There are few worse things in life than a bad writer in a good mood. And then there are the Poets.
Published by Chuka Nestor Emezue
A weekend novelist among other mighty sins. This is my undoing. A fault line in my humanity. The unsophisticated ramblings of a lover of silence, gin, and magic. In this here place I abandon decorum, discard clothes, expose my cerebellum, and forget old debts. From this fugue, my singular heart desire is to evade the Devil, the subway rats, the landlord, his wife, and then, those saccharinic writers. For besides their painful fraudulence, I dread even more the malady that comes from being a student of many masters. Now, I am driven to fondling the minds of the most misplaced, the least self-aware, the ones you would not read, brat-pack types, down and dirty fools, sons of forgotten mothers, proud, bold bastards, whose composed works are not page-turners. Those who upset our digestion. The ones whose poems keep out the sunset in the attic window. I am one of such – a remarkably errant thing. Chuka N.E, 2014 View all posts by Chuka Nestor Emezue