prisoner’s cinema.

a sensation of a ring or spot of light produced by pressure on the eyeball or direct stimulation of the visual system other than by light.

omio asks me what it’s like to live alone now. i say that to be an adult is to buy your own chair.

after three days of walking everywhere, we have collected our certificates from unilag. it’s over, it’s really over.

my friend has made a decision i believe is good. i am happy for him. i wish all of us good decisions.

for the first time, i try to make sense of my brokenness to my eli.

i talk about the violence of growing up — observing the violence, partaking in the violence, swearing off the violence but remaining stained — maybe forever.

it’s too heavy for me. i feel the weight of my past lives suffocate me. i feel the ghosts i am trying to escape hold on to me. the smell of my childhood lingers in my nostrils.

but, real madrid won. so it’s a good night.

if you so desire, you can craft a new life for yourself. you can learn to speak without an accent so there’s no trace to the person you were before.

you can choose your name. you can fight your family and in doing so understand them more — you can learn to love them more.

you can catch the wind with your bare hands and put it in a basket. you can escape the cage without doors.

you can find light. through a crack, through a slit, with closed eyes. especially with closed eyes.

if you close your eyes hard enough, everything fades — into black, then into streaks of colour.