamt that I was with Queen Elizabeth and we were standing in a large open space and suddenly the sky turned dark with arrows shot from the bows of a hundred Native Indians who were apparently trying to assassinate her. But she didn’t die. She was saved by arrows shot from the bows of a hundred European-looking men which collided perfectly with the Native Indians’ arrows and struck them out of the sky.
What real life experiences of mine could explain that dream?
I’ve always been fascinated by dreams. I imagine them to be like films our brains play to keep us entertained while we sleep. Dreams are amazing. It’s like you’re asleep, but at the same time you’re really not. Your eyes are closed, but they’re really not. Your body is still, but it’s really not. You’re transported into a whole new world constructed by your brain. It’s a psychedelic experience, really.
But dreams make me question what reality is. When I dream I never doubt that it’s “real life”, I never stop to ask myself if I’m dreaming or not. Only when I wake up do I realise that I was dreaming. But what about right now? I’m currently experiencing “real life”. I’m sitting down on a chair typing a text post on Tumblr. This is reality. Or is it? How can I be sure? I’m just as certain that this is real as I was last night when I was with Queen Elizabeth. Therefore the fact that we feel certain that we are in the real world does not sufficiently prove that we are actually in the real world because that feeling of certainty exists both when we’re dreaming and when we’re awake. Who then can tell me definitively that I will not eventually wake up to some other “realer” reality? It’s kind of weird to think about but it’s also kind of cool.
PS Do you ever smell things in your dreams?
I feel like travelling somewhere far far far away.
Somewhere wild and raw and real and free.
Someone please tell me why I’m riding my skateboard at the back of the library at 1:30 in the morning…
Some soulful brothas and sistas in this video.
Rufus Thomas - Breakdown
Achebe is dead and things are still falling apart in Nigeria.
I spent the night listening to Fela and silently mourning the death of this great man. I don’t quite know why I feel so sad, why his death weighs so heavy on my heart. My grief is kind of inexplicable. I guess Chinua Achebe was one of those people I was always rather awed by. A thought-provoking writer and a powerful intellectual, he made me proud to describe myself as Nigerian. He helped create in me a deep sense of appreciation of my culture. I didn’t even realise that he had the effect on me until literally a few minutes ago when I decided to write a few words for him.
But such is life. I suppose that’s all I can say. Death is as relevant and defining a characteristic of living things as breathing. Death is the inevitable destiny of all life. But I’m not concerned about how I’ll die, I’m more concerned about how I’ll live. WIll I live a meaningful life? All this schooling and staying up late studying, will it even matter at the end? WIll I find happiness? WIll I find love? WIll I find God? WIll I start a family? What kind of mark will I leave on the world? Will there really be a life after death?
I bet Chinua knows the answer to that last question. Rest in peace, dude.
How I feel right now.
No matter what you’ll never take that from me
When you’re alone with your thoughts, what do you think of the most?
I don’t want to live a mediocre life. I don’t want to be average or ordinary. I don’t want to be put in a box, or a cage, or any other construction that constricts. I don’t want to be one of “those guys”. I want to live a brilliant life. I want to burn. I want to shower my existence in a thousand cans of gasoline, and burn burn burn. And then towel off myself with a thousand tonnes of dynamite and just explode.
That’s what I want.