Monday, 17 November 2014

Android Time

Thursday, October 30th 2014
Prose
Android Time



The sluggish reminder of dawn peered through my heavy eyelids and I had no choice but to wake up. I rolled over towards the left side of my bed, feeling around for a phone and sure enough it made a loud beeping noise, twice, indicating the battery was low. I looked at the time, it was exactly 15 minutes until my alarm would go off.

4:00

…my screen read. I closed my eyes and waited for the alarm to go off.
I woke again but this time to the loud alarm ringtone and managed to swipe the screen to shut it off. A moment later I was hurriedly removing last night’s clothes, unstrapping my bra that had etched its way into my skin. I plugged my phone into the charger.

4%

The empty battery icon was soon filled with a white zig zag.
The shower. That’s all I required in that moment. The knob, that’s all I turned in that second, awkwardly reaching over for the shower head, minding my step in fear of slipping and pointed it towards the tiled wall. The humming vent, the ticking clock, a faint reminder of how monotonous and glum my shift would be and tried to focus on something else; a feeling, a thought.
I glanced at the turquoise, plastic clock that was propped up in the corner of the bathroom. The time was wrong but I made sense of the 20 minutes that had passed.

11:45

I made an exit for the bathroom.
---
Dressed for work, I wandered into the living room.The leather sofa was distressed by the weight of my bag. I sat on the arm rest. I peered at my phone.

73%

5:05

I adjusted my handbag against my shoulder, switched off the corridor lights and quietly closed the front door behind me. The street lights were not working on my street and the sky was a dark blue colour but clear, I could see Orion’s Belt at an angle, sitting perfectly in it’s usual position. I paused to struggle with my headphones and then soon continued to walk to the bus stop. The journey was longer today as the buses were on diversion. Standing at the temporary bus stop, I gazed at the storage building opposite me, the same woman was switching off a desktop on the third floor, I could see her through the window. I saw her occasionally around this time. This time another man had accompanied her, both their attentions focused on the first draw of the desk. I assumed they were night staff and glanced towards the traffic lights, hoping for my bus to appear at the bend. Waiting.

5:17

A man was singing. I heard it from a distance. I unplugged an earphone to hear more of the singing that seemed to ring into the empty road. My earphone knocked against my breast singularly a couple of times. The man sang while riding his bike and he had noticed me. Soon, the drunk would be parked in front of me. His hair was blowing wildly behind him, long graying dreadlocks. He may have not been a drunk after all. “Look at you!”, he yelled. I stood unmoved, my facial expression remained neutral. He was a good looking man, he looked about 40 but a worn out 42. He rode his bike towards me and stopped. I stared at him. A tall, frail man.
“You are from AFRICA!” he declared. No doubt I thought to myself. Now I was a amused, a smirk had helplessly formed across my face.

“Standing here at the bus stop because you have to go to work!”
He was still shouting at me despite balancing on his bike, inches away from face. I couldn’t make out the next sentence but I do recall him shouting out the word “OIL!”.

He then looked at me with convincing pity.
I can no longer remember his exact words but he was making some sort of speech about how I would be better off in Africa somewhere, phone-less. I didn’t respond, I just listened. He soon sped off down the glistening tarred road with the street lights glaring down on him. I could faintly see the three diagonally positioned stars if I strained my eyes hard enough. I could still see the Iraqi’s crystal blue eyes; wide and dilated. I looked around in search of a person who might have seen our exchange. The lady in the office had long gone, she drove out in a black Mercedes earlier. I didn’t know what class it was. I assumed she was management. No one was present. No one saw this strange event that had occurred. If I re-told the story, would anyone believe me? I waited, still amused. It all happened in a matter of seconds. I turned around, and searched to see if anyone was peering behind their darkened windows but I couldn’t see a soul.

A couple, both wearing jogging bottoms appeared; the girl’s, grey, the guy’s, black. They walked to the bus stop. They were holding hands, I had seen the couple before. They waited at the bus stop with me and another man emerged. Usually he was stood at the bus stop before me but I guess, I had left my house early.

5:29

The bus arrived.

Tuesday, 30 September 2014

Wednesday, 30 April 2014

Saturday, 4 January 2014

OMO 2014 IS HERE!!!

Just before piling myself and a friend onto a packed bus around 3 am in the morning, we conversed with a random person by the bus stop. This is a normal occurrence on a new years day, on any other day in London town this would be an annoyance. We dubbed 2013 'doomsy' and looked forward to a promising year.

I must say, I hyped myself up completely this New Years Eve, I had spent so much time indoors the last couple of weeks, it was only fair to allow my body to experience some outdoor air. I had options this year which was unusual; a live gospel concert, a string of house parties, a jazz bar and mum's church. All but Gospel and church sounded great and so I went to the jazz bar. Only to find out it wasn't a jazz bar, but rather an artsy bar space that offered, a lounging area for anyone who wanted to watch an indie film, a live model art session and lots of alcohol and conversation. 

No.No.No. 

It looked like work. I understand, I am your liberal, outgoing, non-judgemental friend and I am open. But I am not open to sitting in the boyfriend's seat of a blanked faced woman, smoking on a hukka, whilst I read the subtitles off a projection screen. I then later revealed my discomfort to my friend who seemed to fit right in. She was a regular. If you put three people in a room with me, it might just happen but not groups of individuals who have already bonded. NO. So instead a very naked live model sauntered into the front of the room and resumed her position as the artist continued to paint some floral designs on her thigh. I was confused. Very confused. I was offered a pad and a very bubbly club promoter (I don't know what to call her), employee of the bar, encouraged me to draw the naked model, whose eyes seemed to be darting across the room erratically. That's all I could see, darting eyes, paint and the occasional nipple. 

Three years ago, I would be angered by a pastor's deliberate move to pray into the new year and refusing the congregation a chance to count down and here I was sketching a painted nude woman. 

Dear friend, if you are reading this right now, my entire life is material and you are an adventurous soul, so here you are. 

I can laugh about it now but I could not for the life of me crack a smile in that moment. That's when I told my friend, it's time for me to leave, you can remain here, I will find somewhere else to go, transport is free after midnight. 

I thanked her profusely for bringing me out and met up with another friend, only to turn up to a house where the occupants were not present. The disappointment, going to a house party and you have to be the life of the party when the owner of the house arrives. 

We went home and watched Irokotv.

Now, that was fun! I am 23 years old and this was fun. All I wanted to do, was drink 3 shots, in a packed sweaty club and shake my hips simultaneously to Caro by Wizkid. I wanted to listen to songs that did not make sense, dance and dodge the odd hand grope here and there, just because. 

Even travelling home was eventful, I dodged a sympathetic hugger. My two buddies were walking in front, while I was dragging what I thought was a broken knee cap at the time, behind them. He hugged the two in front and saw I may be have been part of the group and attempted a hug. LOL. I hugged the guy and stood next to the talkative dude who shunned everything 2013. 

My life will continue to be eventful, I will have no choice but to laugh at my blunders in an attempt to live my youth. The dark, mood swings and rain will continue to be my source of comfort. I am not changing friends this new year, I'm sure next year, someone will be kind enough to invite my conservative self to a burlesque show and hopefully I will try and enjoy myself. 

I cannot begin to list the embarrassing moments, awkward conversations and surprising things I witnessed last year, at least I have a story to tell. 

No new years resolution, just a couple of goals and green tea. 


Saturday, 28 December 2013

This Christmas

...meant very little to me and it has been this way for several years now. Anything associated with Christianity has become a tolerable existence between myself and my family. My devout Christian mother prays every morning for my salvation and every time I walk past her mumbling her prayers, it worries me. I start to question why I felt it was remotely sensible once upon a time to announce my non-religious beliefs and why I regard the constant invites to church as insults.

It is a normal daughter -relationship, we butt heads at every given moment and I don't know when to shut up. This is one of the reasons why I refused to send out any Happy Holidays or Merry Christmas messages, besides the fact that I am lazy and don't care, I wanted to avoid the 'Jesus is the Reason for the Season" greetings and the Horus vs Jesus debates. I didn't wanted to read a long list of all the pagan traditions Christianity has adopted.

I read them anyway. The two extremes on my social streams of consciousness; the very religious and the pagan knowledge seekers are fortunately part of my world and will continue to co-exist. After a long speech about "What God has done for you this year" at the dinner table, I refused to participate any further in our family get together.

I have become a grinch and how it started is unknown to me. To be fair, I got tired of Christianity, I began to question why I believed in it in the first place and after paying attention to those thoughts, I realised I don't believe in following a particular religion. I just believe in the existence of God and you can acknowledge it/Hime/Her in your own way.  Plus, I live with my family, I see them every day, there is nothing to celebrate, well for them, Jesus.

There you have it. My Christmas rant.

Tuesday, 17 December 2013

The Past 3 Dreams

Orange Paper 

The train slowed down and the name of the station was announced. I stood to gather my belongings and staggered to the exit door of the train. Squinting to adjust to the natural light, I held on tightly to a bar as the train halted, soon I was hoisting  up my suitcase, clutching on to the straggly tote bag and planted my weighted feet onto the platform.

I noticed something strange about this station but it didn’t occur to me at once. I searched around for a seat and a newspaper caught my eye. It was a large broadsheet; The Financial Times, only the colour seemed brighter; it wasn’t your usual peachy colour, it was bright orange.

The man holding his newspaper was resting his head against the black wooden panels behind him. I tried to look for a facial expression. I was still standing at the platform and remained in that spot. Why is he wearing a top hat and a tailcoat? I thought to myself. Where am I? 

I walked towards the empty bench adjacent to the man with the orange newspaper. He was reading intently. I shuddered as my cheeks clenched against the cold steely feel of the seat. I looked around once again. The atmosphere was solemn and serious. All I could hear were calculated footsteps. I felt out of place, I looked out of place. Everyone was dressed up. I couldn’t see what I was wearing. I didn’t try to look. All I could see were the sullen faces….
Wait a minute. There was no colour in their faces. Paper white.
I saw another passenger, he had the features of a black man but yet again, there was no colour on his face. It looked like someone had painted his face marble white, with a heavy and caked coat.

I’m Day Dreamin’ 

The feeling is baseless. It’s a live montage and the colours are soft, the movements are in slow motion and the sounds are muffled. Silence. In that moment there is silence.

A lady sits on a bed; she is wearing a purple t-shirt and wearing my polkadot shorts. Her hair is full, it’s curled and wiry like my own but it is longer and pointing outwards in different directions. Her skin is not like mine, it’s a rich brown. Her back is straight and her eyes are closed. They are no movements under her eyelids.

---

We seemed happy. My grin was wide and it didn’t feel strained, my head was light. I touched his beard and he held my hips. I played with the drawstrings of his pyjamas.  I was confident, I was safe and I was comfortable. We were talking, I’m not sure what I said. His eyes widened and then his low chuckle vibrated against my breasts. I kissed him. First on his lips. Again on his neck. Again on his chest. Now there were no drawstrings hanging. He stood there groaning….it echoed and wafted into the third scene.

---


White walls. Hmmm. Grey floors. You could tell the floors were dusty. The room seemed to large for me. It swallowed my thoughts. I heard a knock on the door and I stood up from the swivel chair in an attempt to answer. I sat down and called out, “Come in!”.

“Hi, my name is Mary, your assistant said you were ready to see me.”, the girl blurted out and extended her arm out for a handshake. Her skirt was long and flowy, it was dark blue with green lines wrapped around it , between the lines were patterns. Her shirt was buttoned up but the pointed collars sat loosely against her neck. I smiled and replied “that’s fine”. I looked at her resume on the desk. I can’t remember what the table looked like but I remember noticing how far back it was in the room next to the windows. I could see the clumsy paintwork, as the splatters next to the panes were visible.

I couldn’t hear what was being said. All I did was notice the unfinished things that sat in the room. There was a pile of boxes at the opposite end of it.


A Memory 

My hair was packed in two buns, sticking out at the side of my head. I was looking sheepishly at something. I wanted attention and I wanted to be seen. The heels of my black shiny shoes with white socks were perched on something. My chest stuck out , asserting the stretched bow at the top of my dress. My arms were spread out, leaning against the gas heater in the living room.  I swayed from side to side. The dots on the dress would overlap each other as I continued to twist and turn.

Blockage Beyond Belief

I have nothing valuable to say. My mind is invested in heartbreak. I am trying to use this heartbreak to get out! I need my sanity back, something to talk about.  I want to go out. I want the colours to mean something. I want conversations to serve as inspiration. I want the sounds to soothe me.

Everything is clashing. The lights are too bright.
The Sounds are too loud and stressful.
Outside is a struggle.