Life Lessons From Facing A Global Pandemic:

Positive

1. Life is short – and unpredictable. Spend every minute chasing the things that set your soul on fire.

2. Over two hundred thousand people have died in the course of a few months. Over a million families were affected (if not more). There has never been a greater time to realize your mortality. And those of your loved ones. Gratitude is must.

3. You have never lacked time, just discipline.

4. Humanity still needs work. Police brutality is rampant. Country leaders would rather fortify their power over ensuring adequate health systems. The wealthy would rather earn more than contribute to your salvation. Capitalism, and the people it benefits, does not care about you. We need more empathy.

5. Live a life worth remembering, and you’ll become more than a statistic.

6. Stay positive. Even when your school was shut down, and you had to travel miles to get back home. Stay positive. Even if your graduation was delayed, and there is so much uncertainty filled in your heart about the future. Stay positive. Even when the media is filled with so much fear, and negativity. Stay positive. Because when everything is said and done, your mind is your greatest superpower. And nothing should be allowed to control it – but you.

Burnt.

The face of my forefathers.

men that smoked polygamy once.

and forgot to exhale.

men that –

stirred women.

– like fine wine.

between their tongues.

bitter sweet.

misogyny.

angry black.

women that –

breastfed.

– with both hands.

as if forcing a prayer.

into their children’s existence.

as if our lips.

– knew God.

as if we could empty

– the pain.

of father’s mistakes.

of men like.

– arsonists.

with petroleum for fingers.

women touched –

– between their thighs.

igniting sparks.

– sweaty nights.

deadly fights.

kisses from.

– other women.

– emotional tides.

– sons like.

– fire extinguishers.

– putting out.

– mothers burning.

– from your.

– fuckery.

Of Rapists & Victims: The First Of Its Series.

Sometimes we forget. That those closest to us are capable of the most heinous acts.

Photo credit: @ownherworld

I.
The hum of her skirt,

Stories of lust sewn in,

He sings along,

Thoughts of skin on skin,

And echoes of her plea,

Melodious,

The subjugation of her will,

Melodious,

The screams of her inching to survive,

Yet moaning to the thrust,

Of him,

She denies the face of the man that robs her,

She denies,

Yet moans?

She denies,

The face of her father,

She gives in,

Because she feels,

That’s the only way,

Out.

Lit, a recollection (II)

Read the first of this series here.

White lights queued. I made a new friend, and (much to my frustration) I cannot make his face out. I do, however, recall a sense of belonging; a nervous pain and desire that spoke through our eyes. We wanted to escape, to run with the liquor because childhood doesn’t drink. Adults do, and we wasn’t adults.

The baths were clouding. I wasn’t ready to see reality through a broken filter. The water was colder, saltier, and plenty. I wondered if he was going through the same thing, or maybe worse. Like AIDS? The thought was uncomfortable.

Getting dressed was easy, staggering through the hospital wasn’t. I made it, one stiffed leg at a time; I made it to the corridor. White lights queued. It was quiet, free from the clank of test tubes and needles.

Homie had a plastic ball. He had been waiting. We hit it hard and forgot the pills; we hit it hard to forget the misery. Our focus was on ruining something so beautiful,

And undisturbed.

Just like what life had done to us.

I was discharged six weeks later, Homie wasn’t.

Lit, a recollection…

Tyrone Takawira

PART I:

Moments of pain are so intricate with probability. It’s only when you sit in a 4WD hitting sixty — that you begin to connect the dots.

I got soaked in hot water when I was ten. Quite a prolific moment. If I hadn’t slept in my long PJs the night before, I wouldn’t have tripped. I wouldn’t have let go of the heated pot. All I could do was watch the steam rise, and the water fall.

Onto my skin.

It was a hundred degrees of fucked up; kerosene on the Sun shouldn’t burn this slow. I couldn’t see past the light, the vapour of flesh and pain was blinding. Between crying for help and regaining balance, I couldn’t breathe.

Worse, I was lying right in the center; too dismantled to leap for salvation, too hot to stay.

My mind is blank here, how I got up is for Holmes to solve.

I do, however, remember knocking on mother’s door; she didn’t answer. Mother was pressed in sleep, and I, in boiling melanin. All I could do was blow on my skin, and keep moving.

“Keep moving, sonnie. Gets hella hot if you don’t.”

Blowing spurts of air on myself was like running a garden hose from a kitchen sink — in the hopes of putting out 9-11.

My mind draws another blank, next thing I’m seated in dad’s 4WD, hitting sixty on a highway. He asked if I had ‘cooled off’, which was a bad joke. I nodded. What I meant to say was,

“i’m friggin’ drowning,

in ashes,

save me,”

We stepped into Pari Hospital some minutes past eight. It smelled like detergents and government service, with an attitude. Papers got filed. I slept in on a hospital bed; the first time since 98′.

The next morning was a mess. Puss ran from my blisters, and my skin had crept into the bandages. The nurses tossed me into a tub, like a dead somebody. Two locked my legs, one gripped both arms, and the other tore the bandages off. That son offa’ never counted to three.

It was not a poetic scene; the red and black of tissue in dying skin is as fantabulous as it gets; no kitty glitter anywhere. I buried a kick in someone’s neck, all in the name of pain.

I was scrubbed in salt water, which is something of a pinch in the groin, the kind were the pincher doesn’t let go.

I sat on the bed hours later, with a fresh kit of bandages, ready to bat into dreamscapes.

I stretched a smile,

“i’m glad THAT’S over,”

A nurse turned on the lights. He left a glass of water and said I was real brave today.

He also said I best get a good night’s sleep for another bath tomorrow.

I didn’t say a word.

How To Be Alpha In A Beta World:

The first series in adopting an alpha mindset.

98tolife

Series I — Fear Of Judgement:

I cannot accurately define the term ‘alpha’ — for any attempt to do so will greatly limit its meaning.

I will, however, say that any man is justified in pursuing an ‘alpha’ state of mind — more so in this era of timidity and purposelessness found in the average personality.

One attribute of a ‘beta’ (for lack of a better term, ‘not alpha’) is people pleasing — and no matter how eloquently you may excuse this as a form of ‘kindness’ or ‘niceness’, this character trait will never inspire into success.

If anything, it is an exponential spiral towards personal failure,

— and you may not even realise this.

Why?

Because you have been conditioned to place value on opinions and judgements,

— even if they are dumbfounded,

— even if they bite down on your self-worth,

— even if they kill you,

I laugh at the absurdity (and subtle truth) of this forthcoming statement:

but the average person would rather swallow cyanide than be judged,

because judgement is its own slow, agonizing death.

This is a hard pill to swallow,

and however successful you may be, your success could easily be multiplied by a factor of ten thousand,

— if only you stopped caring what other people think about you,

How many times has a fear of judgement stopped you from pursuing your deepest, most intrinsic goals?

What will they think of me,

if I said I applied to Harvard?

What will they think of me,

if I asked for a raise?

What will they think of me,

if I wore this today?

What will they think of me,

if I asked her out?

Does this voice sound familiar?

Of course it does,

You listen to its fear-inducing hypotheticals daily.

Practice silencing it,

Practice clutching its mouth,

Because this ego-preserving voice has killed more dreams than death is blamed for,

It loves mediocrity,

— because no one questions average,

It loves comfort,

— because no one questions the norm,

It loves beta,

— because no one is threatened by beta.

You want to be alpha? You must free yourself from this fear first, anything else I say will be pointless.

Picture15

I am no advocate for narcissism,

But consciously place yourself first — always, in all that you value and believe in.

If you have to cancel a date because you need to submit a chemistry paper
— then do so.

Be the first in line when it comes to accomplishing your goals, your dreams
— your purpose. ( See A Written Letter To All Men: )

Be ruthless in virtues,

You want to be alpha?

Well, stop giving a f*#!

gaf

A Written Letter To All Men:

 

98tolife.wordpress.com
Photo Credit: Rational Male

We call ourselves kings in all that we do,

in all that we say,

We call ourselves warriors,

rebels against the tyranny of Life,

against the slithering hand of injustice,

Yet,

as long as the Earth spins in the whirlwind of reality,

as long as the Moon paints itself across the night’s sky,

We will continue to,

fail,

Unless we cast out,

fear,

and find,

purpose,

the core of your masculinity,
the heart that strings ideals and visions,
and bleeds,

purpose,

your right of passage,
the road less travelled,
your march to freedom,

purpose,

 the light that illuminates,
a pillar for humanity,

purpose,

your divine Providence,
listen to the calling,

purpose,

the hand of god in the life of Jesus,
the immortal speeches of Luther,

purpose,

reserved only for the brave,
the bold,
the magnanimous,

it wakes humanity from sleep,
slow hymns of a utopia,
listen,

please,

listen,

purpose,

to the,

lost boys,

searching,

in the abyss,

do not,

do not,

do not,

give up,

till you,

till you,

find,

purpose.                                                  

Remember your mortality:

Everyday, I watch the quiet rising of the sun, and arrive home just in time for it’s setting. I enjoy the cycle; the motion of light and darkness that reminds me that one day, I too, will be resting as the sun — cold, dead and remembered only for the light that used to be my soul.

John Updike’s once said: Each day, we wake slightly altered, and the person we were yesterday is dead.So why, one could say, be afraid of death, when death comes all the time?

I share his frame; in that death is as common as the breath we take, but I fear this negates the biggest problem of them all: the choices we make in the face of it.

We sleep eight hours a day, engage in the same deprecating thoughts, slave through tedious jobs to earn a living, only to pass at night for another eight hours; and dream of electric sheep. If we be so lucky as to inherit my grandfather’s genes, we would all live up to the age of sixty; that’s a fine twenty years spent unconscious, and entangled in formless mirages.  

Do you not realise, friend, that over hundred thousand people pass every day? Do you not see death’s hands in the passing of time? In the hymns of history?
Remember your mortality; remember that nothing separates you from the bounty of death — and live wisely. 
The price of anything, fortunate or not, lies in the amount of life given into it.