LondonBeat

So “where my life at?”
Let’s leave that question for a minute. I have been writing of course, but I can’t put the stuff that I have been writing recently up for certain “reasons”. So in the meantime, I will put stuff up by other people.
Generally, if I like a song, I usually go and look up the artiste and the lyrics. Recently, a radio station played some golden oldies and the song “I’ve been thinking about you” by LondonBeat came up. That was an all-time favourite! Probably before I even knew what else my heart was for apart from pumping blood to all parts of my body. Of course now I am painfully aware of that other function (of the heart)! Oh! The innocence of youth! Yeah! Go ahead and say it – I came late to the party (as usual) – but at least I came 🙂

So below is the lyrics from the song. Now I will go and put it in auto-play loop and listen to it over and over again for a while 🙂

I’ve been thinking about you (by LondonBeat)

We must have been stone crazy when we thought we were just friends
‘Cause I miss you, baby, and I’ve got those feelings again.
I guess I’m all confused about you.
I feel so in love, oh, baby, what can I do?

I’ve been thinking about you, I’ve been thinking about you.
I’ve been thinking about you, I’ve been thinking about you.
Shi-pow-pow!

Suddenly we’re strangers, I watch you walking away.
She was my one temptation, oh, I did not want her to stay.
Deep down, I’m still confused about you.
I feel so in love, oh, baby, what can I do ?

I’ve been thinking about you, I’ve been thinking about you.
I’ve been thinking about you, I’ve been thinking about you.
Shi-pow-pow!

What good is being her without you?
I feel so in love, oh, baby, what can I do ?

I’ve been thinking about you, I’ve been thinking about yo.
I’ve been thinking about you, I’ve been thinking about you.
Shi-pow-pow!
I’ve been thinking about you, I’ve been thinking about you.
I’ve been thinking about you, I’ve been thinking about you.
Shi-pow-pow!

Home Alone …

It’s Saturday evening and I am home alone (well not literally, there are a few other people in the house but I am alone for all intents and purposes). I could dress up, hop in the car and do what? Roam the city? I can’t be  bothered. I think such things should be done in pairs (in company).
So I think I will re-visit a path I have thread before since I am feeling blue.
I love all genres of music, and songs from all ages. But the oldies have a certain special place in my heart. And even narrowing that down further would be the category of songs that are called by various names including “tragic love songs” and “teenage tragedy songs”. I am including the lyrics of one of my all-time favorites below – “Tell Laura I love her”. I believe I heard this song first on some lonely day back when I was in the boarding house during my secondary school days.
To counter the “blues” effect, I am also including the lyrics of a song “Jambalaya” I first heard/learnt at a YMCA camp a very long time ago when I was little (Nigeria was different then). Jambalaya is one of those folksongs you sing in company at any time – the more the merrier!

Tell Laura I lover her

Laura and Tommy were lovers
 He wanted to give her everything
 Flowers, presents, but most of all, a wedding ring
 
He saw a sign for a stock car race
 A thousand dollar prize it read
 He couldn’t get Laura on the phone
 So to her mother, Tommy said
 
Tell Laura I love her
 Tell Laura I need her
 Tell Laura I may be late
 I’ve something to do, that cannot wait
 
 He drove his car to the racing grounds
 He was the youngest driver there
 The crowed roared as they started the race
 Around the track they drove at a deadly pace
 
No one knows what happened that day
 Or how his car overturned in flames
 But as they pulled him from the twisted wreck
 With his dying breath, they heard him say
 
Tell Laura I love her
 Tell Laura I need her
 Tell Laura not to cry
 My love for her will never die
 
Now in the chapel where Laura prays
For her poor Tommy, who passed away
 It was just for Laura he lived and died
 Alone in the chapel she can hear him cry 

Jambalaya

Goodbye Joe, me gotta go, me oh my oh
Me gotta go, ole the pirogue, down the bayou
Oh my John, the sweetest one, me oh my oh
Son of a gun, we’ll have big fun, on the bayou

Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and filet gumbo
’cause tonight, I’m gonna meet, ma cher amio
Pick guitar, fill fruit jar, and be gay-o
Sun of a gun, we’ll have big fun, on the bayou

Thibodaux, Fontaineaux, the place is buzzin’
Kinfolk come, to see my john, by the dozen
Dress in style, go hog wild, me oh my oh
Sun of a gun, we’ll have big fun, on the bayou

Jambalaya, and a crawfish pie, and filet gumbo
’cause tonight, I’m gonna meet, ma cher amio
Pick guitar, fill fruit jar, and be gay-o
Sun of a gun, we’ll have big fun, on the bayou

Settle down, far from town, get me a pirogue
And I’ll catch, all my fish, in the bayou
Swap my mon, to buy my John, what he need-o
Son of a gun, we’ll have big fun, on the bayou

Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and filet gumbo
’cause tonight, I’m gonna meet, ma cher amio
Pick guitar, fill fruit jar, and be gay-o
Sun of a gun, we’ll have big fun, on the bayou

The Hitman

The Hitman

I paid the hitman yesterday
Though his price was steep
I gladly paid
For what I wanted done
Few could do

I paid the hitman yesterday
I went to his temple
But would not bow the knee
Nor bend the neck
For though people thought him god
He was not my God

I paid the hitman yesterday
I almost doubted
His weapons were quaint
Shiny like toys
And small in form

I paid the hitman yesterday
I asked his name
For though I knew
I was told his voice was music to the ears
“Cupid” he said, with a smile on his lips

Cupid is dead

Cupid is dead

I prayed to the God of love
And worshipped his middling form
I did not care that he looked like a grownup babe
And cavorted with nymphs in nothing but his very skin

What I wanted done, I thought only he could do
He failed me at every turn
Worse, he laughed loud at my every loss
And told a hundred jokes at my sorry face

So I tricked his curly head
Wrestled his puny arrow from his stubby grip
And dipping it in the dragon’s blood
I stuck it in his ugly heart
I waited till he bled no more
Then burnt his godless form
And scattering his ashes to the winds, I told Zeus to kiss my ass

So if you find you cannot fall in love
Or love finds you not, no matter how hard you try
Do not blame Cupid (no longer the god of love)
Because I killed him dead

Dead I said.

(06/08/2012 – 1:21AM)

The Mark

The Mark

I do not get angry. In my line of work, angry people have a short work life and generally a short life.

In my house I have a room with padding on all the walls and floor. It’s like one of those rooms they hold the medically insane who are dangerous to themselves and others. Actually it’s one of those rooms; I had it built specially. It’s also sound-proof. Right in the center is a dummy.  I have beaten the dummy out of that dummy but it just won’t die. I am sure it will be alive and well long after I am all bleached bones looking accusingly at all comers and reminding them how we destroyed  the planet with plastics and waste.

When I am out of my house, I do not get cranky; I do not get annoyed; I do not raise my voice or my fist; I do not hyperventilate. I am as calm as the ocean before the storm. But once in that room, I let loose. Those who have no self-control do not last long in my line of work.  They serve as punch lines for other’s jokes – most of who will soon fall victim to the same thing themselves.

*****************

I am standing at the corner of 4th and 5th. An unlit cigarette in my mouth. I don’t smoke and when I am done it goes down my throat. Yeah, I know but not to worry. A bullet will probably be the death of me. Long before “C.A.” has any chance to shrivel my organs.

I shouldn’t be here. But the situation calls for extreme and decisive action if I am to save my head and my reputation.

It helps that I am one of those people who are largely transparent to others. I have a non-descript visage. The police could be braining people with batons during a violent riot, and I could walk past their line with not a second glance from anyone. I have sat next to people for hours on a train and the only description they could give less than hour later is “a man”, tall, short, thin, young, middle-age – they couldn’t be certain. Which suits me very well.

There was only one way out of the building and the “mark” has to take it sooner or later. I am standing there with a Remington 700 under my non-descript coat. I could whip that gun up in a second and have a bullet racing towards my target in two. It’s a fact: practice makes perfect.

There was a little commotion at the entrance of the building and the mark came out. He had lawyered up. And was surrounded by chaps in dark suits and darker glasses who thought they were mean. I did not move a muscle. I waited as I have for several days now. He had to get in the bullet-proof car.

As he was hustled towards the car, I could see how he could think he was safe enough for the time of day. Twenty seconds after the front door opened he was at the car. The door swung open from the inside and he was helped in quickly from within and behind. In the split second when it took him to enter I sent a neat little specially-made projectile towards the car. It was a difficult shot by any reasoning. The purpose was for the bullet to hit the target’s neck through the slight gap between the car frame and the open door as he passed from outside into the vehicle. Timing was key. Instinct was everything.

I couldn’t see him but I knew he was dead before he knew it. That bullet was made to explode on impact with anything harder than flesh. It would have hit his vertebrae, snapping his neck, exploded and taken his spinal cord along for good measure while delivering a highly toxic and corrosive concoction into his system.

I could tell by the commotion I could hear behind me as I made my way nonchalantly and slowly past the gathering crowd and the car pulling off the curb in a hurry.

I still couldn’t get mad. There was one more thing to do before going home to beat the dummy.

01/SEPT/2011

*******************

The Good Doctor: 2 years on

The Good Doctor: 2 years on

It is of course 2 years ago today when the good doctor took his leave.

I must admit the complete piece to which the following poem belonged was long and rambling, so I am only posting the poem here.

Father, your work is done
You have laid down the axe, the hoe and the surgeon’s blade
Now with keen eyes, steady hands and fingers sure, strum your guitar with the hosts of heaven

On quiet days when my task is done
Under a tree’s leafy shade
I will catch the strains of the music you make and bless the God of heaven

And when I too am done
And exit this worldly glade
I pray we meet again with kith and kin in God’s blessed heaven