The Dreaded End/ I Am Not a Lemming {Forgive My Jabbering I Am Not Myself}

I walk into Charlie's. The 12 inches of a hair on my head sticking out in every direction. four sets of eyes follow me as I cross the linoleum floor and land in what is to be my hairs electric chair.
“Dead man walking...dead. Man. walking.” I can almost hear Percy Wetmore, that asshole, shout down the mile. (for those who don't know, thats a “Green Mile” reference. One of the best novel-movie masterpieces of all time)
I take a long look at myself in the wall length mirror. I'm shivering. And its not even cold. Get it together. I tell myself. Get it the fuck together.
After a second, Charlie himself walks up to me. He seems intrigued.
“What can I do you for?” he asks after a standard issue 'our long hair makes us brethren' greeting.
I swallow. Try my best to calm my nerves. It wouldn't make do for my voice to come out all funny. It would let him know that there was still a chance of talking me out of it.
Deep breath. Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth.
“I want to cut off my hair. All of it.”
Charlie's eyes stray to the top of my head yet again. After a moment, they drop to look me square in the face.
“Are you sure?”
I nod.
“Yup. Let's do this.”
Charlie shakes his head.
“well, if you're sure...”
“I am.”
I hope I sound more confident than I feel, I think as I watch Charlie, in the mirror, tie a neck strip around my neck followed by one of those polyester oba nylon apron thingys they cover you with to keep your recently liberated hair from getting all over you.
Picking up the clipper, Charlie asks me how low I want it.
“Level one.” I tell him.
He sort of smiles. To me it looks more like a grimace.
“That's really low, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” I assure him.
“Ok.” he says nodding. “Just as long as you know.”
He turns on the clipper. The Buzz-Buzzing it makes jolting me like 20,000 volts of electricity coursing through my body damning me to the grave..
I close my eyes.
“ten minutes,” I tell myself, “ten minutes and this will all be over.”
Yeah, the cynical part of me adds, with your hair all over the floor...




Deep breath. This is gonna take some getting used to. I keep touching my head to make sure it really happened. That I'm not just dreaming. Or somehow just imagined it.
“Yup, it really did happen.”, the thin carpet of hair left on my head proclaims every single time.
“Now I'm just like everybody else.” A part of me despairs silently, mourning its loss.
“I am not my hair.” I try to convince myself as I stand in front of the mirror. But nobody's listening. Not now. Not tonight. Try again in the morning.
“Now its back to charming them” , I sigh.
Before, the hair did half of the work for me. There's just something about a man with long hair that turns girls on. And girls, dont you dare try to deny it.
My game had upped because of it but to be quite honest, it had also suffered. I got lazy. Smiled, let them touch my hair, said something vaguely funny, told them I wanted to go home with them and then it was on. Now it wont be so simple. Or will it? I guess you'll have to ask me in a few days. The weekend is coming up after all...
There was a point I was trying to make. I'm sure of it. Um, lemme think...lemme see...
Nothing. I cant remember, for the life of me, what I wanted to tell you. Something about not wanting to be a lemming. About not wanting to be part of the everybody in “everybody else”. And as corny as it may seem, my hair helped me do that. Or at the very least I managed to fool myself into thinking that it did. I would walk down the street and eyes would follow me. Do you know how many stares I got today? Like really? A grand total of ZERO. Zilch. Not...a...one. and its not that I necessarily crave the attention, its just that being so used to something and then having it suddenly taken away from you is well, kind of a traumatic experience. Like losing a child.
Then why cut it off in the first place? You may ask. A very valid question. I just...I just felt it was time.
Then stop pining.
Well I intend to, thank you very much.
So is that it? Is there anything else you would like to share with me?
I cant really think of anything...
Then good night.
(Stern voice...there's no arguing with it)
*sigh* Good night...

Frm Boi-Toy 2 Luv Jones

“hey, u deserve to know that I got married. I hope, hweva, that we can stil be friends. coz wat we had was great. o'wise I wish u d best. in everything. GUD NYT.”

Lisa (via text message)

12:25 am

wow, now ain't that something. She got married. Just like that. No warning, no wedding invitation. Not nothing. Not that I would have gone even if I had gotten one. Hell no. I mean, what would have I said to the guy?
“hey, congratulations. Um, by the way, I fucked your wife.”
Talk about the most awkward conversation ever.
of course, she may not have been his wife at the time but I am pretty sure that they were already romantically involved. In fact, if my memory serves me correctly, I actually remember Matthew mentioning something about her man being out of the country or some shit like that. Not that I gave two shits. I was there to get it in...the rest was just details; easily overlooked.
That being said, a lot of stuff suddenly makes a lot of sense. Her sudden lack of interest for one. I mean, think about it. After being so hung up on a brother, after only a week she was throwing around the word love like it was a frisbee, her sudden turn of apathy was more than just a wee bit...well, sudden.
She started screening my calls, not replying my messages, avoiding our once casual hook ups...i found it odd, of course but I had always chalked it up to her making me pay for hurting her feelings. For using her and dumping her like an old ratty dish cloth so torn and full of holes that it was beyond useless. I guess I was wrong. I guess it was because her man was back in town. And that he had come to do the one thing that I was never going to: put a ring on it.
And you know what? Good for her. And I mean that. She deserves to be happy. I just hope that she'll be happy with him. And no, I'm not just saying that because deep down I'm thinking that she would have been better off with me. Because the fact is, she wouldn't have been. I would have broken her heart everyday that we were together until there was nothing left to break. She deserves better than that. And if this guy can offer her that, then good.
It does make me wonder though. Its not the first time this has happened. Or something similar to it. I seem to attract the same kind of woman. The lonely girlfriend who's boyfriend isn't around to show her the attention she needs. Ive built up quite the reputation. For being the surrogate boyfriend. The guy who you call when you're looking for a night of seamless fun. He wont respect you in the morning, but honey, isn't that kind of the point? That's what a boyfriend's for. And so by default Ive become a chronic dater. No girl is willing to give me the chance to be anything more than that. Because if I can charm my way into her pants (and this is a girl who considers herself pretty principled) how many other girls have I managed to charm out of their underwear? Not a number she wants to think about and certainly not a number she wants to play around with.
And I have to be honest, for most guys, thats not necessarily a bad thing. I mean, a nigga can get a whole lot of nookie that way. And everyone knows a nigga don't play around when it comes to nookie. But what happens when said nigga (in this case, me) gets tired of the nookie? When all he wants to do is get all love jones on a chick. Settle down. Get himself a boo and just chill...what then?
Now, don't ya'll be jumping to any conclusions now. Because I'm not saying that I want to settle down and make babies or nothing. But then again, I'm not saying that I don't. All i'm saying is that when the time does come, how do I keep the boy toy image from working against me? Ideas anyone?

Relapse: They Call Me The Corruptor

It was supposed to be simple. I go over, get her comfortable, get her naked; then bing, bang, boom, i give her the business and then out of there.
Business as usual.
I had no qualms about it. In fact, I was actually quite the expert at it and had no doubt whatsoever that things would go according to plan. Forget that I was in the worst drought of my life, (well, maybe not the worst but certainly the worst in recent memory) forget that I was a lil rusty (I needed some serious greasing and there was not a drop of alcohol in sight) and forget that this girl had a white dude for a boyfriend who she would not shut up about, (you should see her Facebook profile pic, its ridiculous) I was going to get it in.

Step 1: Going over
Was simple enough. I had never been to her place and she didn't have a phone on her but she proved quite resourceful, giving me the number of a boda guy she frequently used named Robert who I called when I reached kamokya and who drove me right up to her front door. The only zib there may have been was that the dude quite calmly and like it was the most common thing in the world asked me to pay him five thousand Uganda shillings for services rendered.
I ran a hand through my hair.
“you cant be serious.”
but he was.
I did a few quick calculations, I wasn't that broke but there was no way I was going to fork over 5k for a ride that clearly didn't deserve it. I told him I had two. After a minute or two of back and forth and a little persuasion on Bridget's side, he finally accepted the money. I handed it over and followed Bridget inside.

Step 2: Getting her comfortable
Now although she had home court advantage, the advantage was really mine. She was wearing a pair of short shorts that showed of her thighs and a blouse (without a bra) that tied at that back of the neck. A few flicks of the wrist and that baby would be gone. And so I set about the task of getting her comfortable. I made her laugh, made her dance, let my hands roam free... I pulled out all the stops but at best, it was a hit and miss. She would only let them roam so far. Too far up the thigh and she would spin away giggling, asking me what I thought I was doing.
“you know what I'm doing.” was my answer more than once.
“but I have a boyfriend.”
Pulling her down on top of me. (there was no where to sit but on the bed)
“I know, but he isn't here is he?”
But the thing was, he might as well have been. Damn friggin technology. And damn yahoo with its yahoo messenger. And damn video chatting. Damn it all to hell. Every time I thought I was getting somewhere, every time that hand reached that border between “a big maybe” and “now we're talking” there would be a quiet “bloop” and a new IM from that Greek bastard she called her boyfriend. And every time that happened any progress made would suddenly vanish and I would have to start all over again. Pish-tosh, I was beginning to think, you know what? Fuck it. If I have to work this hard for it, it obviously aint happening. But the thing is, anyone who knows me can tell you, I aint one to give up so easily.

Step 3: Getting her naked
She kept on telling me how cute I was. So cute that it scared her.
I gave her a puzzled look.
“What does that even mean?”
“what it means,” she said drawing close, “is that,” she pulled me in as if for a kiss but stopped me just one yard shy of the touch down line, “I don't trust myself with you...”
she pushed me away. Got up and went to the kitchen. It was a moment or two before she reappeared when she did she came back with two glasses of wine. The wine had been a birthday gift from that Greek bloke of hers. An hour before she had been scared to death to open it. Now she was cracking it open and putting it back with a guy who would not hesitate to take the first opportunity to take advantage of her.
“bad move.” I mused to myself. “Bad, bad move.”
All smiles i accepted the glass of wine.
After a couple of sips she set down her glass.
“I wanna go out tonight, what do you think I should wear?”
she got up and walked over to where all her clothes were hanging. I got up and followed her.
“Let's see what you've got.”
she pulled out a flowered, if my memory serves me right, pink, black and white mid thigh high dress with a black belt.
“What do you think?” she asked me, holding it up.
I told her to try it on and I would tell her exactly what I thought.
And so she did. Practically undressing right in front of me. I tried to be gentlemanly about it but couldn't help but catch a little glimpse of titty before she pulled on a bra. A little glimpse of cutchie as she slipped out of her panties and into a pair that matched her bra. I watched as my window of oppotunity closed. On came the dress and out came the makeup bag. I was losing the friggin' battle.

Step 4: Bing, bang, boom- giving her the business
I don't think I have to tell you just how easy it is to get it cracking with a girl wearing a dress. Especially a short one. And so with this in mind I decided to look at my glass as half full instead of half empty. My vigor renewing as a result.
She still tried to fight me off but there was less disdain in her voice and I could tell that I was at least a step closer than I was before.
But you want to know what the most fucked up part of it was? Through it all she was still fucking IM'ing that guy of hers. It was kinda getting on my nerves but I kept my mouth shut about it and kept my engine running. And then she started talking dirty to him.
How do I know? I was sitting right there. And boy does this girl have a dirty mind.
After a couple of minutes of trying to keep my eyes from straying to the screen, she burst out laughing.
“what?” I asked, whipping my head to look at the screen.
“He wants me to touch myself.”
she was still giggling.
“then why don't you?” I was seeing a window of opportunity beginning to open again.

Bloop.
*And make sure you close the windows first.*

I laughed with her about that one and watched as a mischievous grin crossed her face. i could tell the wine was beginning to work.
I think she surprised both of us when she slipped out of her panties and tossed them in my direction. I caught them, surprised and threw them back at her.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like i'm doing?” she asked, positioning herself in front of the laptop,
“I'm having cyber sex with my boyfriend.”
She threw me a look. “Feel free to watch.”
I watched as one hand reached for one keyboard and her other hand reached for the other...

Drama-Tox Thesis: pt1

Leave me at the corner...(remember to breathe)...leave me at the corner...(i cannot breathe)...leave me at the corner...
but she doesn't.
She never listens...She doesn't care.
She's dragging me down with her, the destination's hell.
Leave me at the corner...I try one last time. But its of no use, my fate is sealed. Death is inevitable.
She smiles. She knows there is no escape. That I know there is no escape.
But I know something that she doesn't know. There's help on the way. An intervention. One that will force her to release me. All it needs is time...




Hey Nimo, I guess now its my turn. Um, I hope you don't mind me using your name; I'm sort of just winging it here. and as for the rest of you people out there, just to make things perfectly clear; Nimo is NOT the “she” forementioned above. she's far...far from it. As a matter of fact, Nimo *hand over heart* (my sponsor, my friend) is on the same mission as I am.
And um, what mission may that be? You might ask. Well, (one swallow, two swallows, a sip from my glass of milk, one more swallow) that would be Mission: Drama-Tox of course.
Let me explain:
Considering everything thats been going on recently (and when I say “recently” I mean like the past year or so) and all of the drama that's come along with it, Ive come to the realization that although I enjoy it (and loath at the same time) its not all that healthy for me. I need to take a breather. A major one.
They say that the first step to recovery is to admit that you have a problem. Well...hi, my name is Lloyd and I'm a drama junkie. I love the high of feeling low. Of beating myself over the head for being so stupid. Of scratching my head and wondering just how the hell I'm going to get myself out of this one. And how I even got myself into it in the first place. And why.
To go into the specifics of what Ive been stupid about, what Ive been beating myself over the head about, would mean writing you a book and seeing as I'm not up to it (and I'm sure you wouldn't be up to reading it even if I was) I'm not going to waste my time. However, let's just say that it involves two individuals (yes, they are women, although I'm pretty that sure both would prefer being referred to as girls) that I care about who through my vast ingenuity, I have managed to completely alienate. With one its been a merry-go-round and with the other a swing. One makes me dizzy and the other gives me vertigo. The mixture has left me feeling...well feeling kind of disoriented.
Okay, I feel like I'm going a little of course here. And the truth is, I don't even know which course I'm supposed to be taking. Its three in the morning and I'm feeling pretty tired. Maybe its time to go to bed and try again in the morning...
yeah, I think thats what I'm going to do. So until until morning...

The Dark: Chapter Nine

So what if you have a little trouble navigating the stairs? Its not like youve forgotten how to walk. Its really not that bad you know. It really isnt. You are quite capable of going to the bathroom by yourself. You have been doing it for years. and nothing has really changed except for the fact that yo have a stupid cast on your leg and a pair of crutches to keep you company. but you can handle that. Youve dealt with alot worse. Remember that summer when your foot got crushed by an SUV?
But inspite of your best arguments your mother insists that if she let you go by yourself she will only worry. and she's tired of worrying. She's done enough worrying to last her a lifetime. And so letting out an exasperated sigh you let your mother act as your personal escort. Talk about a lack of privacy.
Understandabley, it takes you twice as long as usual to do your business knowing you mother- your Mother for pete's sake is standing right outside the door like youre friggin five or something.
Washing your hands and drying them on a hand towel you stare at yourself in the mirror. Almost all the swelling has gone down and your face isnt as mishapen and discolored as it was before but you know you are never going to look the same. The doctors said that they tried their best to twist your nose back into place but you can already see that it is going to heal crooked. The place where it broke as clear as a hot summer's day. But thats not the only thing. There is something else. Something in your eyes. Something that wasnt there before. Its as if there is someone else staring out at the world from them. Youre still there but so is someone else. The lights are on but youre not the only one home.
There is a knock on the door, dispelling all your thoughts.
"Is everything Okay in there?" Its your mother.
"I'm fine." you call back.
After one last lingering glance at yourself, you hop to the door and jerk it open.
Your mother's forehead kneeded with concern, she hands you the crutches without saying a word.
"I'm fine." You repeat and taking the crutches you head for the stairs with your mother in toe.
You negotiate the stairs carefully, your mother lending you a guiding hand here, a word of encouragement there and the more than occasional "almost there." in an attempt to calm your nerves. Inspite of your complaints, youre thankful she's there.
It's not long before you need to take a break and so letteing your mother know, you stop on the landing a little more than half way down to catch your breath.
As tiny beads of sweat break out on your forehead, you feel the three pairs of eyes below peer up at you. You dont have to look at the owners to know what they are thinking.
Pity. Sympathy. And in the case of your father; Guilt. And if their stares could be translated into words they would be saying something like "Poor kid, no one should have to go through that."
"But I dont want your pity!" you feel like screaming at them. But you dont. You cant and so instead you silently take in their silent stares. Trying your best to concentrate on the task at hand: catching your breath. The awkward silence of the moment however, forces you to get moving before youre ready to and so by the time youre sitting safely in your seat again youre virtually heaving.
Your mother brings you another glass of iced lemonade before you have a chance to ask. You thank her as she sets it down on the side table next to you. After a few sips you feel alot better and about ready to talk. As if sensing this Dective Gervaldi clears his throat. As if on cue his partner, a small, bird like woman with thin and drab hair, thick rimmed glasses and a suit that appears two sizes too big sets down her glass of lemonade and pulls out a small notebook.
You know what is coming next.
"Are you ready to continue?"
You exchange quick glances with your parents. They both nod their heads in encouragement. Turning to face Gervaldi you nod your own.
Consulting the notebook his partner has held out for him to read, Gervaldi is silent for a moment. Then looking up from it he clears his throat again.
"Okay. Now tell me what happened once the three of you left the party."

T.E.X.T.H.E.R. (Alex It Isnt Working)

After our lil talk yesterday, after reviewing the current situation, after reviewing the current situation(s) in fact (we all seemed to be going through something) I decided to try and do it Alex's way. I told myself I wouldn't call, I wouldn't text, I wouldn't even speak her name...not until and only until she made the first move. Not until I knew what I was dealing with.
“she's fucking with my head.” I remember telling them. But the thing is, I was letting her. I had always let her fuck with it. It was a fucking vicious cycle of head fucking and I never got fucking tired of it...am I saying fucking too much? cos' I kinda feel as if I am. But no, you know what? I'm not going to go back and replace all those f-bombs with something a lil more...how should I say...appropriate. I should, I know I should; we do have kids on here after all. But fuck it. They shouldn't be reading this anyway. This is all assuming of course, that the intention of writing this is to post it on Facebook...but then to be quite honest, it kinda is.
A minor deviation, forgive me. What was I saying? Oh yeah, so I'm going to try things Alex's way. Though I know from past experience that the success rate of such a venture is usually um...lemme see...um...kinda like nil. In fact, Ive felt compelled to send her a text the entire day. A few more hours and I'll be home free at least...for another day.
One day at a time, they tell all addicts, just take it one day at a time. In my opinion that's some ol' bullshit. A day at a time? You have to be fucking kidding me! That shit is eating me up second by every fucking passing second and you're telling me to take it one day at a time.
“Then fine, just be all nonchalant like.”, I tell myself. Make it look like you're doing you're thing and you've just taken a moment out of your busy schedule to find out how she's doing. Not under any circumstances is she to know that she's been weighing down your brain for days. You did that before remember? and look where that got you.
Just say hi. Find out how she is. You don't have to ask her when you can hook up. She doesn't even have to know that you're even still in town. About to close that multi-milli-shilli deal that you've been looking to close.
Deep breath. I reach for my phone but a second later pull back my hand. Not so fast. Thats only inviting disaster. Pulling yourself back in. you know that. stay on the course you've taken. Convince this other girl (she's great btw) that she's the one that you want and not just some girl whose only significance is to help you get over your overcomplicated ex.
Convince yourself.
But I cant. She has that hold on me. Just like Alex's has a hold on him. Its fucked up aint it?
“Love's a bitch.” I tell myself. It really is. I would love to say that I no longer love her but that just wouldn't be the case. And that kills me.
Just one text... just one...thats it.

The Dark: Chapter Eight

The trees shudder in the chill of the night. Towering above you like tall eerie sentinels. Their wind rustled leaves giving the illusion that they are indulging in a secret to which you are not privy to.
As the old cracked leather creaks beneath you, you shift in your seat to get a better look out the window. The moon is full and bright casting everything in an unearthly bluish light.
You appear to be at the edge of a wood. The nose of your car sniffing at its feet. How you got there you have no idea. The last thing you remember is getting into the car to go to the police station. To go and turn yourself in. but after that...nothing. Nothing but this place- at the edge of the woods. You cant help but feel you have been here before. That it holds a certain importance. A certain hold over you. You dont know how but you cant shake the feeling that this place has somehow left its smudgy fingerprint on the surface of your pitiful existence.
Reaching for the door you step out of the car not bothering to close the door behind you. You take a few steps towards the darkness of the woods, the knarled roots of the nearest tree hard under foot. you suddenly stop, however, as if you have just hit an invisible barrier. Your breath begins to come in short ragged gasps. The palms of your hands sweaty. your throat cardboard dry. You suddenly know where you are. The realisation horrifies you.
Why would you come back here?
Then as if deciding that you are privy to their secrets afterall, the trees themselves seem to answer you. As one. As if it is the spirit of the forest itself answering you. And this alone horrifies you ten times more than the realisation of where you are. Because that can mean only one of two things. that one- you are completely out of your mind or two- all of this is absolutely real. The latter certainly being the scarier of the two.
Refusing to play into your paranoia, you decide to get the hell out of there. Turning, you are about to head back to the car when something stops you. Something isnt right. It takes you a moment to place your finger on it. and then it hits you. you had left the door of your car open. Youre sure of it. You would bank your life savings on it. But unless your mind is playing tricks on you it is now closed. your eyes travel up the closed door to the open window. you feel your blood freeze in your veins.Your breath condense right there in your throat. There is someone sitting behind the wheel.
Blinking several times you make a vain attempt to will whoever it is sitting behind the wheel of your car out of it. You have no such luck. If anything, whoever or whatver it is seems to sense that you are watching them. Slowly but with the gravity of a planet, the person turns to face you. You feel your legs turn to jelly beneath you. Stumbling a few feet backwards you struggle to keep you feet under you. Its Him. Youre as certain of it as you are that you have ten fingers and ten toes.Its the eyes. Glowing as red as rubies formed in the very fires of Hell itself. Only one question belittles your conclusion: How?
Suddenly, a violent wind kicks up, clawing savagely at your clothes, tearing leaves from the surrounding trees, sucking the very breath from your lungs. and then the voice of the forest speaks. A wispy wraith that almost passes over your ears in incomprehension.
"He's waiting for you."
You glance up at the trees. At the knarled fingers of their ancient branches. Then, after a moment, beyond them, at the sky. It is rolling with dark, mean looking clouds. Clouds that threaten rain. That not only threaten rain but promise it.
Your eyes fall back to earth. back to your car.
To your empty car. With its driver side door open.
Just as you left it.
You take a step towards your car but think the better of it. He's waiting for you. God knows he's not one to toy with. Its better you find out what He wants.
And with that decision set in stone in your mind, you turn on your heels and face the woods. The dark, menacing, soul swallowing woods. The wind, changing direction, pushes at your back, urging you fowards.
Unable to disobey, unable to ignore, you take a step forwards. then another. Then another. Before long the wood has swallowed you. There is no longer any escape. There is only one direction to take.
The moon, penetrating the thick canopy above you in shards, lights your path in glimses. A thick root here, a puddle of water there. Making your procession easier but only by a fraction. You trip a number of times but somehow manage to keep your feet under you. All the while the wood has become a muted hush. As if holding its breath in quiet anticipation.
And then you see it. Just as you left it.
It is an old structure. Probably more than fifty years. Even though, it still appears sturdy, strong and if given some time and attention; inhabitable.
The old cabin sits in the middle of a small clearing. The area immediately surrounding it is strewn with gravel, discarded sticks deemed unworthy to serve as firewood by some long gone hiker as well as a number of small to medium sized boulders.
The gravel crunches under you as you cautiously make your way across the clearing to the foot of the porch steps.
The warped old wood creaks under foot as you take the first step up to the cabin. As you take the second step there is another creak. This one, however, is deeper and more prolonged. And comes from above and in front of you rather from beneath you.
You look up from your feet and find the door of the cabin swinging inwards. Opening up on a darkness that you have no words to explain. No words to describe.
You pause. But only for a second. Then gathering your wits about you, you climb up the rest of the stairs, walk across the porch and stop in front of the open doorway.
Peering into the cabin you see nothing. Then taking a deep breath you cross the thresh hold, the door of the cabin closing behind you with a deep and prolonged creak.