The Giant

I’m sitting on a balcony, separated from a motor way by a field of corn. Long enough that the swaash of Autos sound like binaural beats in my ears. Today is one when the sun is extra shy, so she’s hidden behind the clouds. The howling wind is substantive proof that a storm is brewing in the distance.

I do not fear the trickle of rain or the cold that has trapped my waning breath. Through the gaps between the trees, I’m stifled by a horrific giant. He is twice the height of an oak with skin so pale, it’s almost cyanotic. The veins on his forehead are visible, like a helmet made from the thickest part of a black widow’s web.

His eyes are buggy and bulgy, and they’re resting heavily on me.

I’ve never felt so weak like I do now, felt the need to plead for a chance of redemption. My breath is faint. My voice wont give up more than a fragile moan. My heart is beating slower by the day as the giant draws nearer.

I can’t keep on living this way. I am barely surviving. Something has to change, and fast. I wish I could snap my fingers and sentence this giant to the edge of the earth. His brawny body struggling to balance against the weigh of gravity, so that he is suspended in astral Limbo

What delight that would be. I’d dance again with rekindled passion. My lungs would be inspired to sing an old song in a new tune. And I’d walk out of the battle camp holding his decapitated head as a laurel.

I would like that very much I would. Even the thought of it warms my heart and causes my lips to curve upward.

Yet he draws closer everyday to me.

I do have another theory, one that terrifies me more. I do not know from where my giant came, perhaps he was formed between crevices in a mountainous region. But what if, he is harmless. Perhaps his hideous features are just for me to welcome and accept. And his mission is to help me align perspectives. It wouldn’t do much good to treat him like an unapproachable vermin.

He may well be an ally. I couldn’t know.

It’s the more reason to surrender, rather than dig a moat and build a buttress. I want to believe that the clouds are tired of absorbing the precipitation and will consequently release the blizzard that propagates the giant’s footstep to me.

The worse he could do would be to obscure my stance, challenging me to find refined vision in a paler shade of umbra. Maybe then he would vanish, taking with him the manacles weighing on my limbs and leaving behind an aura, that strips every façade and laces my tongue with a dose of truth.

image courtesy:

The Age of Loneliness

A famous adage says, “True friends are like stars you don’t always see them but you know they are always there”.   Not to be a cynic but I think that quotes like this should be up for debate, and it probably has.

The truth about friendships is that it is in fact subjective.  It is based on factors such as the frequency of communication,   mutual activities shared, and most especially, the gains of the camaraderie, this could range from wanting a Yes girl/ wingman to needing company because we were in a place we thought we couldn’t escape from till we did. Eventually, that bond came tumbling down the wall of Jericho. Kinda like an endergonic reaction. Albeit, in group settings, the tension be slightly defused—Most times.

Fortunately for me, I have come across wondrous people that embodied the apparent role of love and patience. Unfortunately, I just came across them. For the most part, I have convinced myself that there is only a 7% chance that I have an antisocial disorder, but I can bet that 55% of the time, I understand people and will dissociate myself if ever I sense obscurity.  My problem is I would always rather be myself. I assume that is a fairly adequate reaction to bullshit.

However, as much as my ego-syntonic-self hates to admit, I will not be good for everyone, people could dislike me for varying reasons. The truth is that it feels like a stake is repeatedly rammed into my chest when friends leave, but my zen shouldn’t have to be sacrificed.

I  love love, and friendship quotes et cetera, but the cinematic wonder in storybooks and fairy tales is notoriously uncommon, for me at least; It may seem sad, but I’d rather reveal my truth than polish my face with deceit, after all, I’ve never been good with makeup.



Entree  nous

Viridian jewel in thine mouth

Vixen to the core

Consolidating solitude in a foyer

wishing a single prayer


Whom amongst us is pure enough

Confrontation being a con

Confluencing with the Ego

Trust never more  earned

A path all but one claim to walk


The turntable spins Cinema Paradiso

Quickening our gilded fix

Intoxicated with the age of loneliness

And all it’s fathomless wonders

An unlikely exergonic reaction.