Seeing this “system” collapse has been slightly comforting, but it is heartbreaking that so many people lost their lives for us to get here. People are still dying for this cause. At the end of it all, I’ll still be black. And my future children, regardless of my partner’s race, will be black. But maybe it will mean something different for their generation.
Spreading panic is a Nigerian pastime. Living in an environment of perpetual gloom, one can understand. But I don’t understand the motivation for the Nigerian behind a smartphone and bandwidths, who envisions the worst, whose Facebook post or tweet can cause his reader depression.
To colour is to accept that there are limits and bounds, that freedom is the deep end of a shallow pond and drowning is not a choice. That our liberties are normative and must issue from the collective fiat of convention, the healthy custom of the many against the wily tempest of the one. Liberty then is a prison of accepted conduct, a glazed casket waiting for us to die.
The Pain of Distance by Transpoesis/Andrea Grieder
What we see in the world depends much on the perspective – the world view – of the observer. Therefore: Where is the ocean? It is in the wink of your eye.
Interestingly, there is also a tendency of getting rid of Life counselling books: I Ching, Ancient Wisdom for Modern Decision-Making by Christopher Markert The Emotional Energy Factor by Mira Kirshenbaum
Isn't the poet, in his/her peculiar primacy, a rebel of circumstances? Doesn't the higher nature, that greater calling, allow some room for choice?
A poet isn't just a translator of artistic words. He is a sword but, sometimes, he is not afraid to become a little kitten left out in the cold. So, here is fear and pain.
As always, I come to you today with a problem: a crisis of thought, the long-term utility of embracing one’s passion on the one hand and the gnawing need for financial independence on the other. We have discussed both extensively enough to allow for a nuanced understanding.
We have had a drought for two years. I do not know about anywhere else, but southern Zimbabwe has held long patches of brown in December. Patches of brown where there should be maize fields. Patches of brown where the cattle should have been grazing. Patches of brown where entire rivers flowed not too long ago. Patches of brown where there should have been life.
