M\u1ecd\u0301renikeji, God is dead, and I\u2019ve been binge-watching videos on YouTube. I swear, I am not trying to be a woke babe. The world is made of blood, and we are all gut-deep lacerations, asymmetrical axes, Linea nigras, butchering ourselves like every other jolly old meat seller\u2014swipe the knife and hackhackhack. We all eat ourselves\u2014I ate my brother\u2019s index; don\u2019t blame me. What\u2019s the difference if it\u2019s brewing in bitter leaf broth? It\u2019s alright Mo, like rain, you can taste the world on my lips. I do not know what killed my grandmother, but it must have been me in some way. Yes, I use her yellow wrapper to sleep at night, and it\u2019s really no problem; she was a murderer too. Yes, I have killed more than a million men for being free. I saw a little girl yesterday; she was bent over a gutter and brushing her teeth. I told her it was alright because everybody drank blood around here. Then I told her to swallow her spit next time, or we would kill her. I forgot to tell her there was no use running because she was us and she would kill herself. I don\u2019t understand why people think dying is such a difficult thing to do\u2014a dog died this evening, and all it had to do was cross the road. I don\u2019t really care, but my mother killed that dog. His name was Bruno, but that\u2019s my name as well. Yes, the rain drowned my sister, and all she had to do was look up. The boy we shot\u2014all he had to do was blink twice. So it\u2019s weird to see you spending your whole life trying to die when the world is specifically made to kill you. That\u2019s blatant insolence, but it\u2019s effective as well\u2014it killed my cousin last month. Not like I know anything more than you do\u2014as you can see, I bagged a bachelor\u2019s degree for being depressed for four years. I might stick it in the toilet or rule the world. Don\u2019t get any wild ideas; there\u2019s no difference between the world and a toilet. Or, I am just an educated illiterate. I don\u2019t even know the difference between blood in the body and blood on the floor. No, you can\u2019t say spillage because we wouldn\u2019t have so many holes if spillage were a sin. I am not going to argue with you, Mo, because I don\u2019t see the difference between the body and the floor. I don\u2019t even know the difference between Bruno, Bruno, and Bruno. So, maybe we died on hot coal tar while a truck was driving a man. That is no new thing. Hey, Mo. Don\u2019t you think \u2018lived\u2019 is such a weird word?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It is 6 a.m., and all the stray dogs are minding their business. I\u2019m not implying that the old women around here are bitches, but they don\u2019t respond when I greet. They must think I\u2019m mad and harmless; I bet they don\u2019t know that I killed a cockroach last night while my roommates went yellow from screeching. Well, that\u2019s that. I\u2019ve got a clump of chicken shit beneath one leg of my favorite bathroom slippers, and it stinks like life. I don\u2019t like the chickens here because they\u2019re too lithe to be caught. I mean, on camera, I\u2019m not a thief, you jackass. I had to run. When you hang around people for too long, they get all of their business in your nose until there\u2019s no space for yours and you can\u2019t breathe. I guess that means a lot of people are not stray dogs. They have hands they don\u2019t use for walking, yet they don\u2019t think it\u2019s enough for them. I hate it that I\u2019m too sane to get lost. It is fear that makes me put my pocket in my phone when a smoking, bald man passes. If I were mad enough, I would have tossed it in this puddle. Yes, the sky is too small to be a pocket; that\u2019s why all hell is let loose. Yes, I spent last night holding back my tears because there was no evidence of my pain. I don\u2019t think God put in all his care; I\u2019ve been leaking all my life. This school girl\u2019s skirt is too tight, her hair is too low, and her teeth are too dirty. She greets me, and I don\u2019t respond. I guess that makes me the same as the old women I didn\u2019t say were bitches. This damned phone is ringing again. Home haunts me, and I\u2019m too sane to set the whole thing on fire. This coal-black dog scratches its right ear with its right hind paw. I wish I had a superpower like that. I bet all of these buildings are sore and miserable from not dying. Yes, death is the kindest gift I\u2019ll be getting, but I think the delivery man made off with it. Ill luck. I mean, look at this perfectly crushed chick on this death road. Blood vaporizing. Everything is messed up because I am not it. Everything is messed up because I am not Odysseus. I don\u2019t care about Ithaca; I just want some quiet. Yes, I am innocent; my feet are the sane ones. My concerned would be mother if she saw this, but we can keep it between us. I wish I was a stray dog. I wish I was a stray dog. I wish I was a stray dog. They can\u2019t go home, even if they want to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He wrote something like, I don\u2019t cook for my mother, but I\u2019d cook for you. He was so good at writing bad poetry, and I loved him. Anyway, this strawberry-flavored ice cream is so sweet and cheap. I think thin slippers are for people who don\u2019t give a fuck anymore, so I plan to get another pair of flip-flops. I called him, and he didn\u2019t answer. I\u2019ve been calling him for days now. I don\u2019t want him dead, but if he isn\u2019t, I\u2019d be offended. Now these people want me off this lovers\u2019 bench because I\u2019m alone. I don\u2019t care if they\u2019re kissing or fondling; I just want to sit down. Byung-Chul Han said something about touch being the only way to live this life. Heck. My ass is not so fat, and if you read the last poem, then you should know that I\u2019ve been walking. I see the moon nuzzling against the neck of this tall building, and I remember his hair on my neck. He always came with warm light. I see the moon nestled between the parted legs of this twin birch; it\u2019s such a beautiful metaphor for sex. No, I don\u2019t like to think of sex because all of the phrases are so violent and cannibalistic. I mean, I\u2019m a girl, not a batch of doughnuts. I don\u2019t know how a person can smell like cake all the time, but he did. I bet if I let him kiss me, he would have tasted like cake too. Now, I\u2019m thinking of eating him. I\u2019m not different from the rest of the world after all. These ornamental trees look hunched with sadness. I take a photo of them and send it to my friend, who knows a lot about trees. She says it\u2019s a Masquerade tree, but I\u2019m not so sure about that. I like to watch the pretty girls walking, but if they talk to me, I\u2019ll get pissed. It\u2019s important to watch all the pretty things from a distance; get close, and the magic will be besmirched. Everybody is in love around here; it kind of makes me not want love. I call him again, and he doesn\u2019t answer. Maybe we\u2019re doing test runs for the future. I really want to sit bare-assed on the sculpture of a hand holding a lamp. It says something about light and showing people the way; all I want is some air up my asshole without people calling me mad. I know I am, but the least you can do is be polite about it. I\u2019m a simple person, really. Maybe that\u2019s why nothing special ever happens to me. I think that\u2019s cool because if the world has given me nothing, then I owe it nothing. Then he said something like, I want to run through meadows in Japan with you. I lied; that\u2019s from a song I wish he sang. Well, I think he\u2019s dead now. You know, poets like to die just to see if they really can. He did. And I can still smell cake on my fingers. I still do not know what love is, but giving him my hands was a cool reflex. I guess I should be grateful because if the poet hadn\u2019t died, then nothing special would have happened to me this year. It\u2019s just that I miss him, and I\u2019ve been eating so much cake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A wanderer at heart, James-Ibe Chinaza spends her time walking, thinking, and thinking about thinking. She is a writer, a poet dying, music eater, and hobbyist photographer. She currently serves as the Assistant Editor of the Muse Journal, UNN. She goes by Umami_kun on X, and yellowin_teeth on Instagram.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Going Mad in Nsukka M\u1ecd\u0301renikeji, God is dead, and I\u2019ve been binge-watching videos on YouTube. I swear, I am not trying to be a woke babe. The world is made of blood, and we are all gut-deep lacerations, asymmetrical axes, Linea nigras, butchering ourselves like every other jolly old meat seller\u2014swipe the knife and hackhackhack. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":594,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2,5],"tags":[49,9,37,50,6],"class_list":["post-868","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-issue-1","category-poetry","tag-contemporary-nigerian-poetry","tag-nigerian-literature","tag-nigerian-literary-magazine","tag-nigerian-literary-magazines","tag-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/akpatamag.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/868","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/akpatamag.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/akpatamag.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/akpatamag.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/akpatamag.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=868"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/akpatamag.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/868\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/akpatamag.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=868"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/akpatamag.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=868"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/akpatamag.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=868"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}