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Post By: Bayo Akomolafe
The noble gent on his tastefully furnished steed is no more superior to his scruffy servant than a child is superior to his river-surface reflection. Life will not be categorized, beaten down into office cubicles, or decided by who or what breaks the red ribbon at the finish line – because there are no starting …Continue Reading >>>
Nothing is independent or pre-existent. Everything is hyphenated. And this is perhaps the most shocking realization of the modern human: that his skin and his sentience are not the taut boundaries that separate him from the brute; that the estranged ‘other’, the diseased infidel, and the foreigner are the condition that makes his own existence …Continue Reading >>>
To love is not to reach out, it is to touch oneself, and know that one is porous. And that you are the other, masquerading in the wary distance.
The forgotten beatitude: blessed are those that are surprised by the world, by the ordinary and the assumedly familiar, for they know possibilities and colours the rest of us cannot even dream of.
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The slime trail of a slug is the short arc of justice.