Monday, 6 June 2011

On Betrayal

Jude leaves the disciples on Sabbath evening for a night on the town. He’s tired of Peter and John being picked for all the special assignments, and is seriously considering handing in his Disciple’s Badge of Eternal Glory. Before that, however, he considers that all he might really need might be a chick, so he goes to ‘Ye Olde Jerusalem Inn’. He’s wearing his best Eb & Enezer robes (which he bought from cunning disciplary budget manipulations). In short, he is the bomb (unfortunately, incendiary devices have not been invented yet, so he doesn’t think of himself as that).
So he swaggers up to the bar and requests some Cana Wedding Wine (that shit just won’t finish). While he’s sipping the Jesus juice, a girl enters in. Jude’s drink begins to slip from his fingers. This girl is FINE. She looks round the bar and her eyes meet his. She disdainfully looks away and Jude serial kills (no he doesn’t go around killing people, he hangs his head dejectedly) and goes on sipping the wine. Being Jesus juice, it keeps on filling back up. He’s already stupid drunk when he sees two overlapping beauties coming towards him.
“Hi” they say.
“How’re y’all girls doing?” Jude slurs
A finger presses into his temple and he suddenly feels acutely sober. And empty. He looks up, suddenly alert, at the singular girl that had disdained him earlier.
“How’d you...?!”
“Be quiet and let’s quit this joint”
“Where d’you wanna go?”
“Your place, my place, anyplace but here”
“Well, I ain’t got a chariot, but my mule’s right outside” Jude says.
“Let’s go”
So they go to her house because Jude is so not into seeing any of the other disciples at the moment. She has some really trendy gear. Her water barrel’s made from the finest alabaster. Her recliners are in true Roman fashion – covered in fine damask. And she has a full length looking-glass! Damn this chick’s got it good, thought Jude. Fuck it I’ve got it good. (Not sure if the word ‘fuck’ had passed into general Judean lingo, but you get the idea.) How lucky can a guy get?
She went in for a shower (yeah I know, I know) while a servant washed Jude’s feet and led him to an already prepared table. Choice meats seasoned with the most exotic smelling spices adorned the table. Freshly baked bread stood beside a platter of equally fresh fruit. Jude couldn’t believe his luck.
She walked in. She was stunning, wearing a stola of woven wind, linen so sheer Jude could see her in her entirety through it. He was gobsmacked.
“You like?” she said, her voice dripping with lust. It was all he could do to bundle his garments over his rapidly expanding man-bits. He managed this and twisted in the recliner – ostensibly to make himself more comfortable, but she giggled so he knew she was well aware of her effect on him.
She sat at the table and they ate – or at least she did. Jude had trouble coordinating his numerous misbehaving faculties in the presence of this amazing woman. He realised he didn’t even know her name. He asked her and she just laughed at him.
“Even if I did tell you you’d forget it before morning”.
“Try me.”
She told him.
Then she jumped on him.
She felt even better than she looked. Her full soft breasts were tipped with rather large, very hard nipples. Jude called on distant memories of stories he’d heard when he was a lad, stories of how men were supposed to please women, the type of stories that were only spoken in hushed voices so that adults nearby wouldn’t overhear. He needn’t have bothered. She was an amazing lover, and all he had to do was follow her lead.
He was almost spent when she spoke again. She had straddled him, and was riding him roughly, those amazing breasts bouncing up and down uncontrollably.
“I need you to do something.”
“What?” Jude replied. At that point he would have done absolutely anything.
“Betray the teacher.”
“Huh?!” Anything but that.
“I know you’re tired of going around with him. All you have to do is tell the Pharisees where to find him – but it has to be before Pesach.”
“And what gives you the idea I’d ever betray the teacher?” Jude asked.
She ground him so deep into her that he temporarily left his body, looked at himself, made a victory sign and said “this is AWESOME!” before sinking back into himself. By this time he had poured himself out to her, physically and psychically, agreeing in his mind to her proposal without thinking it through. He was hers, and there was nothing he could do about it.
In later years Jude would probably wonder if there was any way he could have refused her. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. After Jude came, she continued to ride him until she was sated. Then she stood up and went to sit in her cathedra, before her looking glass, still gloriously naked, her skin suffused with the afterglow of passion. Jude looked up from his still prone position on the recliner and wanted another serving. He said so.
“First we must plan,” she said.
So they did.
I won’t bore you with what happened next, as you should know that story full well. Jude betrayed the teacher and walked away from the scene with 30 silver pieces and the girl of his dreams. Until the enormity of what he’d done hit him. He’d been with the teacher three years. In that time he’d learnt more about being good than he had in all the preceding years of his life. He’d become popular, and respected, and respect was something accountants rarely got.
And he’d betrayed the teacher over pussy. He suddenly felt a hole grow in his soul. Bigger and bigger it grew, until he could no longer think clearly. He couldn’t see what was in front of him. He ran back to the priests and threw the silver down in front of them. He was gone before they could say a word, running through the night. She was still with him. Teasing, taunting, urging him on.
“You killed him!”
Gone was the sultry seductress – this version of her accused him unabashedly. Her eyes were bulging, nostrils flared, lips pursed, arms akimbo. He realised he was terrified of her. He wanted her to go away, tried to hit her, but she wasn’t in front of him. She was in his head, his heart, his soul. He kept running.
The other disciples saw him. They weren’t together. They had scattered with the capture of the teacher, but they accused him just as bitterly as she had. Peter had screamed, James had yelled, John had cried, Bartholomew had cursed him, and each had railed at him as bad as the next. But none compared to her voice in his head. He wanted to tell her it was her idea, but he couldn’t bring himself to it. Guilt overwhelmed him. He ran into a field, tripped over a stone, split his head on a rock, and died.
She poured his glass of Cana wine over him, and lit him with a stare. Then she walked away, pitchfork in hand.


My stories usually go on my other blog, but since I've built up a sequence over there I don't want to break it. My next post is a story I started about two years ago and finally finished this evening.

Saturday, 7 May 2011

25 Question Tag

Got this from Myne Whitman. Pass it on...

1. Do you have any pets?

2. Name 3 things that are physically close to you.
Laptop, blackberry, HTML5 For Dummies (hope I get around to reading it).

3. What's the weather like right now?
No idea. I'm safely ensconced in my warm room. I guess it's a bit chilly outside though

4. Do you drive? If so have you crashed?

5. What time did you wake up this morning?
Around 7. I didn't roll out of bed until an hour and a half after though.

6. When was the last time you showered?
This morning.

7. What was the last movie you saw?
Thor. Great supporting cast - Chris Hemworth just had to be buff.

8. What does your last text message say?
It's a Direct Message alert. And the DM was spam anyway.

9. What's your ringtone?
It's called Zen. It's on because I can't be bothered to change it.

10. Have you ever been to a different country?
Erm... Yes. Born in London, raised in Lagos, been to France, Holland and Ghana.

11. Do you like sushi?
Raw fish? Please. I'm Nigerian. We like our food well cooked!

12. Where do you buy your groceries?
Sainsbury's. It's just down the road so I hardly bother to go anywhere else.

13. Have you ever taken medication to help you fall asleep faster?
No. I know I'll eventually sleep.

14. How many siblings do you have?
1 brother

15. Do you have a desktop computer or a laptop?

16. How old will you be turning on your next birthday?

17. Do you wear contacts or glasses?
Glasses, considering surgery.

18. Do you color your hair?

19. Tell me something you are planning to do today.
Sleep. Today's over.

20. When was the last time you cried?
Can't remember the last time I really cried, but I'm always shedding the odd tear. I'm often sad nowadays.

21. What is your perfect pizza topping?
Meh. I hardly have pizza.

22. Which do you prefer-hamburgers or cheeseburgers?
Neither. I usually go for a chicken burger.

23. Have you ever had an all-nighter?
Yep. Haven't in a while though. I once pulled an all-nighter to watch the entire American Pie series.

24. What is your eye color?

25. Can you taste the difference between Pepsi and Coke?
No. Don't drink either any more anyway.

Okay. That's me done. Over to you.

Wednesday, 30 March 2011

On FL Studio.

I was a rapper. Actually I am a rapper. I started rapping a quite a few years ago - more than a decade ago to be honest, but I didn't take it seriously for a while. When I did begin to take it serious I realised there was something I needed - beats. I had all these ideas in my head but they couldn't become songs until they had the boom-bap of  drums with a few notes laid over them now, could they?
I wasn't too bothered by my lack of instrumentation in those days, as I was still in school and saw music as something for a future which at that time seemed far far away. I ended up joining a group and becoming one of the main attractions in said group - for my un-rapper-like looks and my rapid, staccato delivery, a combination which still makes people go wow when they first hear me (the novelty wears off rather quickly though)
Anyway, we had a few beat courtesy of an in house producer (there wasn't in those days so we couldn't download beats to freestyle on), so we were doing pretty well. Then one day I saw our in-house producer at work (His name is WazBeat, and you ought to know him if you're a Naija music fan). He was using a piece of software called Fruity Loops, and I think it was version 3.5. I was fascinated.
Over the course of my time in Ife I started making beats - and WazBeats sort of drifted away from the group (he was never an active member, just our beat-source). So I became our in house producer. I cringe when I listen to the beats I made those days.
Fast forward a few years and I'm still using FL Studio, version 9 now. Version 10 just came out and I can't wait to get my grimy paws on it and go crazy with all the great new features. Things have really changed, and now I can't even remember life without Sytrus and Hardcore and all the external plug-ins I've added to it.
I guess what I'm trying to say is FL changed my life, and I must admit I'm grateful. To every mac-based producer who pours scorn on we lowly PC people I say thanks for your condescension, it's only made Image-Line stronger.

Try out the new FL Studio 10 - the latest FL Studio iteration. It just might be in you.


In a darkened crevice of my mind
There hides a ray of sunshine
A memory
A recollection of a time
When laughter came easy
And life was sweet
Well at least much sweeter than it is

In a darkened crevice of my heart
There hides a flicker of joy
A happiness
So different from this moodiness
Why won't it grow and fill my soul
Or is it me
That hides it from the sun?

In a darkened crevice of my spirit
There hides a spark of holiness
A zeal
A passion for the truth of God
A yearning to be like His son
And live for Him
And with him eventually eternally

Sunday, 27 March 2011

A Poem

I know not
Yet I continue to speak
Am I ignorant?
Is that what you think of me?
But stop to think
If I am ignorant and yet speak
Does it not tell you I do not care?

I feel not
Yet I tell you I love you
Am I a monster?
Is that what you think of me?
But stop to think
If I am evil yet you cling to me
Does it not tell you what you are?

I trust not
Yet you try to know my heart
Am I impossible?
But stop to think
If I can never trust you
Does it not tell you we can't be?

I am not
Not knower nor feeler nor truster
Do I even exist?
But stop to think
If I care enough to tell you all this
Does it not tell you that I love you?

Monday, 21 March 2011

On homophobia

Before I begin, let me say that this blogpost is about male homosexuality. I have no opinion on lesbians.
I'm homophobic. I just wanted to make that clear. But I don't hate queers, I mean phobia as "an irrational, intense and persistent fear of certain situations, activities, things, animals, or people". I'm terrified of being sexually assaulted by a dude. Nah scrap that. I'm terrified of even being chatted up by a dude. I get extremely uncomfortable. 
On the other hand I think people should and do have the right to shag whoever they please as long as the other party is in agreement. Just don't try to make me think I should like the idea that two dudes are 'doing the dirty', as one of my twitter followers so eloquently puts it.
Now I've made it perfectly clear I'm not gay or bisexual and am terrified of even accidentally becoming so. So I can move on.
It's weird the way we're fascinated with finding out who's homosexual or not. A few years back, a guy wearing skinny jeans would be classed gay, especially if he was black. It still happens once in a while. Now certain colours are associated with homosexuality. I'm as guilty as anyone - but now I have a valid reason to stop making that assumption.
I've always liked the colour purple, but recently it's become something of an obsession. I can't see a nice-looking purple item in a store and not think 'I want that.' So much so that I've acquired a number of completely purple outfits one item at a time, as well as my by now overlooked purple framed prescription glasses (which I recently stopped wearing for no reason).
Now I mention how much I like purple and I get called gay. That's frankly ridiculous. There is a tendency to ascribe a certain lifestyle to gay people, but funny enough the man who is probably the most well known homosexual in the world, Sir Elton Hercules John, doesn't live it. Neither do most actually gay people, if I'm correct. I only know of two people who I could take one look at and class gay. They're both effeminate and extremely affectionate, and they both insist they're not gay. I'm inclined to believe them, and the reason is simple - you're not gay until your penis has penetrated another man's anus or vice versa (I'm retching as I write this). That's just the crudest way of putting it. All I'm saying is, it's sexual activity that determines sexual orientation, and fashion, lifestyle, and other things can only vaguely point to one's true orientation. 
I've seen many comments on twitter about the song "I need a doctor". It's been labelled gay so much I almost started to believe it was. But that brings me to another thing. Can't men love one another? Can't you feel so strongly about a dude without having the slightest sexual thought about that person? And is it wrong to tell that guy how important he is, and how much you cherish his friendship without being labelled a fag? These are just questions I ask myself when I get uncomfortable when dudes say "I love you man". Society has made us even more homophobic than we were before gay rights activists started telling us to stop being homophobic. I mean, if David and Jonathan were alive today the whole world would be buzzing with gay rumours. "Isreali Prince professes love to War hero" would be a likely headline. Or "Royal bromance." to use a word I absolutely hate. What happened to just being really good friends? Some still say they were in a gay relationship and quote David as saying "very pleasant hast thou been unto me; wonderful was thy love to me, passing the love of women" (2 Samuel, 1:26). But is that any different from when modern black men say "homies over hoes"?
Anyway I don't expect you to be really interested in the way my mind works. However I do expect some of the more narrow minded of you to call me gay for writing this, and thus prove my point.