Free Xpresion

It took me a while but I'm finally here... Yes, I'm a skeptic. I know I said I didn't like labels, but this one suits me best. It just defines my greatest trait, my skepticism. For one, I am never sure of anything; not even gravity. I'm like 99.9% certain that if i jump out of the 4th floor window, I'll die; but I still have some iota of doubt. Similarly, I'm 99.99% sure that there is no god or gods, or if there were, they care less what happens to us as individuals or to the collective. With gravity, I have proof, borne from statistical and physical data. With the gods, same thing. The level of indifference to the suffering of individuals, groups and nations as shown by the (hypothetical) gods seems to be proof enough that only humans care about humans and empathy is not a trait of the god(s).  Suffice to say, the actions of those with god(s) on their side informs more to the narcissistic, ego-maniacal, apathetic nature of their supposed god(s) and the indiffe...

When I was three, I fell in love with a chicken. To be fair, it was more curios infatuation turned to unholy lust. I did not lust for Lucy's flesh, for that is what I called her, but for her attention. I will spend hours throwing down corn closer and closer to me, teasingly drawing her towards me. Lucy was my first "chick" and I had already learnt the greatest lesson of manhood as a child; if you have the "dough" the "chicks" will come. Then my mother did the cruelest of things and taught me my second lesson. She murdered Lucy when I was out with my sister. When we returned, I was served with the tastiest jollof rice and chicken I had ever had. Later that day, when I asked for Lucy, my mother told me to look in my stomach. I cried so loud and so long, I must have grown an extra lung. Lesson number 2 was, don't love anything or anyone that fits into your mouth. when i was six, i fell in love with a girl. to be fair, it was more a fascination with ...

I live on borrowed time in borrowed space.  These words I write are not even mine, in a tongue not even my own.  Words borrowed from different places juxtaposed to express my only true possession; my deepest sorrows, this permanent melancholy stained on my hopes, etched into the rims of my happiness. My zeal for life drowns in this ocean of despair and I'm left clutching at nothings as all I hold dear drags me down like an anchor into this bottomless abyss. Like a chain reaction, I go from thinking about life to Chernobyl in three point its over, and I'm left shaking, sweating in a fetal state as the radiation of fear washes over my core beliefs, mutating them into cancerous values. The imp I see constantly on my shoulders at these moments sound more convincing each time as he whispers into my left ear,  "Don't worry. To every problem there is a final solution". It won't be long now. After all, what difference would it make? Who cares? The reverbe...