Sunday, October 30, 2005

Halloween: Nightmare Before Christmas

Halloween: Nightmare Before Christmas

Mummy, will you tell me the origin of the Halloween?
My beloved, what has darkness got to do with light.
You are a child of light and not one of the children of the midnight.
You must avoid all the evils that must not be seen.

My beloved, don’t forget the Word of God.
Lest you go astray in this oddly-wobbly world.

Do Not Be Yoked With Unbelievers:
14.Do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common? Or what fellowship can light have with darkness?
2. Corinthians 6:14 (New International Version.)

Yet, I will tell you the origin of this sin.
The fetish ritual of darkness
Burning ember in a hollowed out pumpkin.
Ghouls dancing round and round the cypress.

As told to me by the strange witch in the gothic hooded cloak
Who suddenly appeared with a Jack ‘O Lantern
At the very moment it struck 12 on my Grandfather’s Clock
She showed up in our tavern
She was amusing like the whimsical woman in a fable
Then she laid the ugly illuminated pumpkin on the table
And told me this horrifying and terrifying tale
As I listened, I became very feverish and pale.

This is based on an old Irish legend about the drunk, Jack. One day he was out in the woods and tricked Satan into a tree to throw down some fruit. Once Satan had helped him he carved a cross into the tree and trapped him there. He then struck a deal that Satan would leave his soul alone when he died. This backfired when he died since heaven would not take him either. When he kept bothering the Devil to let him in the Devil gave him a burning ember instead. He carried the ember in a hollowed out turnip (sometimes described as rotton) to light his way as he wandered through eternal darkness on the earth. Eventually this was replaced with the pumpkin in America and became the modern Jack-o-Lantern
Jack-o-lantern - the genesis

According to Rees & Rees, the folks who were abroad in the night imitating the fairies would some- times carry turnips carved to represent faces. This is the origin of our modern Jack-o-lantern. It became popular as house decorations in the United States after immigrant Irish discovered how much easier pumpkins were to carve than turnips, unleashing what has turned into quite an art form in the last decade or so. This later assumed a spooky touch, especially when the glowing faces appear from the darkness.

So my dear son, beware of the nightmare before Christmas.

Saturday, October 29, 2005

Looking For Jake

Saturday, October 29th, 2005.

Looking for Jake: Stories by China Mieville.
A Review by Doug Brown.

If you haven't read China Miéville's rich, wonderful Perdido Street Station, stop reading right now, get a copy, and read it. I mean it.

I mean it. He has an amazing ability to create dystopian worlds where things are somehow off-kilter, populate the worlds with strange and fascinating characters, add a dollop of chaos and entropy, and let them careen where they will, with steam and oil spurting out from the ill-fitting seams. Calling his work science fiction doesn't really describe it; it's more events taking place in worlds that are distinctly other, and yet somehow not. Looking for Jake is a collection of fourteen stories that should appeal to anyone who sees the world through a glass darkly. The title story is about a man suddenly alone in a world still populated with people. "Foundation" is about a building inspector who listens to the bodies of those buried under the world. "Familiar" is about a witch who truly creates a familiar, an oozing blob of flesh that learns about the world by sucking it in and incorporating what it needs.

"Reports of Certain Events in London" is a collection of papers from an organization who studies feral streets, lanes which move about at their whim. "Details" concerns a woman who one day realizes the devil really does live in the details. In "Different Skies" a man buys an antique window that looks out onto a different London than his other windows. "Jack" is the only story which takes place in New Crobuzon (the world of Miéville's previous books Perdido Street Station, The Scar, and Iron Council), a tale of Jack Half-a-Prayer. "On the Way to the Front" is a short graphic-novel story, a cryptic tale of soldiers on public transportation.

Miéville creates fantastic images that sear and scar and gnaw. Here's a sentence from the story "Looking for Jake": I've seen the trains go by with howling faces in all the windows, too fast to see clearly, something like dogs, I've seen trains burning with cold light, long slow trains empty except for one dead-looking woman staring directly into my eyes, en route Jesus Christ knows where. Or this from "Familiar": It found a nest of mice and examined their parts. Their tails it took for prehensile tentacles; their whiskers bristled it; it upgraded its eyes and learned to use ears. It compared what it found to dust, blades, water, twigs, fish ribs, and sodden rubbish: it learned mouse. Or from "Details": It lurks before us, in the everyday. It's the boss of all the things hidden in plain sight. Terrible things, they are. Appalling things. Just almost in reach. Brazen and invisible.Two UK-isms that I had to look up: A "Wendy House" is the UK term for those little playhouses that a couple of kids can fit inside of, commonly found on playgrounds and in the playrooms of malls and fast food establishments. It is named after the scene in Peter Pan when the Lost Boys build a little house around Wendy. A "crèche" is what is called a nursery in America, particularly a day-care type nursery.As with any story collection, there are a couple of entries that don't have quite the impact of others. However, this is overall a very solid collection of really good stories. I was a bit afraid this would be a collection of "formative early works" just to cash in on Miéville's newfound celebrity, but no worries. If you loved Perdido Street Station, then get this. Each story creates a world as different and other as New Crobuzon. Call it fantabulist, call it supernatural noir, or just call it damn good imaginative writing, China Miéville has given us another pulsating lump of snaggle-toothed gold.

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Friday, October 28, 2005

Olamide: We Cannot Say Goodbye!

Olamide Elizabeth Adeyooye
We thought you would be found alive and well
But, the worst news is what we received from Mississippi.
The depth of our sorrow words cannot tell.
That your Space would be left empty on My Space
For nobody can take your place.

Olamide Elizabeth Adeyooye
How can we believe that you would be lost from this wicked world forever?
But we believe that wherever you are now, you are safer in the hands of our creator.
Oh! Olamide! Olamide!! Olamide!!!
The beloved of the father and family.
The joy of all and sundry.
The memories of you will linger

Olamide, I will light a candle for you in my heart.
The candlelight that will never go out
For the flame of your spirit will continue to glow in transit.
Olamide! Olamide!! Olamide!!!
We cannot say goodbye!

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Veronica: Dark Beauties

by Mary Gaitskill
Dark Beauties
A Review by Anna Godbersen

Make no mistake: Veronica, Mary Gaitskill's darkly gorgeous second novel, is about a friendship between two women that endures through sickness and health, but it is not that sort of novel about a friendship between women enduring through sickness and health. For one thing, there's not all that much health; when the book opens, Veronica has already died of AIDS, and Alison, the narrator, is suffering from hepatitis C and a variety of other ailments. Their friendship began when they were both working the nighttime proofreading shift, but the real beginning of their friendship was Veronica's illness. And then there is Alison's past as a runaway and then a model, complete with bowls of cocaine and borderline-abusive sex ("being torn open felt like love to me"). Their friendship was not a warm and fuzzy one; Veronica (prissy, anal, loud-mouthed) is often embarrassing to Alison, and Alison finds herself only intermittently able to help her friend manage her disease. The New York/Paris/California of this novel is, in fact, a world in which it is very hard to know anyone, what with the suits they button themselves up in.

The present-tense part of this novel is set in the Bay Area, sometime around now, over a single day in which Alison, now in her mid-forties and not in the best shape, cleans an old friend's office for extra money, and takes a walk. But Veronica is mostly set in memory. It is a glittering mindscape, composed as much of the kind of perfect sentences you would expect from the author of classic eighties minimalist stories ("A whine comes into my voice, like an animal showing its ass"), as bizarre twists of the imagination. These are the fantasies that breed in glamour's shadow; this is the mind watching the body (beautiful, absurd, sad, funny) fall apart.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Oh, Yulia!

The inscription above is lines from the Ukrainian song. It reads "...Why is the braid undone and why does tear shine on the eyes..."

Oh, Yulia!
The love I confess
Is not the love your people profess.
For they want you to let your hair down
And to strip you stark naked on the lawn
They even want you to dance naked in the Independence Square
All in the liberties of laissez-faire?
Laissez-faire, laissez-passer,"
"let things alone, let them pass".
And let the lion abandone the lioness?
But my fair Lady, how can you let your braid undone?
And let things alone?
Am I no longer your champion?
Can their uproar be comapred to the roar of the lion?
Oh, Yulia!

Monday, October 24, 2005

No Kisses and No Roses Today, only Pushing Up Daisies

No kisses and no roses today
No orchids to give away.
Only pushing up daisies
Where teardrops bathe the faces
Of the wailing mourners thronging the ruins
I cannot bear the acrid smell of their charred remains.
Then I saw the severed hand clutching the bouquet.
Clutching the bouquet of white roses
Lifeless hand clutching roses among the corpses.
Then, I saw the crumpled sheet of white paper in the grass.
I picked it up and I read:
"Wild Daisies:by Bub Bridger (Ngati Kahungunu),
"Up Here on the Hill", Mallinson Rendel, Wellington, 1989.
If you love me
Bring me flowers
Wild daisies
Clutched in your fist
Like a torch
No orchids or roses
Or carnations
No florist's bow
Just daisies
Steal them
Risk your life for them
Up the sharp hills
In the teeth of the wind
If you love me
Bring me daisies
That I will cram
In a bright vase
And marvel at"
I was speechless.
There will be more bouquets
For there will be more caskets.
Crush the wreath.
Gnash the teeth.
And curse the earth.
But our love is stronger than death.

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Teardrops For Stella Obasanjo and 116 Others


I just returned from the Church.
I told my younger sister to call my cousin and as she spoke to him,
her face was suddenly contorted into a sad grimace.
She was in a state of shock.
My cousin told her the breaking news.
That Stella Obasanjo was dead.
She died after surgery in Spain.
Then the second tragedy that struck Nigeria is the terrible news of the plane crash that claimed the lives of over 115 people.
All the people on the Bellview plane died.
Nigeria mourns.
May God comfort the bereaved families of all those who lost their precious lives in the plane crash and may God comfort the husband of Mrs.Stella Obasanjo, President Olusegun Obasanjo of Nigeria.

Saturday, October 22, 2005

Nora Roberts' "Blue Smoke"

I am recommending Nora Roberts'"Blue Smoke" for the weekend. I will see you all on Monday. Have a great weekend.
Nora Robert.
"Romance will never die as long as the megaselling Roberts keeps writing it." --Kirkus Reviews

Nora's Book Tour Ends Today.
Nora in the Garden of Red Lily.
Blue Smoke
by Nora Roberts
0399153063 (More details...)
Available at:Powells in Hard Cover, Audio Cassettes and CDs.

Synopses & Reviews
"Romantic suspense queen Roberts (Blue Dahlia, etc.) lights up Baltimore's Little Italy with this appealing story of love, family, food and arson. Eleven-year-old Reena Hale, watching her family's restaurant go up in flames, decides to become an arson investigator. The fire shapes another child's destiny, too, as Joey Pastorelli sees his father go to prison for setting the blaze.

Reena's close-knit Italian family rebuilds; Reena grows up and completes police and firefighter training. Despite inheriting her mother's good looks, Reena proves unlucky in love, mainly because her beaux tend to die in fires, but her fortunes look up after she meets hunky carpenter Bo Goodnight. Bo gets along with Reena's family, friends and co-workers, and handles the demands of her career with patient humor, so nothing stands in their way — except an obsessed, pyromaniac stalker determined to kill any man Reena loves. Although it does take Reena an inordinately long time to identify her nemesis, Roberts portrays investigative procedure more accurately than her many imitators. Well-sketched supporting characters with potential subplots of their own suggest that the prolific Roberts will put her feet to the fire again.
Main selection, the Literary Guild and Doubleday Book Club. (Oct.)"
Publishers Weekly (Copyright Reed Business Information, Inc.)

The blaze that night at her family's pizzeria changed young Reena Hale's life. Now as a fire investigator, she tries desperately to trace the origins of the taunting phone calls she's receiving, the fires, and the hatred aimed in her direction. In doing so, she will step into the worst inferno she has ever faced.

Friday, October 21, 2005

The Mystery of Life and the Mystery of Women and Why I love Women

18.There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not:

19.The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.

20.Such is the way of an adulterous woman; she eateth, and wipeth her mouth, and saith, I have done no wickedness.
-Proverb 30:18-20

Without women I wouldn't be here today. But, God made them blessings to my life.
First, my mother.Who knew I am God sent. Next, Nikky who understood my Art, but not my spirit. And Somina who was the fire of my romantic desire.

Women are not ordinary humans. If you don't know this, then you don't know God.
Even in the Holy Bible. Women are as described in Proverb 30:18-20 a mystery when it comes to love.

There are women I have lost, because I left them at the mercy of men who never knew this truth.

It is a curse to beat your wife.
In Nigeria, it is an abomination to hit a pregnant woman.
There was a true story where some notorious armed robbers and ritual killers murdered so many people on a public transport bus and raped all the women, except a Christian sister who they mistook for a pregnant woman. They spared her life. They thought she was pregnant. I will tell you the full story later.

Only God can save me from the love I have for women and children.
The world would have been a better and safer place if women were in power all over the world. Men cause wars, but the women suffer the worst consequences of wars and crimes.I know what my beloved mother and millions of other Nigerian women suffered during and after the bloody Nigerian civil war. And I know the nightmares she endured after my father's death until the day she died.

Believe it or not, the world is in such a mess today, because men have raped women. And these abused women cursed mankind. So, we men have to repent. And ask God to forgive us for the crimes and atrocities we have committed against women for centuries.

Do you know that Osama bin Laden violated a woman? Before he became the number one enemy of America.
Find out the truth about their prophet Mohammed and his 9 years old bride.

There are mysteries I have to reveal to you that will make you understand women and how they are the key to the future of humankind.
No wonder my Lord and Master, Our Messiah Jesus Christ treated them with utmost love and respect. And they stood by him till the end. No wonder Mary Magdalene was the first human to see Jesus Christ after his resurrection. And where were the men?
They went fishing!
And what did Jesus Christ tell them when he saw them fishing.
"Without me, you can do nothing."

I love women and God loves me for loving them. And just leave me alone with them. Only God understands our mystery.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

Men Behaving Heartlessly

A Primitive Heart: Stories by David Rabe
Men Behaving Heartlessly
A Review by Anna Godbersen
The primitive heart of the title refers, literally, to the not-yet-fully-formed organ of an ill-fated fetus, but all the characters in Hurlyburly playwright David Rabe's story collection are suffering from emotional malfunctions that render them less than fully human. Take Daniel, the father of the unborn child, who always did the sort of things male characters ensconced in "muscular prose" do (in a flashback, pre-pregnancy confession of infidelity, he "demanded details, received them, then broke several pieces of furniture"). But with his wife's pregnancy imperiled, he goes beyond garden-variety alienation, turning from her to the comforts of scientific fact and lucrative stock trades. And then there's Red, a down-on-his-luck Lear jet pilot ("depressed, but not the way assholes or sissies get depressed"), who spends thirty pages hell-bent on reclaiming a debt and spending it at a strip club. Red favors triples of bourbon, but in A Primitive Heart, he is not alone in this. There is plenty of blood, shit, and piss in these lengthy, multi-chaptered tales. Some of it is even conjured with a brilliant sense of the absurd. But too often Rabe's stories, and his characters, get mired in their own flat, meandering toughness. This collection reads like a series of good lines in want of an actor, or two, who could lend them just a little bit of heart.

About the Author
David Rabe is the author of Hurlyburly, Those the River Keeps, A Question of Mercy, Streamers, In the Boom Boom Room, The Basic Training of Pavlo Hummel, and other plays, as well as screenplays and the novel Recital of the Dog. He is the recipient of a Tony Award and three Hull-Warriner Awards for playwriting.


Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Linda Ikeji: The Highest Paid Model In Nigeria Practices Abstinence

The highest paid model in Nigeria Linda Ikeji and I had a serious conversation this morning on abstinence. Because, she practices abstinence and she has not known any man since she was born.

She has several suitors from within Nigeria and abroad. But, she has not made up her mind And at 25, her parents want her to be considering the right suitor like the ideal man in my forthcoming book “A Suitable Suitor.”
“I want you to wait till after the launching of your magazine in November. Not after your appearance on Oprah,” I said as we discussed on the phone as the rain was falling on Bonny Island.

She mentioned a local celebrity in Nigeria, who is an African-American DJ on a popular FM radio station on Victoria Island in Lagos.
“Don’t you like him?”
She wanted my opinion.
Well, I told her to hold on till December.
“I want to marry and have children.”
“Yes. You will marry and you will have children. But at the right time to the right man.”
I don’t want any man to take advantage of her. And just include her on his “Hit List”.You know the playboys, Casanovas and players who sleep with girls and ladies and discuss them in their men’s clubs and pubs only to make fun of them. And then go after the next target. Just another trophy to show off to their buddies and rivals. I advised her that with her degree in English and flourishing Black Dove Models and Events Management company, no man can bluff or rebuff her.As Bishop Ajayi Crowther said,” Only the best is good enough for us.”
“Linda, you are a role model to millions of young girls and young ladies in Nigeria as an exemplary young lady who is very disciplined and God fearing and establishing your career without sleeping and messing around with men. So, you should not tarnish your highly esteemed reputation as a bright, young and enterprising Nigerian youth worthy of emulation.”
She agreed with me and I thanked God.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Labour of Love

I am not feeling too bright.Because, I told someone that the very important message she sent me to be circulated would be live on line on Kisses & Roses this morning. But, I lost the text of the message. And I did not save it. So, I have to ask her to send me another copy.

If things happen to upset my promises to people, I become upset. Because, I like keeping my word.

I also attended to a very important assignment before attending to my blogs this morning. I visited about ten other blogs. Carine's blog, Zuhrtime Soliloquy, Aderemi's Notebook, Aba Boy, Timbaland, Afrotecnik, Bayosphere and others.
I review blogs for some projects and I am am wondering if this labour of love will not become too much burden to bear.

Again, people are asking me to help them get employment at the Nigeria LNG on Bonny Island in the Niger Delta of Nigeria. And in the congestion, a young lady called me and I forgot to remember her name. She was not happy about it. I forgot her name!
Actually, I don't make pleasure calls. No relationship and no strings. Only Adam as at present. Enjoying the bliss of my Garden of Eden. And when Eve comes now, that old Serpent will no doubt show up to try his evil schemes.

Last Sunday, we went out to preach the good news and God gave two new converts. Pius and Philip, two humble carpenters. Remember, Jesus helped Joseph who was a carpenter.

I love evangelism. That is the last commandment Jesus Christ gave us before his ascension. To go into the world and make disciples of all nations. And I love it all.

God bless.

Monday, October 17, 2005

The Rape of Judah

The Rape of Judah
“Zion heard and was glad: and the daughters of Judah rejoiced, because of thy judgments, O Lord.”
Psalm 97:8

Oh, my beloved virgin
Virgin daughter of Zion
Oh, virgin daughter of the Lion of the Tribe of Judah
Oh, beloved of the daughters of Ramah.
For how long should I continue to sing this song?
This song of travail I have been singing all night long.
This song of lamentations
The lamentations of our tribulations
The tribulations of our retributions
The retributions for our abominations.
For the accursed children of Hagar
Have done worse abominations in Zion
Than even what Prince Amnon
Did to his sister Princess Tamar
For which Prince Absalom slew his brother
For raping his beloved virgin sister
And fled to Geshur to escape from the wrath of their father.
For King David became livid and sought to judge his son in anger.

Oh, daughters of Judah!
Will you be among the chosen ones on the last day?
When millions of you have gone astray
In the flight of Aliyah עלייה;
Like the five foolish virgins who missed the wedding feast
Because, they were not prudent.
You ask me, “Son of Kush. Why do you weep?”
“Why have you woken us from our sleep?”
I weep for the rape of Judah
In the desolations in Gazah.

Saturday, October 15, 2005

David Rakoff on Oprah and the Rest of Them

The world knows all about Oprah. Except for the primitive natives in Central Africa and the Amazon jungle who have no TV and no Internet and so Oprah could sound like an ET to them. But the rest of us on line must have either seen Oprah smiling at us from our TV and computer monitors or on the pages of our glossy magazines giving away brand new cars to over 200 members of her audience on her celebrated Oprah Winfrey Show. Of course, I am one of the millions of her fans and among those being hosted on her popular web site Oprah.Com where my Gratitude journals are published. But who is David Rakoff? I found out that he is one controversial reporter who likes to make fun of the indignities of our dignitaries. Please, read more on David and his latest book.
Don't Get Too Comfortable: The Indignities of Coach Class, the Torments of Low Thread Count, the Never- Ending Quest for Artisanal Olive Oil, and Other First World Problems
by David Rakoff

A Review by Gerry Donaghy

In one of the more absurd events of the late summer, a feud erupted between television's self-help doyenne Oprah Winfrey and Paris boutique Hermès. It seems that she was mad that she wasn't admitted to the store when she arrived, fifteen minutes after its posted closing time, when she could see that there were still shoppers inside. Was she snubbed because she was black? Was she snubbed because the store was in fact closed and she, like everybody except for the private party that was arranged in advanced, would just have to come back tomorrow? Was she snubbed because she was American? Suddenly it seemed as if Oprah's legions could only talk about one thing: whether or not they should shop Hermès because of the store's behavior. If it happened to Oprah, it could happen to me, her fans were suddenly thinking.

What never got mentioned was the fact that for the vast majority of Oprah's fans, this would never, ever happen to them. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that with a handful of exceptions, Oprah's audience couldn't afford to go to Paris to shop at Hermès. The level of outrage registered by the national press on this non-issue was astounding. This wasn't people drowning in New Orleans and it wasn't a war or an increase in gas prices. This was a woman who could buy and sell most us for chump change not getting her way, and that somehow became part of the public discourse on race and injustice.

Most of the essays in David Rakoff's Don't Get Too Comfortable focus on this venal, materialistic type of self-absorption. In a world where your targets are both the kind of people who would pay over $13,000 to fly the Concorde or those who would spend all morning lurking around Rockefeller Center to sniff Al Roker's fame, this kind of drive-by character assassination is like shooting fish in a barrel. What elevates these essays from mere bitchiness is Rakoff's piquant banter. Not content to merely point out the obvious, Rakoff gleefully piles well-coined invectives on top of each other to deliver mini-masterpieces of indignation.

And the inkwell for Rakoff's poisoned pen seems to be bottomless. There isn't a soul incapable of violating his sense of propriety (save for a woman who wouldn't let him use her cell phone as he walked the streets of Manhattan on September 12, 2001, which he found reassuring). After all, what kind of people would pay good money to fly the Concorde or Hooters Air, or pay $18 a pound for sea salt harvested in France, or pay to see The Puppetry of the Penis? These are people who either have a taste for the finer things in life but can't afford them and will buy into whatever level they can, or people who can afford them but have no clue what they are. Or, as Rakoff puts it, in describing a dining experience, "It takes an exceptionally fine tongue and palate, you must admit, to appreciate a dessert of a single date."

Rakoff's wit is fast, furious, and merciless -- responding to a New York Times food critic on her ecstasy over the eighteen-bucks-a-pound sea salt, he responds: "What has (she been doing) to add some savor to her food? Licking undeveloped Polaroids?" When addressing Barbara Bush's comments on seeing the flag draped coffins of fallen servicemen and -women from Iraq, Rakoff reminds the reader that someday "we will undoubtedly see photographs of her flag draped coffin." Upon meeting Karl Lagerfeld while covering the supercilious world of couture, Rakoff is asked, "What can you write that hasn't already been written?" Rakoff's answer:

He's absolutely right, I have no idea. I can but try. The only thing I can come up with right now is that Lagerfeld's powdered white ponytail has dusted the shoulders of his suit with what looks like dandruff but isn't....seated on a tiny velvet chair, with his large doughy rump dominating the miniature piece of furniture like a loose, flabby, ass-flavored muffin over-risen from its pan, he resembles a Daumier caricature of some corpulent, overfed, inhumane oligarch drawn sitting on a commode, stuffing his greedy throat with the corpses of dead children, while from his other end he shits out huge, malodorous piles of tainted money. How's that for new and groundbreaking, Mr. L.?

However, the author isn't purely mean-spirited in his ranting and raving. Rakoff has a heart, and he's vexed by the endless American pursuit of bigger, flashier, or faster in areas that don't really need it. He writes:

Surely when we've reached the point where we're fetishizing sodium chloride and water, and subjecting both to the kind of scrutiny we used to reserve for choosing an oncologist, it's time to admit that the relentless quest for that next undetectable gradation of perfection has stopped being about the thing itself and crossed over into the realm of narcissism so overwhelming as to make the act of masturbation look selfless.

Don't Get Too Comfortable is a gratifying reading experience for the misanthrope in all of us. Rakoff has a style and wit that is appropriately cruel towards its deserving targets. If you actually enjoy foie gras, performance art, or stalking celebrities, you'll probably miss the joke and would be much happier reading either Architectural Digest or Us magazine.


Friday, October 14, 2005

Your Majesty

Psalm 122
1. I was glad when they said unto me,
Let us go into the house of the Lord.
2. Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem.
3. Jerusalem is builded as a city that is compact together.
4. Whither the tribes go up, the tribes of the Lord, unto the testimony of Israel, to give thanks unto the name of the Lord.
5. For there are set thrones of judgment, the thrones of the house of David
6. Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: they shall prosper that love thee
7. Peace be within thy walls, and prosperity within thy palaces.
8. For my brethren and companions’ sakes, I will now say, Peace be within thee.
9. Because of the house of the Lord our God I will seek thy good.

The Holy Spirit manifested the greatest love of all to King David and King David did not realize it when God revealed Jesus Christ to him in the Psalms. God fulfilled His vows to King David in Jesus Christ the greatest love of all.

The Holy Spirit Has inspired me to compose many songs in honour of God. And "Your Majesty" below is one of the most awesome of them all.


Your Majesty
Lord Almighty
Supreme Authority.


All glory, honour and power
Belong to you.
King of Kings
And Lord of Lords.

You reign
Yes you reign
Jesus Christ you reign
You reign forever and ever!

Your Majesty
Lord Almighty
Supreme Authority.


I have come to fellowship
And I have come to worship
I bow down to you
And I surrender to you.

You reign
Yes you reign
Jesus Christ you reign
You reign forever and ever!

Your Majesty
Lord Almighty
Supreme Authority.


Oh, my Lord and my God.
The First and the Last
The Alpha and the Omega
I worship you.

You reign
Yes you reign
Jesus Christ you reign
You reign forever and ever!

Your Majesty
Lord Almighty
Supreme Authority.


AUGUST, 2004.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

She Loves Beethoven and I Love Rock 'n' Roll

She is always seen with her violin
She walks as if she is afraid of stepping on the ants.
I welcomed her with my knight-errant grin
With my left hand hidden in the right pocket of my denim pants.
May I play something from Beethoven?
She is so divine as she confessed to me, a virgin.
I nodded and she brought out the sheet
With all the notations on it.
And she smiled as she played.

Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)

Then, she showed me his picture.
She regarded him with glints in her beautiful brown eyes.
Should I play you a record?
Is it Classical or Jazz?
No. It is Rock music.
She made a funny face as she nodded.
The screaming guitar and screaming singer hit her eardrums.
She grimaced as if she was enduring some pains.
I have to go. We have to perform Handel's "Messiah" this Christmas.
I grinned as I escorted her to the Morocco Bus Stop.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Every Man Loves A Virtuous Woman

Pastor Bimbo Odukoya of Nigeria is the role Model of The Virtuous Woman.
For the Virtuous Woman deserves also a Virtuous Man.

"10: Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies.
11: The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil.
12: She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.
13: She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands.
14: She is like the merchants' ships; she bringeth her food from afar.
15: She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens.
16: She considereth a field, and buyeth it: with the fruit of her hands she planteth a vineyard.
17: She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms.
18: She perceiveth that her merchandise is good: her candle goeth not out by night. 19: She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff.
20: She stretcheth out her hand to the poor; yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy.
21: She is not afraid of the snow for her household: for all her household are clothed with scarlet.
22: She maketh herself coverings of tapestry; her clothing is silk and purple.
23: Her husband is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the elders of the land. 24: She maketh fine linen, and selleth it; and delivereth girdles unto the merchant. 25: Strength and honour are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come.
26: She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness.
27: She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness.
28: Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her.
29: Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all.
30: Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the LORD, she shall be praised.
31: Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates" (Prov. 31).

Of course, every man loves a virtuous woman as described above from Proverb 31:10-31 of the Holy Bible. She is the dream of millions of men on earth. But, she is the most elusive of all women in the world. Why? Most of our women have lost the virtues of the Virtuous Woman in pursuit of "What a man can do, a woman can do it too." or some even claim that they can do it better. Because, most of the women who would have made perfect virtuous women have decided to become independent women who don't want to submit to their husbands or don't want to submit to the men. Because, they are earning more salary or have better positions than their husbands or men in their community or larger society. The Women of Substance and female CEOs of the world.
But, I believe there are still those who can humble themselves to be The Virtuous Woman.

But where is the Virtuous Man?
Because, if you desire the Virtuous Woman, you should also be willing to be her Virtuous Man.

Below is my recommended Book of the Week, "A Virtuous Woman" from

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

The Unseen and the Unspoken

There are words that cannot be spoken
Because there are feelings you cannot express by word of mouth.
Feelings felt only within the breath of the spirit of heaven
The spirit that gives life to the children of the earth.
The unborn child feels the pulse of this spirit
The spirit of the being in transit
The spirit of the invisible divinity
The divinity of the eternal trinity.

Monday, October 10, 2005

Please, Love Me Or Leave Me In Peace

Please, I plead.
Love is not by force or violence
So love me in peace.
How can you say you love me
And you batter me without mercy?
How can you say you love
And you leave me black and blue?
How can you say you love me
And you leave me in lurch?
How can you say you love me
And you tell me lies upon lies?
The same lies you tell the others
Can you swear that I am the only one you are kissing?
When, I have seen you kissing others in the park?
I don't want your kisses and roses anymore
Because, they are not from your heart of hearts.
How can you say you love me
And you make me regret ever loving you?
How can you say you love me
And you are so unfaithful to me?
Please, love me or leave me in peace.

Saturday, October 08, 2005

The Highest Tide: A Classic First Novel from Powells

The Highest Tide: A Novel
by Jim Lynch
ISBN:1582346054 (More details...)
Available at:Powells. See link above.
Synopses & Reviews
Publisher Comments:
A mesmerizing, allegorical, and beautifully wrought first novel about one boy's wonder with the sea during the summer that will change his life, and the lives around him.

One moonlit night, thirteen-year-old Miles O'Malley slips out of his house, packs up his kayak, and goes exploring on the flats of Puget Sound. But what begins as an ordinary hunt for starfish, snails, and clams is soon transformed by an astonishing sight: a beached giant squid. As the first person to ever see a giant squid alive, the speed-reading, Rachel Carson-obsessed insomniac instantly becomes a local curiosity. When he later finds a rare deepwater fish in the tidal waters by his home, and saves a dog from drowning, he is hailed as a prophet. The media hovers and everyone wants to hear what Miles has to say.

But Miles is really just a teenager on the verge of growing up, infatuated with the girl next door, worried that his bickering parents will divorce, and fearful that everything, even the bay he loves, is shifting away from him. While the sea continues to offer up discoveries from its mysterious depths, Miles struggles to deal with the difficulties that attend the equally mysterious process of growing up. In this mesmerizing, beautifully wrought first novel, we witness the dramatic sea change for both Miles and the coastline that he adores over the course of a summer — one that will culminate with the highest tide in fifty years.

"The fertile strangeness of marine tidal life becomes a subtly executed metaphor for the bewilderments of adolescence in this tender and authentic coming-of-age novel, Lynch's first. As a precocious, undersized 13-year-old living on the shore of Puget Sound, in Washington State, Miles O'Malley has developed a consuming passion for the abundant life of the tidal flats. His simple pleasure in observing is tested and complicated over the course of a remarkable summer, when he finds a giant squid, a discovery that brings him the unwelcome attention of scientists, TV reporters and a local cult. Meanwhile, Miles's remote parents are considering a divorce; his best friend, Florence, an elderly retired psychic, is dying of a degenerative disease; his sex-obsessed buddy, Phelps, mocks his science-geek knowledge; and his desperate crush on Angie Stegner, the troubled girl next door, both inspires and humiliates him. Events build toward the date of a record high tide, and Miles slowly sorts out his place in the adult world. While occasionally Lynch packs too much into a small story, this moving, unusual take on the summers of childhood conveys a contagious sense of wonder at the variety and mystery of the natural world. Agent, Kim Witherspoon. (Sept.)" Publishers Weekly (Starred Review) (Copyright Reed Business Information, Inc.)

"On land, the rickety plot could have used some shoring up....But when Miles is on the water, Lynch's first novel becomes a stunning light the poetic fireworks Lynch's prose sets off as he describes his clearly beloved Puget Sound. A celebratory song of the sea." Kirkus Reviews.

"Lynch offers beautiful descriptions filled with quiet passion....Unfortunately, when it comes to [Miles's] sexual awakening, the novel declines into juvenile mediocrity that contrasts sharply with the remainder of this exquisite tale." Library Journal.
"The Highest Tide is a plunge into sustained and intelligent wonder. Jim Lynch creates a richly tumultuous world on a microcosmic stage. His characters and events are as complex and surprising as the sea that surrounds them. He's got me re-reading Rachel Carson and itching for tide pools of my own." Katherine Dunn, author of "Geek Love."
"In The Highest Tide, Jim Lynch has written a masterful first novel, gracefully weaving together the wonders of the sea and the wonders of our humanity. Seeing the world through the eyes of his narrator, Miles O'Malley, is to see the world with a rapturous freshness that is, it seems to me, the essence of a fine book. This is an exciting debut. I can't wait to see what Jim Lynch does next." Robert Olen Butler, Pulitzer Prize—winning author of A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain.
"Jim Lynch has written a breathtakingly beautiful first novel. At its core is a fabulous metaphor, rising from the ocean to wrap around his painful story with all the brilliance and mystery of life. That is a big statement. Lynch can carry its weight and then some." Martha McPhee, author of "Gorgeous Lies".
While the sea continues to offer him discoveries from its mysterious depths, such as a giant squid, a teenaged boy struggles to deal with the difficulties that come with the equally mysterious process of growing up.

About the Author.
Jim Lynch has won national journalism awards, published short fiction in literary magazines, and spent four years as the Puget Sound reporter for the Oregonian. A Washington state native, Lynch currently writes and sails from his home in Olympia, where he lives with his wife and daughter. The Highest Tide is his first novel.

Friday, October 07, 2005

The Road To My Village

Dear Lady Savage,
The road to my village
Is not like the road to Main Street
And it is not like the road to Park Avenue.
Will you still come?

The road to my village is not paved with stones
But you will see the footpath littered with bones.
Yes. The bones of the dogs we have eaten and forgotten.
Yes. We eat dogs and we also eat frogs.
We eat snakes and lizards too.

Don't be afraid Lady Savage.
There are no more cannibals in my village.
But we still eat monkeys though.
Ahaah! Please, my dear. Don't faint.
I thought you wanted to meet your future inlaws?

Thursday, October 06, 2005

If Only We Could Live The Children's Way

If only we could be like children
Children bear no malice or prejudice
Children act with caprice but without avarice
Until we corrupt them with our evil burden.

See the children play
See how they smile and giggle
See how they laugh and mingle
If only we could live this way.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Let Your Tears Drop In My Palms

Let your tears drop in my palms
As the rain drops on the petals of the Hibiscus
Let me feel the essence of your pains
In the molecules of your tears
Like the ether of Niobe as she weeps.

For these tears are the teardrops of a bleeding heart
The bleeding heart of your angst
The angst of your storm and stress
As you wail entwined in the branches of the bald cypress.
But,only God can comfort you in your agony
The agony of your misery.
The misery that only God knows
But let your tears drop in my palms.

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

A Love Letter To The Novel

Thirteen Ways of Looking at the Novel by Jane Smiley

A Love Letter To the Novel
A Review by Marjorie Kehe.

I have always believed that the world can be divided into two broad categories: English majors and non-English majors. It doesn't matter that many people have never been anywhere near a college campus. You can still tell which group they belong to by asking one simple question: Why do you read? Non-English majors read to inform themselves. But English majors read because they like to.

However, as I was reading (and enjoying) Jane Smiley's "Thirteen Ways of Looking at the Novel", it occurred to me that there is a sizable third group that ought to be recognized as well. These could be called the über-English majors: people who, long after school is done, continue to read exactly the same kinds of books required in lit courses. They are often also book club-participants. For them, hurling themselves into weighty books is a pleasure that is most delightful when shared by others.It is to this group (and I admit to being one of them) that I most heartily recommend Smiley's lengthy meditation on the novel.It's an unusual concept for a pleasure read and it won't be for everyone. After all, for many people, reading a book with chapter titles like "What is a Novel?", "The Psychology of the Novel," and "The Origins of the Novel" will feel just like homework.But for the über-English majors among us, that will be exactly the point.

Smiley explains in the introduction how she came to write a 570-page examination of the novel as a form. It was 2001, the World Trade Center had just been destroyed, and she came to a dead end while working on her (since published) novel Good Faith.She decided to shut her laptop, walk away from her own novel, and devote herself instead to reading and enjoying 100 great novels by others. This book is the fruit of that experience.In addition to being a Pulitzer Prize-winning and widely read novelist herself (A Thousand Acres, Moo, The Age of Grief), Smiley spent many years teaching in college classrooms.So exposition on the novel comes naturally to her. Über-English majors will embrace this opportunity as they would the chance to reconnect with a favorite professor.It will allow them to imagine they're back in the classroom as they spend a few hours pondering questions like: Is "A Tale of Two Cities" really a "tale" instead of a "story"? Or, what is the distinction between "liberal" and "conservative" comic novels?

They will also get a chance to decide whether or not they agree with Smiley's provocative (although often unproven) statements about novels, such as "characters [in a novel] are always doing things in private that challenge the reader's sense of what is appropriate." (Always? Really? I'm still ruminating on that one.)Or her notion that the novel has fundamentally changed the institution of marriage by holding it up for closer examination. (I'd like to be convinced by this one.)There are also two chapters of advice for aspiring novelists -- wise and humane counsel that will more than justify the cost of the book for any would-be writers.But perhaps the greatest pleasure offered by this cross between a course syllabus and a love letter to the novel are the almost 300 pages at the end. They catalog the 100 novels Smiley read, her reasons for choosing them, and her reactions to them.Smiley offers this section to the reader saying, "I suggest that it be used like a trunk full of fabric samples or a box of costume jewelry -- it is not to be read through from beginning to end in search of a cohesive argument, but to be rummaged about in, in search of something interesting or striking.

"There are numerous pleasures to be had in Smiley's "trunk" which includes entries that will surprise all but the most exhaustive readers.First there is the familiar joy of taking a second look at favorites like Middlemarch and Anna Karenina.But there's also the more obscure pleasure of wandering through Smiley's comments on lesser known gems like The Makioka Sisters and The Death of the Heart.I came away from the list full of eager resolve: to finally pick up The Good Soldier, to reread The Once and Future King, and -- although I'm not entirely sure why -- to test And Quiet Flows the Don.English majors of all types will also enjoy the parlor game of totaling up the titles they have already consumed. (I made it to 45 but only by cheating a little: I'm pretty sure I never actually got more than halfway through The Red and the Black and while I have read three P.G. Wodehouse novels I'm not at all sure they were the ones she listed.)Smiley's project served its original purpose. She was ultimately able to return to and complete Good Faith.Now her book will have a shot at a different mission: reminding readers of the novel why they love their avocation.As Smiley puts it, "When a novel has two hundred thousand words, then it is possible for the reader to experience two hundred thousand delights, and to turn back to the first page of the book and experience them all over again, perhaps more intensely."No true reader really needs to be reminded of this, of course, but then again, why not?Marjorie

Kehe is the Monitor's Book editor.
Copyright © 1994-2005 · Terms of Use

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Where Do Babies Come From?

Where do babies come from?
From the womb?
So, we come from the womb and end up in the tomb?
And end of story?
And we are history?

Have you listened to the unborn child in the womb?
The unborn child even reacts to the Sound of Music!
Have you played Mozart for the cherubic baby in your womb?
Why not try it and tell me what you discovered.
Play Jazz, Rock and Classical music very close to your unborn baby
And see the reactions.
The discoveries will amaze you!

Where do babies come from?
From God or from us?
No sex, no baby?
But, where did the cells come from?

If your mother had terminated you before you were born
Would you be here today?

Saturday, October 01, 2005

Adaeze the First Daughter of the King (For Nneka of Nneka's World.)

Nneka's World

First daughter of the King
Why should I not sing?
Ehen! To sing your praise
The praise of our beautiful Princess
The praise of your beauty
The beauty of your royalty
The beauty of your grace
The royalty of your race
Princess of the princesses
The dream of the princes.

The royal hairdo of your crown
With the royal regalia of your gown
Make me swoon as you are walking tall
Like the Queen of England in White Hall.
But, you are the most beautiful of all.
Even Venus would have been jealous to behold your virtues
The virtues of our African treasures
The treaures of your glory
The glory of our awesome history.

Come First Princess of our Kingdom
Come Queeen of our maidens
Come to the sacred grove of our heirloom
Come to me the conqueror of the "Ogbanje" sirens
Come and let me put a new crown on your maiden head
The new crown of our new royal homestead
Come, my beautiful one
Come and be my princess and my queen.