Even the caged bird sings.
I go over that line again and again, keeping my mind as preoccupied as my hands are, with buttoning my shirt slowly. I don’t want my mind to be idle – because then it’ll become filled with thoughts of you.
Thoughts I know are not good for me. Not right now.
It takes about – I don’t know; some seconds sha for me to realize all the buttons on my shirt are done – my fingers are just fiddling. I also realize they would be twitching like a drug addict’s the moment they have nothing to do, so I shove them in my jean pockets.
And then I turn towards the room, taking in the walls as I have many times on similar nights – knowing there’s nothing new to see but finding it easier to look at them than at you.
And I know you know what I’m thinking – because I feel your eyes bore in my back; I feel the smile lingering on your lips. I see every little detail – right up to your brown thighs uncovered by the shirt with just a button done. My sleep shirt; you call it.
I still don’t look at you.
No. It’s the green grassy veldt outside your bedroom window that has my attention. It’s the view that makes me think of you; the view that reminds me constantly why whenever it gets a little chaotic in my world you’re the one person I seek out.
You’re my peace. My calm. You make me so happy.
So why is it so hard to look at you?
Look at me; I hear you whisper.
My feet drag as I turn – and then the slow flows from my feet to my throat as my eyes arrive and loose themselves in your tangled tresses. I keep the eyes on your hair – your face in general; determined not to look at the light-colored strip of flesh so proudly displayed.
I suck in a shuddering breath. It’s not that easy.
I know you have to go; I don’t need apologies or explanations. It’s okay.
I hear what you’re saying – I just don’t agree. It’s not okay. I swore the last time and the time before that it was going to be the last time. But like a goat with his heart stuck on eating the neighbor’s grass…
…I keep coming back.
And I know it’s selfish of me. I know this – whatever this is – is one-sided. I know it’s about me and my needs – or maybe we should just be honest and call it what it is – my lust; I know this isn’t what you want or even need –
I need this too, you say as though you can hear me think.
I stand beside the window and watch the evening sun bathe you in red; highlighting the black in your hair in some kind of way I don’t exactly understand. I’m not a poet; I don’t know how to put words together in a flowery and sensible manner – but I look at you and realize; God really took His time putting you together.
I know it’s a cliché – but it’s truly true.
You uncurl your legs – legs that seem to go on for days – and stand, rocking softly with the springs of the bed. Bouncing, you make your way to the edge of it and reach towards me with your arms. Smiling and shaking my head, I walk towards you – but I’m barely there before you bounce up once – and then jump off the bed towards me.
Okay. I wasn’t expecting that – but I stay unruffled as I take a huge step and catch your arms. Like the dancer you are, you land lightly – even though most of your weight is on my shoulders. You laugh in my face, brushing the hair out of it before leaning it against mine. We kiss softly – the kisses of comfortable lovers who do not have anything to prove to each other – lovers who have drunk from the water dispenser of love-making and are sated.
For the moment.
The light dances in your eyes as you lean your forehead against mine – and to my chagrin it occurs to me that this is not about me after all; I dare to imagine that you’re actually happy.
That surprises me. You; surprise me.
I’m about to speak – I’m about to go through the motions; say those things comfortable lovers say to each other – things that really mean nothing when they go under the microscope – but we say them anyway.
I’m about to mumble a bunch of sweet-nothings – but your finger silences me. Don’ t apologize; you whisper. Don’t tell me how you wish you hadn’t come back to me with your wahala. This; you are the most happy I have been in a while – and while I wish you were still mine; I’m grateful to have this much.
I inhale through the thickness in my throat. I love you, I say simply.
You smile softly, shaking your head. You don’t have to say that; you remind me.
I love you, I insist. You do not say anything; choosing rather to keep looking at me with those puppy-love eyes. I step backwards, away from you – before turning and heading towards the door. Opening it, I step through and close it behind me – and then lean against it like they do in all those romantic movies.
It overwhelms me – this much feeling. I get to feeling like I’m a character playing out a movie – like all this is beyond my control. Like I’m just fulfilling someone else’s fantasies for me.
But I know I am responsible for my life. I am the liar, the cheat, the impatient lover too much in a hurry for – I don’t even know what it was I was hurrying after – the sucker who all but threw away the best thing ever.
I wonder why you allow me back – even though we both know I’m just around for the sex.
Or maybe that’s another lie I’ve become comfortable with.
It doesn’t really matter. I get my feet under me and push away from the wall, heading to my house – to another woman I call wife; another woman I love.
In the same way, yet very much differently.
Sigh. Such is life.
Or maybe I’m just full of shit.
Disclaimer: This piece is only for people who followed Ari and E through 95 episodes of the HBO TV series Entourage. If you have no idea who/what that is, you might experience mild feelings of confusion, schizophrenia and frustration.
Please, add watch a movie in a two-hundred seater cinema all by myself to your list of ‘things-to-do-before-I-die’ if you haven’t.
Hold that – and hold on to it. Before I’m done, you’ll see what I mean.
My introduction to Entourage was in the line of duty – so to speak. It was sometime in 2012 and I was flown down to Abuja to work on this Television series idea this young studio executive had. Part of the stuff he gave me to study?
Entourage and Game Of Thrones.
I loved Entourage immediately – me and millions other people evidently. Turtle was and still is my favorite guy, I thought Drama was a big baby, Vince needed to grow up – and E needed to settle down.
Fast forward to 2014. The script I worked on had become a telemovie (Learning Curves on EbonyLife TV), I was a full-time writer and about to publish my first book.
And then I heard about a trailer for Entourage the movie.
I won’t lie. I was scared. Would their stories translate well to the big screen? How will they interprete it – take us back to the beginning or just tell a story about a phase in the life of these four guys?
Well, allow me say again in case I wasn’t clear the first time – If you have no idea what Entourage is/is about, Google the damn thing. It’s worth ya time.
The movie is not a stand-alone something – which means if you’ve never seen an episode of the series it most likely will make little sense to you. Which is where I start my complaints about the film.
It literally picks up from the last episode of the eighth and final season of the series – in which Vince gets on a plane with his wife-to-be, E seems to have made up with Sloan and she’s wearing his ring on her finger, Drama has a new lease on life, Turtle is a quiet millionaire who’s just happy to be with his friends and Ari is ‘retired’ and out of the game. In the movie, Vince separates from his wife after nine days in – and throws a party for his pals on a yatch in Ibiza. Not only are E and Sloan not together, she’s carrying his baby!
Somebody no dey hia word.
Vince wants to do ‘something new’ with himself – after having a moment with his ex-wife who read a script he wrote and said ‘you’re better than this’. Just then, his ex-agent who is now a studio head (OMG Ari Gold is enough reason to watch this movie!) calls him with an offer – to come lead in his first movie. Vince says he’ll only do the movie if he’s allowed to direct. He’s allowed – and after eight months and still no movie – and with the new director already gone over budget and still needing more money, you know things are about to get ugly.
One thing (among others) the series was quite famous for were the cameos. They spare no expense here – with Piers Morgan, Jessica Alba (watch out for a scene-stealing appearance by Pharell) and a host of others.
The movie is basically just an episode of the series with longer running time. There’s not a whole lot of difference in the characters, not a lot of personal growth and developments – it’s basically still those same guys doing the same stuff they did for eight seasons and ninety-five episodes – try to fit into Hollywood, get laid, become successful in each of their personal endeavors, get laid, party, get laid..
Truth is, Entourage will not and apparently is not going down well with the critics – but someone should tell those guys to stuff it. If the idea – which I think it is – is for you to have fun, forget about the outside world and just laugh with a couple of friends while you watch a couple of other friends do what you love them for, Entourage it is.
It’s unashamedly a movie for fans of the series and the fans love it. Everyone else can go stuff it somewhere.
I saw this movie in an empty cinema hall.
It was just me, a bag of popcorn and rows of unoccupied seats. It was a new experience for me, nobody’s phone lights in my eyes, nobody’s overly-loudly whispered conversations in my ear, no wisecracking nut distracting with his heckling – it was amazing.
And I plan to do it again – by buying all the tickets to a particular coming-soon movie.
Watch this space.
Entourage is showing at Ozone cinemas – E Centre at Yaba for the GPS nuts, Friday – Thursday 25th June before the viewing times change again. Times: 3:45pm, 6:00pm, 8:35pm, And maybe, if you’re lucky, it’ll just be you and your special someone.
And then maybe – just maybe, you’ll get to get into some mischief.
Took the time to make up a rhyme,
Put a diamond mine in every single line
Lines that come together to form a ladder
To climb out of these walls, one rung after another
Walls where my past is the wallpaper
Tiles of failure, never made a floor darker
Look to the future, at the top of this ladder
Look and climb higher
Past these walls.
I’m in love with three women.
One is a girl. One is a bitch and the last one is a slut.
The annoying part is the one I love the most is the one I see the least. The only explanation I have for that is –she does not love me as much as I do her.
That sucks. And hurts.
I have thought about it – thought about it till I heard my brains creak. And I am no closer to a ‘why’.
The thing to do; I finally resolve, is to let the other two go. I am tired of the bitch’s temper and constant nagging. I’m tired of the slut’s constant craving for sex. I am tired of it.
Today is the day. I’ll let them know how I feel – how I need my girl by my side.
That last line makes me smile.
Here they come now. All three of them.
Amaka; my girlfriend.
I wrote love a love letter,
On behalf of this girl Shalewa
Please believe; I did try to love her
But really she deserves one better
So I wrote love a love letter
In care of Cupid the best best-man
I began ‘Dear love, how’s the weather?
I know you’re always good. Good. I’m better
You have my respect in dark or fair weather
Lend me your hearing for a minute, as I tender
An appeal for this girl Shalewa; fair and tender
I know you as a no-person respecter
But I tell you this; she’s an abettor;
A supporter of greatness, please respect her
I’m writing to you love, a love letter
Don’t allow her heart run helter skelter
Truly she deserves more than I could ever give her
And if you have nothing better; leave her
I will ask this of you though; let her
Find for herself the best of you; and whether
You approve or not; in any weather
Leave her be; let her go. She’s a go-getter
And if you care; tell one of your best; ‘go get her!’
With the truest of lips; peck her
Lead her by the hand to her happily ever after
I tell you love; he better protect her.
Me? Oh it wasn’t me,
Beyond that, it wasn’t mean to be
I couldn’t beg her; no I’m not a beggar
Foolish pride hurts more than rumor spreaders!’
And so I wrapped up my letter to love
And he did find her a hot stepper
A trend-setter; took Shalewa by the hand
As I watch into the sunset by the ocean – drive
What if God,
Would I have a fuck
If God doesn’t exist, I’ll take a poop,
On EVERY religious figure – from the ayatollah to the pope,
I’d draw the most disrespectful cartoons in cartons,
And drive till I have my car torn
To pieces; by the sheer roughness of my driving
Kill a virgin with the sheer roughness of my drive-in;
Impregnate her mother, butt fuck her dad
Design cum-graffiti all over her pad
I would act like life was Grand Theft auto;
Turn strippers to prostitutes – for that promo,
Smack Asa till she changes; starts singing in alto
Ban Wizkid and ’em from singing with auto
Tune in to my most bestial nature,
Rape every male wannabe father-figure
Make Nigeria worse than it is; turn it into Sodom,
Just to make Gomorrah jealous
Tell loud-speaking talkers; shut the fuck up!
Take a dump on the poor; tell them to give their rights up,
Fuck gender equality; take a female and rape her,
I give a damn if she’s yours or my sister
Kidnap Patience something – make her a babysitter,
Make a meal of Goodluck, most preferably dinner,
Drop a single, brag about it all in my rhymes,
Since the world is flat; erase drawn lines
Or maybe I’ll be dead already,
‘Cos there are consequences
Even when you live without fear of consequences
And no matter what I do, I cannot con sequences.
What will be – will be.
But wait a minute.
What if God exists?
I’m expecting you.
From June 8, I will be telling horror stories on Twitter. What that means is Monday nights for four weeks, I will be tweeting stories – stories intended to scare you, put a chill in your bones and a scream in your throat –
Don’t mind me.
I won’t be tweeting links, the actual stories will be told on Twitter! Every Monday from June 8, a new story title will be announced via # so you can curate and follow the story!
Sounds fun, right? Just follow the #TwitterAfterDark #StoryTitle – for example if next week’s story is Bullet For Brains, that Monday’s hashtag is #BulletForBrains.
Share your Monday nights with me – and I’ll write you a new prescription for terror.
I got more than my fair share of support (God bless you!) and quite a number of mails concerning whether other writers could contribute. And then I thought, ‘why not?’ So instead of just #MondayFrightNights we’ll be having Monday and #FridayFrightNights! How cool is that? Mondays I’ll be sharing my own stories, Fridays I’ll be sharing stories from other writers! Two for the price of none! What do you think? Let me know in the comments, please!
UPDATE II: Monday Night Frights will remain on Mondays.
Thank you so much for your feedback and prompts.
God bless y’all!
Thank you. Have a great week!
#MondayFrightNights begins in a few hours.