I don't know if I am dyslexic or not, but at times it seems and if I could still feel - feels like patterns are the only thing i can understand.

Not to abhor a prenatal sentiment, but that screeching in the background is it heard by everybody?

And the stream of gasping saute prognosis that comes flying through every door and bounncing off every wall,


well, my choices with ergards to that; are either judge it or don't.


but my own inner personal gain is overlooked




so noone wants to play, the tvs only occasionally entertaining, and i'm trapped in a dream with this black girl Naomi following me around who seems to acutely be the only non Nigerian black woman, (although if she reads this that could change) who was forced to apologise to me by questioning my eyesight on arrival at my current abode. Well, well, well, what a lengthy encounter  we had  considering that with what's now just gone yesterday. No coincidence as it's all coordinated  and the landscape is what the landscape is. Not African in other words. But post Nigerian.

Oh and, it looks like Africa was overlooked, again, while they were looking for my phone that I put to be charged (again) in the office...