Chris Brown and A Nation of Raped Boys

very interesting and true. Having gone through that experience myself its been a telling influence in my personal life.

Olivia A. Cole

chris brown rape

Yesterday I read an article in which Chris Brown discussed the age at which he lost his virginity. He was 8, he says, and the girl was 14 or 15. He mentions that in “the country” he and his cousins watched a lot of porn, so by age 8 he was “hot to trot.” Maybe so. Children can have sexual feelings at 8, but whether they can consent to sex at age 8 is an entirely different subject. Sex at age 8 is rape, especially given the fact that the girl involved was significantly older, a teenager. Chris Brown was raped, but to hear him tell it, that experience was positive, healthy. Something to brag about. “At eight, being able to do it, it kind of preps you for the long run, so you can be a beast at it.”

And the worst part? This isn’t the first time I’ve…

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Talking to your kids about your balls.

Very honest and down to earth. Trusting curiosity of the blogger’s children makes it a more fascinating read. 🙂 🙂

Sans Deferens

As I recover from my vasectomy, an interesting dilemma has unzipped and presented itself. The kids want to know why Daddy can’t wrastle. The kids want to know why they can’t sit on Daddy’s lap. The kids want to know why Daddy is walking so funny.

Ministry_of_Silly_Walks_by_chaplin007Anti-Baby Steps

My daughter is six and my son is nine. The younger one has been easy. As soon as I said the word, ‘testicles’ she started giggling and quickly moved on. Although, now she feels she has license to say, ‘testicles’ whenever she wants. So, she does. And then giggles.

“You want a hug, Daddy? Don’t worry, I won’t hurt your testicles.”
“Be nice to Daddy. He’s got sore testicles.”
“Good morning, Daddy. How are the testicles?”
“Hey, Daddy. Testicles. I just said, ‘testicles.'”

The nine year old boy is a little different. You see, he has testicles. And questions.

“Was there something…

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Who is a friend?

Who is a friend?
A friend is one who:
Takes the last piece of fried yam and breaks it in half to share with you.

Decides to pay the fare when you’re going to town so you pay when coming back.

Goes to download the movie with your laptop when you tell him it’s in.

Asks you “what is this?” When everyone is gushing about your new painting.

Teaches you how to do alkayida ‘cos you have two left feet.

Borrows money from you even though you just took a loan from him.

Disappears when you finally manage to land the “movement” for the night.

Warns you when you’re about to go cliff diving without a parachute but follows anyway!

Tells you to “trap” the girl when she makes moves on you.

Punches you in the gut cos you’re being an asshole.

Calls you, insults you and hangs up, all for the fun of it.

Is always up for “one game p3” in FIFA but ends up skipping lectures.

Goes to steal the rice cooker when you manage to get uncooked beans.

Says “I’m not giving you away.” like a selfish child.

Comes to your house and drags you to play soccer in the rain.

Tells you your music is boring but sends it to his girl on whatsapp.

Cooks a big pot of Jollof and invites you over cos you’re broke.

Forgets your birthday and deliberately changes hers so you’ll forget some!

Will call you in the middle of a lecture for “scores”

Knows your password and posts dumb stuff on your page.

Picks your washing (including your sexy lingerie) cos he got to the hostel first before the rain storm set in.

Laughs after everyone else cos she just got the joke.

Supports your rival club and never ceases to make fun of you

Pulls a totally meaningless and absurd prank on you for absolutely no reason.

Gets you a card and a box of chocolates when you’re gnashing on Val’s day.

The one who seems to know everything.

Pulls you up after dirtying you in a fight with a smile and a curt “your da.”

Parties hard with you all weekend and wakes you up the night before a paper so you cram.

Does MTN pay for me to call you.

A friend is your roof on the rainy day,
the handkerchief for your snot,
The glue for your broken heart,
The one star that remains in your sky the whole day
And illuminates your moon at night.
A friend is a sibling.
And yes the only one who still gets away with calling you crap!!!

©Sena Kodjokuma 2013

Manchester United, the culture of sucess

Lucian

The first games of the premiership (the most expensive and most watched football league in the world) were shown today and I managed to watch the Manchester United game because of course I am a passionate fan. I was somewhat excited to see the team and how they played. It was their very first league game and they didn’t disappoint: they won by 4-1 against a highly organized and tactically efficient Swansea. Well as I was watching, I realized a few things, one, Swansea dominated the gaming with their accurate passing, possession, and even with the amount of chances. Michu was ever ready to go and was reflected in how he played. He was exceptional and required a very organized Ferdinand and Vidic to control him. Aside this I realized how they dominated the midfield. You know to cut things short , they should have won that game, but we…

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The pauper boy and the damsel

Once upon a time,
There was a pauper boy who cherished a dime.
By some twist of fate he beheld a damsel high born,
Traipsing along the path of the hedges well shorn.
They stumbled into each other.
Strangers in a world of order.
Their world knew no bother.
The fair damsel made gifts of a dove and a rose.
But murder in his heart the pauper boy had little time for fancy prose.
By and by time wound them in a sensuous bind.
The pauper boy’s heart became too kind.
Alas if only he knew what disaster would befall him.
The darkness in his being he would not trim.
For the damsel’s betrothed had come with filthy luck,
And her guitar strings he would pluck.
She soon danced to his tune
And the pauper boy was lost in a dune.
Smitten he pined away.
For the dove and rose had become time’s prey.
She died to him a while later.
Even as her betrothed carved her heart into bits and butter.
Thereafter he would skip past her home.
Longing to see her smile in the window of the dome.
To catch a glimpse of the ghost
Who was alive and well; the parasitic betrothed’s host.
He bowed his head and trundled on.
Towards the sunset saffron.

©Sena Kodjokuma, 2013

Judith; nudes and the Ghanaian

The nude in contemporary African art is subject to polarizing views and controversies. From when African people have been described as people of few clothes till now where lesser clothes spark controversy the nude has been at its epicenter.
Our various cultures see little wrong with a woman showing off her body as seen in our puberty rites. In the wake of missionary work which relegated traditional religion to idol worship the selfsame culture was labelled primitive and derogatory. Whatever right artists from the Renaissance and “civilized” European countries had to draw, paint and sculpt nudes is lost to me.
Recently a friend of my Judith modeled for a nude photo-shoot. This immediately sparked acts of rancor. She has been mainly a non conformist. The picture in itself is beautiful and demure. Its revealing nature dampened by the drapery and lighting.
Over all it speaks of innocence and femininity. Her eyes however betray this otherwise virginal look. Knowing her personally I’d say there’s a wanton woman roving behind them. Her glare and the set jaw speak of daring and hold little fear of the unknown. The disheveled hair suggests the wild nature of her persona. The darkness is symbolic of the wanton desires we hold as imperfect human beings.
As an artist in the making I would aptly say this is a masterpiece of a shot. Taking on a variety of meanings and judgment from a mainly confused people it stands for the deep lying discord our cultures and religious beliefs sow.
Nudism is not self gratifying but an avenue for showing the perfection of the human body as a gift of God and nature.

 

Forgotten Man

Forgotten man

I came out of the mine today
After scrabbling at the mother lode
Assisted with a radio spewing the ode
Of the world above
As I crawled towards the circle of white
My mind was awash with fright
Now I stood outside
The light; why does it sting my eyes so?
Stabbing my eyes with rainbow blades
The wind; why does it mock my clothes so?
Flapping them like a polythene bag in the wind
The water drags me in an ankle lock
Trying to drag me in a viscous vortex
Spittle rumbles from my rib cage
I wipe my mouth
Why is it scarlet?
The mucus glowing like red jell-o
A sore sight for pretty eyes
Birds scream in my ear
Cauterizing my cochlea with iron hot insults
My mind is in disarray
Memories seeping away as the sand in my hands slither
Nibbling the skin of my palms
Tan rats hissing at each other as they hit the ground
The ignominy of the assault on my senses
The democracy of nature
Is an affront to my mind
The dark never looked so friendly
The gloom made a snug blanket
I look down
At the circle of black
And I fly into its charcoal depths
© Sena Kodjokuma, 2013