Femi Uncensored

Aside: This very short poem was originally composed and published (on Facebook) in July of 2012; a period when I had just began taking little nervous sips from the epiphanic wineglass of creative writing. It is the second poem I ever wrote. I was trying to capture the mental turmoil and constipation that befalls a writer before we see the beauty of his/her work. Writer In Distress Momentarily, motion became motionless, Warring ideas encamp bare brain, Blue black, Lilac, Perception becomes deception, Thought-tainted blood, Flowed through nail-bitten fingers, Wood and Lead came to life,  To issue that which had strived.

When I got the job offer, I almost went crazy.  It was on a Thursday morning. I had just finished about two hours of workout; jogging, dumb bells, push ups and the rest of the package. I swiped open my phone to read new chats, when I saw the notification from my Gmail. I couldn’t believe it. I have been unemployed for two years and the hope of getting a job was waning. I was starting to get used to the job hunting process which was like an endless roller coaster ride.

*** This article was first published on The Naked Convos. Note: This piece was not written with a certain category of people in mind. The category of people that are NOT ready for serious relationship – you still want to hoe around for a while before getting committed? Why not? Let’s get down to business. First, have in mind that a relationship is a 50/50 affair. You have 50% stake and your partner has 50% stake. So before you start setting parameters – work on your 50%. What I mean is; before you start defining what type of relationship (or partner) you want, work on yourself.

Every molue passenger is a potential mad or woman! If I had had the premonition of what I was to go through on the morning of a particular Tuesday in 2014, I would have stayed or slept at home all day. But then, how was I supposed to know that I was just another mad Nigerian waiting to be unveiled.

A few weeks ago, I was trying to give the government a piece of my mind in writing as regard the deplorable state of the nation. After I had written over 700 words of fine rhetoric, it occurred to me that I was unwittingly treading the well trodden path which most political thinkers, writers, bus stop parliamentarians, and most Nigerians tread every day. 

"Flash fiction?! What the hell is that?!" That was my reaction, earlier this year, when I stumbled upon this strange and 'deceptively complex' genre. I read a few which I really liked. Also known as Micro-fiction, it's a straight to the point, point-blank story. It's the short story of a short story. Last week, I had this picture in my head which wouldn't fit a "typical short story". So I was like, why not give flash fiction a shot? So here's my first flash fiction story. I hope you enjoy it! 😀 My timepiece; stainless steel Diesel. Italian. The Skeletal design, which exposes the eyes to the mechanical movements of the clockwork is complemented by the robotic hands. A classy space-age jewellery for a time conscious mind. “Excuse me”, said a plump woman standing beside me at the bus stop. “Please, what is it by your time?” I promptly dipped my left hand in my pocket and fetched out my smartphone. I dabbed in my password. The ho...

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