Your name in my mouth


Part-broken, Part-whole

Where can I go with your name in my mouth?

It has sewn me shut with no word to offer.

I cannot, anymore, ask for a cup of tea,

Say hello when I pick up the phone,

Respond to my own name called out.

I am the dumb mute that denies the world.

To say the word, “I”

Would have me part my lips.

And I am too versed in the ways of you, love,

To surrender your name for my own.

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Rodent Parade

This poem!

V. Naa Takia

i have a whole room to myself.

yet, this is me crouching in one corner.

square rooms are prison cells.

they end everywhere.

can you smell the loneliness on my tired clothes?

sweat-drenched XXL Lacoste

made bed. too made to be lain in.

my mind is a gutter. all the waste gathers here.

it is a filthy, filthy place.

my memories are rats.

big ass rats gnawing into my brain.

last night was a rodent parade.

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On this side of things 2

The sometimes crushing anxiety that comes with being a parent. How it never ceases to be mind boggling that you are flesh of my flesh, literally, wholly and also. The sheer weight of knowing your life is in my hands…and I have to get it right. Last year, around this time I wrote this

Maybe your excruciating entry into this world is the price we pay for playing God… if so then I’ll pay it with all the humility I can master.

And so have I been humbled. Bringing you into this world was quite an experience, one that I loathe yet never wish to forget. I want to remind myself of the foolishness that took me to the brink of life and death, that made me think playing God would be ‘not so bad’. I want to remember that I was courageous enough to have you, so that I never forget the miracle that you are. Alive and well, breathing and growing, here you are now, on this side of things.

I want to always remember the rush of gratitude i felt when i first saw you, gratitude that we had made it through that horror. I want this gratitude to see me through the days the anxiety leaves me feeling like I’m in a chamber and life is nothing but echoes. May I always remember.

Image result for winnie the pooh life quotes

farewell, lyrical soldier #RIPMowzeyRadio #RIPMozeyRadio #RIPMoseRadio #RIPMosesRadio


AS usual, I am playing a Radio and Weasel song.

Today it’s for a very, very sad reason and I am playing every single one of their songs that I have in my collections – legal and pirated alike. It is going to take me hours, they have so many!

I even found myself going back to Facebook to post a message to my wall rather than rely on my weekly auto-posts from this blog.

#RIPMowzey FB Update(The wrong things about this death are so obvious I don’t feel like getting into them here and now.)

It’s been more than a decade since these young men burst into our ear drums to get our feet shuffling, hips swaying and mouths twisting in pretence that we could actually say those lyrics the way they did.

It didn’t matter what song they belted out, it HIT. I can almost trace events and people over…

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On this side of things

One day when you are old enough to realize that life on this side isn’t what it seems, I hope you’ll read this blog and realize Mom never quite figured it out either.

And I hope you’ll relate to some of it, afterall, I had you in mind when I started to write, leaving pieces of me on the vastness that is the internet..and maybe the world. I want you to know me before you. There’s a whole lot to know and I hope when you’re here we’ll have the kind of relationship where you know as much of it as I can bear to show.

I wish I knew what life on your side is like right now, all I feel are your strange movements. And I wonder, are you ‘saying’ something? Are you already a thinking, feeling being? Or is it all just random like most of life seems to be.

Whatever it is I wish I knew. It’s a curious thing, harboring a human. I think we play God when we snatch you guys from whatever place unformed beings exist, and bring you into life over here. With no explanation, no manual on ‘how to do life’ just our so called God given right to give life. And my are we lucky you don’t pop out asking ‘What is my purpose?’

Maybe your excruciating entry into this world is the price we pay for playing God… if so then I’ll pay it with all the humility I can master.

I only hope that life on this side of things will be kind to you, and make more sense to you than it has to me.


I am alone and it is no longer a thing my mother cursed me with.

Part-broken, Part-whole

I am alone and it is no longer a thing my mother cursed me with.

I am alone and it is a form of brokenness. Into the cracks, I pour gold. I am alone and it is a fact. Not good or bad. Not chosen or denied. It is a fact. I am alone. I sit with this.

I am alone but I can hear birdsong and the rustle of tree leaves whispering at sundown. Nights keep me company. Sometimes, the days too.

I am alone because I love a thing that is too far away. Like a star is far away. Visible, beautiful, and entirely necessary. But out of reach. You do not always get what you love. Sometimes you do not always want what you love. Other times, the opposite is true. And so I am alone.

I am alone because I live in a city where everybody…

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On time and friendships..

I’m not one to dwell much on my age or the passing years of my life. The nihilist in me can’t find the point in such thoughts. All I know is days roll into nights and nights into days, and so life goes, like the slow spin of a wheel. If you are a Dark Tower fan then you are familiar with Roland’s famous saying: Ka is a wheel and so it keeps turning.

For Roland Deschain of Gilead, everything in life was explained by this invisible force he called Ka, perhaps it was destiny, perhaps not. All he knew was that it was that inexplicable force that is the cause and effect of all things. He aptly called it a wheel, right in tandem with the troubled philosopher in the book of Ecclesiastes who once said:

What has been will be again,
 what has been done will be done again;
 there is nothing new under the sun.

And so as the wheel spins and time passes, what keeps me preoccupied if not my fading years, you ask? It is the people I have met in this said time. The different friendships that have come and gone. What comes to mind when I think of them is aptly described by my favorite dictionary:


That I was never really at risk of anything. Neither sacrifice nor loss. That just like the passing of time, which in itself is a thing so hard to grasp and touch and feel, so have been the relationships in my life.

The lingering question

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Oh the million number of times I’ve mulled over this subject! Both on this blog and in my personal everyday musings. The first time I wrote about this was here and other times,in different ways here and here. So yes I totally sound like a broken record on this. Searching for myself is like the common theme here, probably the heart of why I started writing.

My endless mental pursuit for meaning has led me inwards towards myself for an endless pursuit of who I really am…And it’s daunting. To my pleasant surprise I am not the only one who has tried to dig deeper into this subject. Countless psychologists, philosophers, neuroscientists have delved into the subject that is personality/ character.

Who are we and how do we become it? There seems to be a general agreement between some specialists that fixed personality is a myth, going by what’s written in this article Debunking the Myth of Fixed Personality sent my way by the brother.

As is expected from the brain pickings team,the sources quoted are ever so deep in ever so subtle ways. And beautiful too.

“Ongoing experience gradually transforms his (an infant’s) neural configuration, changing him from who he was into who he is, one synapse at a time. Emotional identity drifts over a lifetime — if fast and far enough, one might encounter a stranger’s heart where a friend’s or a lover’s once dwelt.”

A stranger’s heart where a friend or lover’s once dwelt…Ever think of all those people who once meant the world to you and now..You don’t even know where they are?

“Dream delivers us to dream, and there is no end to illusion. Life is a train of moods like a string of beads, and, as we pass through them, they prove to be many-colored lenses which paint the world their own hue… Temperament is the iron wire on which the beads are strung.”

When everything seems like an illusion,maybe it just is.

And lastly, the one I think strikes accurately the most is

“A man has as many social selves as there are individuals who recognize him.”

And it’s daunting to think that who we are to each other, and to ourselves,is but a glimpse into the vast variations of the hallways of our being.

PS: if you’d like to blow your mind further listen to this podcast which inspired this post, sent my way by my friend Joel😊


Ennui. I think many call it a mid life crisis when this feeling hits them.




  1. a feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest; boredom:

Others feel boredom and think that adding more work to their load will fix it. Others don’t feel this at all and those are the ones I envy. Whatever it is, you may find that nothing you do can take it away completely. A quiet discontent. That is what I call it.

But like every other disquiet that plagues my everyday, a good book and a deep song never fail to remedy it,if only for a time . I love to love music, i crush on lyrics, i fall in love with melodies and sometimes i blog about my favorite songs. Many times I have declared my love for books. So for me, these two things quiet my disquiets. They awaken in me whatever has gone to sleep.

I am in good company when it comes to the feeling of ennui. And she couldn’t have said it better.

You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book (Lady Chatterley, for instance), or you take a trip, or you talk with [someone], and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death.

 Anais Nin

Kindred spirits


I think people who love to read are my kindred spirits. And many a time i have found my kindred spirits tucked away in the books I read.

There is so much to read out there, sooo many books, soo many stories but I have always been drawn to fantasy and fiction. My life is filled with too much reality (duh). So books, my precious books are everything.

I am not a huge fan of the melodrama that is US politics, but I sure am a fan of anyone that loves books. Obama’s interview on what books mean to him was rather touching (yes i get emotional when it comes to such). He said everything i feel about reading in that eloquent way he has come to be known for and in so doing inspired this post.

Just the other day i was mulling over how the world is filled with so many stories and in this interview Obama sums it up nicely:

 Because when I got there, the guy who had hired me said that the thing that brings people together to have the courage to take action on behalf of their lives is not just that they care about the same issue, it’s that they have shared stories. And he told me that if you learn how to listen to people’s stories and can find what’s sacred in other people’s stories, then you’ll be able to forge a relationship that lasts.

He goes on to say something that is particularly close to my heart because this is how i feel about fiction and can never be ashamed of still buying novels at my old age 🙂

….because most of my reading every day was briefing books and memos and proposals. And so working that very analytical side of the brain all the time sometimes meant you lost track of not just the poetry of fiction, but also the depth of fiction.

Fiction was useful as a reminder of the truths under the surface of what we argue about every day and was a way of seeing and hearing the voices, the multitudes of this country.

The depth and truth I find in all the fiction I read cannot be understated. And beyond that is the poetry of these ghost characters that come alive only in the writer’s and reader’s mind. And boy am i grateful that writers choose to share these invisible lives with us. They’ve gotten me through many an existential angst filled day. In them I can find purpose vicariously.

In his own words:

Sometimes you read fiction just because you want to be someplace else.

For me it is all the time. And in the words of the interviewer. “Fiction leaps”

The poetry of fiction.