The Authentic Gentleman

common sense, ironically, is for the uncommon.

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The Walls Bleed with Termites (vol. 2)

(Side B)

Lights beaming, flickering like an unstable man twitching with anxiety.
Crawling, racing, they compete with their lives on the line – who gets to the bag of rice first? Life’s complex question. Who survives?
Reliability, a rarity. Like a man with weathering emotions, reliability is a falsely sold dream;
Their noises, fast as a tornaduous wind whistling through the walls, with each flickering light. flick, flick, flick.

The walls bleed with termites.
The long and jaded corridors; rotten with life – suicidal, each plea filled with desperation.
As he lays, lying flat on the soulless floor – they crawl around him, slowly, without evident movements and suddenly like an ambushed and tireless troop – helpless and withered, with no hope in sight.

A piercing noise rises from his mouth like a newborn child seeking warmth and shelter.
Destitute of care, he plunges into the deep, endless ocean.
Swimming heartily in hope of rescue – a return to familiarity; a comfortable warm sea.



The Walls Bleed with Termites (vol. 1)

(Side A)

hollow and dark –
He finds himself twisted and lost.
Trapped by the poverty of desperation or the desperation of poverty,
Never exactly what you plan it to be; simplest of plans become the most complicated.
Duped by opportunity, blinded by what proposed itself as ‘grace’ and ‘kindness’.
Tossed like a garden salad; overwhelmed by the falsity of man.
Suffering is a man not until he is clutched from comfortability, familiarity and flung into a sea of peculiarity.
Drowning: his life now nothing but a slideshow before his frail and callow eyes.



[Life], like a gloom in the dark clouds of a grey world;
Once a young man embodied with ambition,
he wandered nakedly into a world of inhumanity and feral beasts –
bursting of ambition,
intact with enthusiasm,
ferociously consumed by the ghastly manner of the world around him,
He found himself gradually falling into the shallow pit of life;
stripped of his dignity and hope
he mirrors himself with misery and disappointment.

Repetitive desires followed by heart-shattering failures,
he sees a reflection of the young man he once was,
an optimist full of faith and hope,
overdriven by pain and disappointment,
transformed into a pessimist numb with emotion,
Drunk with fatigue;
in the glare of hope and a chance of revival.

afrodisiac. vol. 1


her skin, pure like the heavenly fruits of eden,
she moves like a whistling wind wafting through your soul – 
her smile, seductive like the Egyptian queen;
queen to the goddess
goddess of the gods.

she is afrodisiac, the queen of the jungle;
lioness, she roars mightily into your heart –
lost in the jungle;
feeble and destitute, you awake at her feet.

solemn. Vol. 2

solemn: la finale

Two days on from posting the first volume, solemn. Vol. 1, I question myself if perhaps ‘It is too early to post the second? Do I keep a feel of mystery…suspense? Does anyone even read my work? “Keep them wanting more” – all my English teachers ever reiterated during my drudgery school days.’

So here I am, two days later. Quarter past the hour of 12, midnight. The blissful compositions of Erik Satie is sailing through my ears as I read Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s ‘Everyman’s Poetry’. In Memoriam, perhaps my favourite of the collection. I pause at the 50th line, “Be near me when my light is low, when the blood creeps, and the nerves prick and tingle; and the heart is sick, and all the wheels of Being slow.”  I reread that particular verse over and over again. “Be near me when my light is low.” Poignant, yet heartwarming. Thoughts wander through my mind; I cease with a thought: what dreadful words…dreadfully beautiful, however.

A pause. As I grab hold of the picture frame, gazing at her image a thought bestows my mind: I am all but nothing, worthless and needless without her. I seldom like to refer her as “beautiful”. Personally, I find the adjective to be rather overused and barren.
Though she is all that God created in his own image – (beautiful then I suppose).
The cause of joy in my heart; her allure is envious to many and unattainable to all. To envision a life without her is knowing there is no life at all. For she is my Queen. The light to my darkness. The blood flowing through my veins.

12:51 am. as I arrange to retire into my cold, yet luring bed – on this note I conclude with Da Vinci: “As a well spent day brings happy sleep, so a life well spent brings happy death.” 


– empty your mind through my words.

solemn. Vol. 1


6:46 am. I lay on my bed crooning along to Al Green and Otis Redding records. I think about my life and all that I have done…I realise all that I have done is all I haven’t done. (Or at least all I have yet to do).

Approximately this time last year I created an online diary (aka, a blog) and wrote my last piece – a year on I have yet to compose anything new. 12 months and over, still untouched, neglected and frankly decayed. I could come up with many excuses as to why I hadn’t or should I say still haven’t composed anything new, I could, but I won’t. I know the reason (not excuse) that I mercilessly abandoned it. I lost touch of myself and succumbed to desperation. I was perilously searching for something which was already in front of me. I embodied a facade, a life-crunching facade. I drove myself into the wrong lane along with habitual wrong doings -desperation gravely took hold of me.

However, I see this piece as a form of reflection. Reflecting on how and who I was exactly a year ago – looking at the person or character I am now, I can only look with a smile of joy and happiness. Alas, I had let desperation and personal guidance lead me into a bondage which I was so badly in need of breaking out. The point where I had to profoundly dig deep for a vision, a direction and a key to unlock me out of the soul-depreciating bondage I had moronically led myself into. This, the stage where I fell into a hollow pit and God picked me out. You could say this is a testimony. I say it’s a testimony of some kind.

I look out of the window, it’s bright with clear sky. No cloud to be found. It is 7:04 am. I have all but slept. Eye lids begging for sleep; hunger knocking on the door. I shall stop here…for now.


solemn. Vol. 1

The Adversity of London

So, it has been almost three months since I relocated to London. These past 3 months, I have to admit has taught me some new things, made me experience a variety of things I would have never thought of experiencing, but most of all it has worked me to the core! The term ‘the city that never sleeps’ is usually referenced when talking about New York, the BIG APPLE. But you have to admit that London is that sleepless child that either cries all night or runs around like he/she is high on caffeine.

The franticness of this city is one that can break you down mentally without your awareness. You’ve got to be persistent and vigilant because it will bite you like a bastard if caught off-guard. The essence of this post is that the city can ‘make’ or ‘break’ you. It’s just up to you which one you allow to impact you. Personally, I am too nonchalant for London, but whenever I’m outside the city – whether it be out of the country or not – I always seem to be thinking of London and its greatness and every time I try to leave it just seems to keep ‘pulling me back’, (yes I quoted Chingy’s ‘Pulling Me Back’ song – great song!). Anyway, my point is that the city is not one you can boss around. You’ll meet and encounter great and fabulous people, and then some minutes later you’ll meet and encounter some complete arrogant, ignorant and moronic useless excuse for ‘human beings’ people that you just have the urge to annihilate and you’re constantly saying to yourself. “only if murder was legal. Only if!” The city is crazy. Yet its craziness is what keeps the vast majority of people living in London sane and alive. Nevertheless, it is a magnificent city, one that is incomparable. Anyone can be a Londoner, but only a few can ‘have the London look.’