To put things in perspective, I was born after the 1st mp3 player was created. So relatively speaking, even though I’m no spring chicken, there’s still a whole world that I’m basically a stumbling duckling to.

So sometimes I stumble upon photographs, paintings or music that strike a cord within me. Usually much older than I am which turns the appreciation into a research mission to understand the context in which it was produced.

There are a plethora of  creators in so many different mediums and sometimes I feel like even though I get exposed to their work. It’s always a fleeting moment in time and suddenly they’re gone in the wind never to be seen again ( unless I see them in my search results.)

I won’t really go deep into what this ‘series’ of posts will be centred around – you probably already get the gist of it.

I’m just going to jump straight into what I have discovered recently (who/what).


Before I bombard you with the history of this photograph, I’ll divulge into what I felt and thought when I initially saw it.

When you look into Yoko Ono’s eyes, there’s this emotion that I spent a couple of minutes to verbalize – to put in words but I can’t quite do it.

It’s almost as if she has dissociated herself from the this world. Her mind seems to be elsewhere. Yet at the same time there is this yearning, as if there is something beyond what we could comprehend that she desires. However amidst all these emotions, a peace is present – the same kind that you get while you’re floating in a pool.

A pleasant nothingness.

John Lennon has visually completely encompassed himself into her being – her essence. I like how his hand is threaded into her hair – her free flowing hair. To be a poetic sap for a second ( not that I’m not usually one.) I drew a parallel between this action and how the hair of women is highly romanticized and given power in the work of some poets and writers alike.

For the sake of having an example( so both you and I can be clear on this point.) I’ll drop Philip Larkin’s “Waiting For Breakfast, While She Brushed Her Hair”

Anyways back to the photograph. I was shocked Lennon. To be pressed up against Ono, there isn’t even an opportunity to have a guise of space. I love the way that gently cradles her head – perhaps he has deep respect for her mind and all that she contains.

My mind always floats back to the way he has moulded himself into her. I realized it was direct consequence of how in mainstream medium it’s always the other way around. That’s why this photograph seems so strange so out of place – why it impacted me so much. As well as the feeling of committing an intrusion of a private moment that it invokes.

The photograph was taken on 8th of December 1980 by Annie Leibovitz.

I’m going to go ahead insert an explanation of the context taken from The Study:

On December 8, 1980, Leibovitz was commissioned by Rolling Stone to photograph John Lennon and Yoko Ono, as part of the promotional efforts surrounding their joint album Double Fantasy. While Leibovitz had hoped that both Lennon and Ono would pose nude, Ono was uncomfortable with shedding her clothes. But Ono’s reluctance led to a legendary improvisation. Of the experience, Leibovitz has said: “I was kinda disappointed, and I said, ‘Just leave everything on.’ We took one Polaroid, and the three of us knew it was profound right away.” Later that evening, Lennon was shot and killed outside of his New York City apartment building. The magazine ran the haunting image (sans headlines) as its cover the following month.

That pretty sums up most of it. If you want to see more Annie Leibovitz work ( you could search her up.) or alternatively you could click here.

Thank you for sticking through it. Hope you experience something good today.



Dying might save your life.

“Whether you can or cannot, you’re right.”

Flavoured Mist.
Flavoured Mist Source – Tumblr

It’s been a 134 days as of today (16 April 2017) since I’ve sat down with the intention of ‘publishing’ here. I won’t lie and say that I didn’t open this screen more times than I wish to admit, stumbling through sentences; hoping to make something that spoke to me.

So back from the dead, these are 4 things that I learnt:

1.People are ticking time bombs and while some are grenades, it’s the nuclear bombs you should fear.

Humour me, open your chats and call log.

Who do you speak to the most just because?

There’s your bomb. If they ceased to be there right in this second, would you disintegrate? Are you still standing? How much damage did they leave behind and were they worth it?

Watch yourself with others, don’t become a minefield.

2. Screw what people say, if you think it’s right then it is.

Whatever decisions you make, what you say or wear even what you eat is right so long as you feel that way. You get 24 measly hours a day and to have something haunt you whatever part of the day is a waste of time. Honey you’re golden and that’s all that matters.

3.Please isn’t a magic word – Hello is.

You need capital, advice, transport or the best pizza joint’s number. Google isn’t the best way to get it. You see that person who stood in line behind you? He knows that pizza joint. That woman you passed yesterday? She looking for people who are looking to start a business that she can help fund. You walk past opportunities everyday and you should shoot yourself in the foot for it.

4. Breathe, and do the shite you like.

Remember those measly 24 hours? Well I like writing my crappy poetry and even crappier pieces with it. It makes me happy, so does hopelessly falling in love with everyone and thing around me. I happen to like my weird music and love dancing to it too. I might not know how to cook like a normal person but when I don’t burn, my food is pretty bomb so I’ll enjoy that too. Crying feels good and so does pooping. Having an unpopular opinion doesn’t make you wrong. Life is a compilation of too many 24 hours and too little things we like – so do the shite you like and breathe.

Doing shite she likes,

What happened.

photographer unknown

It had me at the throat.

It was anger I think. Anger that had me pulling at my shell, picking at the falsehood. Once I started peeling back at the pieces, I realized that I didn’t like them and one by one they repulsed me. I didn’t have to look far for the culprit, her eyes pierced mine and followed me in the mirror.

More anger, more tears and more denial. It didn’t make sense, here was a person that everyone loved and got along with but I hated her. I hated how she felt against my soul and how she didn’t quite fit. I hated how she held my words and how she suffocated my screams and dreams alike. My pleas, screams and even the quiet whispers that I released when I thought that someone – anyone – was listening were held hostage so wickedly by her.

Piece by piece, each concealed lie fell out, each more deviously conceived. In the end I wasn’t sure what killed me more, whether it was the mountain of pieces that lay next to me or the stranger that stared back at me in the mirror. I couldn’t handle it; more anger, more tears and more denial.

A pungent smell sat in the air. It invaded my nostrils and had my stomach reeling but what horrified me –  chilled me to the bone – was that it came from a corpse. I had killed me. There I was on the ground with glossy eyes, staring into the vast space of nothingness. Before I knew it, I was crashing and hurdling towards the earth and nothing could stop me or the sobs that ripped through my body.

I had killed myself and now I had to live.

Me VS all that I am not.

It isn’t easy to grow under the weight of all you’re supposed to be.

However I killed myself and I had to live,
Regardless of the fact that I was terrified.

        truthful and straightforward; frank.



noun: quasar; plural noun: quasars

a massive and extremely remote celestial object, emitting exceptionally large amounts of energy, which typically has a starlike image in a telescope. It has been suggested that quasars contain massive black holes and may represent a stage in the evolution of some galaxies.

Welcome to Candid Quasar.
Light from Lita

Are we living?

Are we living?

Realities 2

It must feel like wanting to implode,
to shatter in your own existence
but being held together by a force;
One you cannot rebel against.
So you exist in upside down frowns,
Hoping for sanity to find you.

I must have been around 9 or so when my friend told me how ‘unhappy’ he was. However our unhappy’s differed, mine being the lesser. I didn’t know it then but my friend, let’s call him J, was depressed.  Depressed like a nine year old wanting to throw themselves off of a swing set, hoping for it all to end. See J had a problem, one his parents shamed and denied because they didn’t want to have that ‘kid’. See J isn’t alone, there are millions even billions of people who are ‘unhappy’, clutching on to the sliver of existence they can maintain. 

Sometimes they kill themselves and other times they fail – that’s the reality.  Then shame follows from all angles, failing to address the real issue. How many coffins go down into the ground carrying the bodies of tortured souls? How many of those coffins do we malign once they are out of our sight? It becomes more about the suicide than the person who managed to live in a world that suffocated them. The death was bad yes, so was the living – you can’t acknowledge the one without the other, wouldn’t that be “cowardly”?

I’m not saying much more than this:

What if we can be more open to creating an environment where these issues aren’t looked at as a sign of a “defective” or “lesser” being then perhaps more people could take the step to say ,” Hey, I need help too.”.

I say this because I can’t help but think that I wouldn’t have to look a six year old in the eye and tell them that their mother is no longer alive (whether it be from empting a barrel into their mind or drowning their demons with pills.) and hope to have them understand that it wasn’t their fault that she’s not coming back.

It’s not their fault because society failed her. We the society, failed her.

If you know of someone who is need of help (including you), please take a visit here.

May your souls learn to breathe.
Let the fallen fly above and watch over us.

Your existence has purpose.

Light from Lita
See you soon.

Dinner with bro

Dinner with bro

half lit lounge
I’m catching slivers of your visage.
Look how much you’ve grown,
sometimes I think it’s apart
– rather than up –

Some old tune plays,
it infuses with your laughter.
something catches your eyes,
it’s off at the shore;
you tell me how the invaders
conquered the coast,
– the most –

Well giant little bro
I can’t send you off,
you’ve stop being a dreamer now
Conqueror of the most,
– you soul is lost –
but I am not ready to let you go.

He used to be a ball energy that barely reached my knees. Now he’s grown, with his own opinions and visions of the world. He’s defiant, a game changer and a force to be reckoned with. He’s still got that kind heart that houses an inquisitive soul. For those of you who remember him from here, yes he still snores.

Giant little bro, I call him mine.

Light from Lita
See you soon.

Let me hurt you.

Let me hurt you.


It’s currently 18:20, a long 20 mins after I sent that message. Yes this is in real time. I guess I am mixing media right now aren’t I?

Obviously I am still having this conversation on the side, actually a response has just been sent through.


I am back. 

I guess it’s cruel to react the way I did – it’s a profession of love right?

Someone thinks they love me and I can’t help nor affirm their love.


I do love that person.
Believe me I do.
I do love you.

Let me hurt you, because that’s all I know how to do.

So in advance, for breaking your heart and being the villian – only because I can’t love you the way you need to be loved; It would be selfish to keep you.


Here is your poem,
from your heart to yours.

why aren’t you responding? I am so sorry and I know that won’t take the pain away.


Please pick up the phone.


Please pick up,
I need to hear your voice.
Sorry ( I know you hate me for saying it )


………… silence.


Tears in my lover

I can’t take it away
I can give it

tears in my lover
rips in your heart
I can’t catch
nor patch.

Don’t ask to be held.
I’ll only burn you
my touch
isn’t meant for such

tears in my lover
I apologise.


Which side do you think I am on,
sent or received?

take it all away
for the both of us.

It hurts. We brought it on.

” I know you love me, it’s one sided but I knew going in… love you forever babe. ”

” love you too”

Light from Lita
See you soon.

This is you, perhaps in another time.

This is you, perhaps in another time.

“You must understand.” he started, staring at the figure standing a few feet in front of him – dangerously on the edge of the curb.

Her fingers glided through the air to shield 
the glare from the sun. With the beating heat, her warm breath carried into his space.

“I don’t.” She craned her neck to the side, glancing at the cars that blurred
past them.

He took a step back, in the guise to lure her 
back to safety.

She didn’t bite.

“I thought that I meant something to you. 
That we were something.
Now you stand there like a broken record,
saying that I must ‘understand’ that ‘We are nothing’.
Now you must understand something… 
I don’t.”

He sighed.

Suddenly there, where he stood, flew an old 
African fly. It lazily buzzed its
way past him; peaceful and unaware.

“Far from home” he thought.

She was far from home and thought she 
could take up residence in his heart. Yet he 
feared what she may do. Whether she be any good – none of his previous  tenants were.

She drew a final breath and watched her reflection twinkle in his eyes as let  herself fall backwards.

A car, that she long forgot the name for, 
came barrelling towards her.
It cried out that she should redeem herself,
yet she welcomed the impending doom.
It’s wail became louder with each of their heartbeats combined.

It filled her.
It overtook him.

“I understand” the soft utterance  encompassed her, as he embraced her.

Lighter light from Lita
Keep your soul intact
See you soon.

Terga I


You lied.
Like you screwed around
With this fickle heart.
Lost it’s screws
And didn’t care,
Now it can’t be fixed
By anyone nor thing
That exists.
It hurts so much
But it can’t be fixed

Never give someone the power to detonate you with the blink of an eye.
“Ngeya saba”

Light from Lita
See you soon.

Wavering Wednesdays.

Wavering Wednesdays is about introducing different sorts of writing forms.

Today : Excerpt from a book I never wrote.

                                  ^   Lone Wanderer  ^

His teeth had started to clatter. He couldn’t be sure whether it was the wind or creature that stood before him.

He stared into the glittering multitude that the creature’s eyes had become.

Words clawed at his throat, threatening to escape. His mind had became still, numbed by the creature.

The creature floated, causing a soft flutter of desire to electrify the air.

Suddenly, all to quickly, it touched him and burnt him to the core.

He was enchanted.
He was helpless.

Then the creature replied, her almost translucent hair cascading into patterned waves; drowning him into her hold.

“No, I do not love you. I could never love you like that but I still want to be friends.”

Then he shattered into oblivion.
Alone again.

Light from Lita
See you soon



So we called ourselves invincible
The top chain
In the main lane
Of the cycle.
So winter came
And no one remained
But the bones of a society
That detonated itself
In the plight of existence.

So we broke trying to recreate ourselves.

Light from Lita
See you soon