About last night




China roses, flora’s secret, wild child, tea house, marbles halls, Caribbean blue-sang in Portuguese, French, English…-sound as sweet as they mention.


Where romance began in the Garden of Eden, when God was poised to bless Adam who had crossed his arm around Eve’s matching flora’s secret, Enya would sing her splendour of romance as the only voice in heaven! God was a priest, Adam was a king only because Eve was his queen and also because Enya was singing for the couple, in attendance, it was me……………best weddings!!!!!

My dream is over.


I wish to go back and take with you folks to bear me such a wonderful witness. And to be born with that conception of what a sumptuous blend of music and romance would taste for a wedding couple matching down the aisle.

Though I won’t feel wedding every time I play these songs but like any song whose rhythm and poetry I find fascinating would elicit emotions of love, tranquillity… which inevitably would take me to dream.

Tonight when I was sleeping, Enya was singing China roses as I curled my body in the warmth of the night.

She plunged me into peaceful slumber only to feel angels sandwiching my bed with slow sad sound of blues, poignant voices and symphonic orchestras for lullabies galore all my night.

Drowned in a deep ocean of fantasies, my thoughts all succumbed to its fine rhythm as I keep listening to her tender voice filtering in my ears.

In my sleep I can still hover my hand over the touch pad for the third time to rewind the song… I would maintain that powerful charisma pervading deep into my sleeping thoughts

And then later on I would dream like a baby.

I love Enya.

The ecstasy in that music is perhaps one of those elusive endowments God bestowed for the pleasure of my soul.

If not Enya, Benedictine Monks of Santo Domingo de Silos-will deluge my night with the nostalgic spiritual angelic hymns of Gregorian Chanting.

I find a lot to enjoy in extraordinary sound of music though one thing for sure, I bet if I could have transcended the vast ordinary experiences of musical freaks.

Sometimes I will leave a collection shuffling one by one throughout the night or a one or two classic slow non-stops.


Music in sleep is like a sound track in a movie

For those by any chance your ears open at dawn, slow, tender and low music is the best feeling of night.


And whereas the movie stars to whom my reverence escapes in the day, it returns in my dreams in the night sleep. It’s me playing my favourite role. Ha!

The last time I played Whitney collection, it dawned on me that she should have been my favourite every night and yet there was Adele (but this is the same feeling that I get most of the time. All these tracks make me at least feel a Liam Hemsworth in a moment.

Every song is a good song anyway. It depends on the circumstances

Ideally, no music is bad music although it will not kill to concede that the last time you played, I found you listening to “bad music”

Well, this time we should agree and I tell you some truth. Good music is as hard to find as to know but still agreeably a food of the soul.















The magical spree of SIPI

img_0069It wasn’t until a savagely fierce storm blew its mist to the back of my body that I felt exorcism of divine healing.

I needn’t more than just a little and cheap retreat to the strange destination to dispel my evil me and hoping to bring back with me my little soul.

Today was my vengeance to the evil one. To make them feel completely unworthy-to make me feel smarter and wiser than their cartel. For, derailing the path of a wandering innocent soul wasn’t a feat to pass unchallenged, more so unforgotten.

I looked up the towering rock-90metres or so and a tough relentless fall of nature storming over, down into the stones, there was I afraid of life

img_0031So terrifying -the wild sound of horror that compromised my flamboyant demeanour

And while then in the feel of extreme cold, I felt my spirit running away and I could muster unconsciously a strange spirit of renewal. For I knew the old yesterday was gradually sinking irrevocably deep under my feet.

Then again I fell in silence pondering in the sound of the streaming falls.

Today, I was walking in the world of terror. I saw the fury of the wild. The yelling waters and the giant stones. The empty rocks that never breed a green plant. The silent weeds that never wither.

And I was afraid. Of course I was

Yet they made me feel unscathed among them. I stood tall above them and some short below them. So honoured at least

I walked and combed through them, touched them and they made me feel a master of my ego.

Today I fell not only for the falling waters

But also for the fact that I can subdue and yet indeed conceding its invincible magic of existence


When I stood still and helpless down at the furious sound of the trampling falls, I dint see my power. I didn’t see my strength either and only did I need to know who I was to the earth and more so who I was to God.

But I felt a tinge of petty for my own soul to imagine my entire life in the measure of a grain of pollen waiting to be displaced desperately by a passing air.

And I heard “the long time traveller of the Wailing Jenny’s” resound in my ears.

I was scared for a while, but more was I immensely humbled. I have to be inspired only if I get scared of strange things

And then I saw someone like me emerging in the centre of the rainbow and a few angels yelling the mighty power of the Sipi falls.

Today, I came out of this water wishing to go back every weekend

                                                               But one thing,

 I won’t climb those ladders again.

And where else in the world did I meet such a generous day!

Finding new life in the terrain and their plants, in the waters and their stones.

And looking for love in the roses and butterflies.


Little wonder, these little souls have loved just as much.

 And remembering, once back then, I was just like him, adorned with all this sweet demeanour

Evoking the rich nostalgia that too I attribute my visit to Sipi.

Altogether makes my trip worthwhile. Sincerely unforgettable!

IMG_0309.JPGThis flower and many other ones 

I saw them, I keep reminding myself that fashion is as infinite as nature and too in much the same way as art

Inheriting thus far the similar virtues of creative non-fiction.

My inspiration is then coming from deep in the silence of life and far away from where I drink Guinness.

I won’t give up the flare for my poems then, neither the spirit of my art for as long as my eyes will see the red petals sprouting out in the green of the fine green.



 IMG_0243.JPGThe fairy-tale of love has never ceased to be.

To some, it remains hidden in its mystery and unseen forever. But nature knows it in depth and beckons us unselfishly.

Where in the world it never were, its wealth abound in the trees, shrubs and woods of the jungle is a wonder to reckon with.

And by the way, love is only mutual and then, it will naturally infiltrate you with its pleasure, so short-lived, absurdly just as orgasm. 

Sipi falls is a not a big land with strange topography. It simply will charm you with its magical falling storm

Tender, bright and green




I have been wandering

Looking for everything

And my heart stolen

My beauty


and power

Where is my soul?



In the midst of indigenous colour

 And natural aroma

Let me thrust my eyelids

See the wisdom of young birds

Fine architecture that dwells the sparrow

and i will find my soul


The message of cranes that flock together

Of towering anthills

Of rivers that never cease to flow

 The green leaves that light the colour of peace

Of a country

And i will find my soul




In the shadow of them

I look brighter than ever!

Look at me!


Under the light that filters from the green

And fresh odour of meatless flesh

Deep down in the green

And I will find my soul


 Red roses-fleckless. Abound

A décor sandwiching my skin

With a tender lotion on the tip of my nose

I breathe nothing but them

Of natural and contagious fragrance

And I will find my soul




Magic and power of love. I feel

Look at me!

I am in love for the first time

I am.

That love that is painful!

That I won’t let go

And I will find my soul


And let me be

And let my hair blow away by air

For I give in to thy gentleness of quiet and fury

Winds that wave the coolest air

 The pride I seek is here

Flatter of the wild sounds

Seduces me, and whole at last

To the bottom of my ego

And I will find my soul



Thorns of painful ends

But alas! Of compassion of

 Harmless stings!

Iam plunging in the virtues

 Of the distant allies


Sipi falls Kapchorwa, Uganda


Mystery of nature!


And I will find my soul



Where is it?

The agony of yesterday

That that I came with

The sorrowful half of me. Dwindling

The painful past. Dwindling

Today I see the evil one. Dwindling

And yet at once I feel freedom

As though a divine touch

At last I feel new again

And I will find my soul


No memories but thoughts


Thinking nothing but long stares

Nowhere but every where

A bubble of mist dropping under a leaf

A bee throbbing the petal of a bud

A chameleon camouflaging onto the green aloe Vera

Or a nest sagging on a fig

And the other on a grey stalk

And I will find my soul




Hearing nothing but everything

I wish to sound with them

A barrage of alien noises

The birds of the air

The gentle whizzing of canopies

The rush of white, canning falls

And peaceful air above my shoulder

And I will find my soul



Why did I hate a termite?

Or the sound of falling rain?

Or the bite of a stinging bee?

But I hate the sound

Of a hovering mosquito

I hate myself for not being me

But I found a rose today

Tender, bright and green

Peaceful, harmless and compassionate

My soul is here

……………………When I crossed past the towns, houses and people, I felt my loneliness and lost in the world until I found myself breathing the air of the red rose and listening to the music of birds in the trees. And then I turned and saw a tuft of spines on my shoulder, and a fleet of ants crossing over my foot. Without feeling haunted, I found myself freed from the agony of my world in a home alienated far away from the human genome….and then my love for the wild nature became natural and true.

Visit those falls, woods, and jungles, you will find your soul

Those beautiful pictures, I found them on my camera after a friend had visited Sipi falls in Kapchorwa Uganda. Their originality inspired me so immensely that I wrote this poem. As a lover of  nature, this is what I never let go.


Trouble in this world, a poem

Amy K. Sorrells

I suppose faith would indeed be seen as weak,

those who pity us

who rely on the unseen. For true strength

rises up on the wings of broken

hearts and flesh, invisible,

not because of what we have done but

because of who HE is.

the true

pity is for the ones who do notknow

who cannotseethe goodness

in the land of the living,

who cannot help

but mock and reopen the stripes of the


who died for even them. No

justice comes

from arguing about the shade of red to a blind man.

And so we traipse

on, the bruised and weary land

I love thirsting for the one drink

they refuse to taste.


View original post


For hours, I have been grappling with a Rwenzori bottle, hands taking turns, gulping mouthfuls of water, until it is heated up from my hands. The sun rays are descending down onto my face and filtering through the width of my Afro bed. Drips of sweat are slowly emerging from beneath my hair and sloping down my forehead. I have contended enough heat under the scorching sun.

Meanwhile, angrily trying to fend off these blocker-boys from clinging onto my bags-pushing me and almost, wrecking my luggage as they scramble to get me loaded on their dirty vans. It annoys when at often such moments I won’t avoid getting myself stuck in trouble.

Why on Ugandan street won’t I walk in my own freedom to board a taxi?

Sprouting from every corner, a sudden grip straining my arm is a stack of rough hands grabbing from these hustler boys. Warning! Getting out from the grip of these sweaty and oily and yet still rough palms must always have to cost a little waste of some energy, sometimes some property and would be time, but for today, it is not a problem because I already was prepared to lose a lot of it.

Whether or not need help, these boys will always run after you until one of them has to eventually win and then to finally see myself wowed by a strange dark spotless cork crowing from the hands of my neighbour. Like always, sitting with birds in the car is something usual-a one rare passenger he hen on his road trip! I rarely see dark corks! Well, today I have to be next to one.


Oh my God! He jumps off the hands of this old woman and staggers a round above our shoulders before he makes a crush landing back into the hands of the troubled woman.

Oh my eyes! My nose! Oh my ears! How about my shirt!

What happens when you travel with birds in the car, or sometimes a small goat that moves swaying its tail in your face? Ha! Well then, we would assume as well; in other vans; it might have been a greedy pig striving to snatch my “rolex” or a huge perhaps pregnant sheep troubled with inertia every now and then colliding her nose back and forth head on with mine!      Sh*t!             And that’s a typical Ugandan voyage whether or not you are clad in busuuti, gomesi or a fine shinning shoe- for as long as the many times of having avoided suffering a cost of your private means would cost you as much.

By this time, as I brace myself for more trouble ahead, a terrible phobia of a daunting trip is gradually consuming me, wondering if where I am seated is just going to keep only one half of my ass in comfort of soft sponge! And that the other half -irking-would keep in such a terrible plan of comfort!

Where else in this continent do we share such peculiar skits of travel? Sometimes it’s not just a hapless painful ass, my nose; it’s a foul of stinking breath from someone’s mouth and a faulty window that fails to open for a cool air or a loud phone call stuffing unsavoury messages into my ears and more often a thunderous bung when the van suddenly hits a pot hole and so on…

Reaching for possible help, in the hope that the conductor offers a relieving option and then you yell a pathetic tone.

“Conductor, ahabwenki nimutupakira nk’enshayo z’omwani? blah blah…”(why are you fitting us like bags of coffee?)

At first even when he hears, he won’t listen and then you keep on pressing him -until tending to ruffle his feathers? His roar. You won’t like it.

Kigezi, you only have to bark at the conductor because whether or not they will bark at you. Your darling pleasantry often has to fall on a hard rock. Those who sympathize will nap you only if you are ready to contend a breath of molecules bubbling in the gaseous exchange between you and him. If you too sniff some herbs, together you might get along, but if otherwise, you might collapse!

If you won’t endure the pain any further, you may not collapse though. One by one gets to their destination and there is the hind seat, you may shift to join a cluster of neighbours on the other side snoring in the day with their heads falling back on the head rest and mouths to the air, saliva oozing onto the chins.


But one more snag; those hind seats if you recall, are so resting right on the tires that their movements usually have to influence your own in a case when unsteadily you run over a hump. And then you will jump and jump and jump… and each time you might hit your head on the roof.
Today am heading to the other side of Western Uganda, and after spending about my entire morning lamenting, mumbling and yelling and sweating off and dusting off here I am finally pulling off to a finer surface of the road en route to Kigezi.

I have been raving and ranting for the past stint of my journey but here, even though I am not seated in the ideal comfort, I am greatly soothed by the serenity of nature that passes by the window. I can easily settle with my past ready to forget the ordeal of those appalling hours and enjoy this journey henceforth.

Today coincidentally is Earth day. I did know it for my first time in one of my Facebook notifications this morning. I get to go then and find out how interesting this is gonna be.



I find my neck turning all around and my face mellow with a subtle smile, though sometimes I am out of control and if no one else is paying attention, I will utter the excitement to my own self. Even if people may wonder if this young I could be a victim of soliloquy or so. Take my smile or not, I am passionately in to what I am seeing right now. Period!

The wonders of nature! Though this time I seem to be all by myself alone wondering. The seductive nature and all its charms adorning a look of ecstasy on my face.

If you heard of places like Rwenjeru, Muhanga, Kamwezi, Kamatunguru, they don’t make sense in your geography. Today, I will tell you what illumines my integrity as a Ugandan of a very rich African heritage. I will tell you how I keep my lips retracted, teeth exposed for hours smiling broadly at the blend of culture, topography and mankind. I will tell you how I gaze in awe and shed a tear of admiration.

God’s people, land, plants and peculiar skies, all of them I keep a little record of pictures and videos in my phone and I can’t wait to be back home and share my inspiration with you.

Where I have reached now, I am amazed! I thought it was the old fashion of the walking sticks! Every man is holding one. Initially indigenous as it appears, it’s a lot strange and worth a wonder. I used to regard it an old custom of the cattle keepers a few thoughts ago before I realized that indeed before now, I was so naïve. Later on, it filters harmoniously into my mind that such a localized custom remind us of rich culture as my eyes get acclimatized to seeing one man after the other with more and more sticks snapping the terrain. I even appreciate how they walk with them into the car. This is so beautiful for me to see!

There’s a lot more for me here. Sometimes I wonder how in all this time, I have been far away from my own neighbourhood only to be inspired just a few days ago!

Well this is not surprising, just appreciating how diverse my country is.

The spectacle of the country side is keeping me awake when suddenly I turn my head round and instantly through the window upwards I see a towering steep of rock that appears as though about to trample on our vehicle! I can’t help but think magic, wondering how these roads were carved out of this scary amount of rock!

Further up front, I see a narrow white lining winding about a wide hill and I think am looking right ahead of where am going. It’s a long distance though the gentle meander of the road spiralling round the wide mass of hill will create such a semblance of a short distance as though about to reach where I see. And far from below lies a natural, beautiful aerial spectacle of homes seen as like in an air craft. Oh my God! Who doesn’t like this view?


Speeding along a long regular stretch of tall trees standing on both sides of the road, I see through them a shining spot of the setting sun which at last I see falling gently above a hill a speck on my distant right. I have been watching this sun as it passes ahead and changing directions.

I have been watching the beautiful roadsides of my country coloured with a dominant greenery of blossoming shrubs, gentle inclining planes…and long winding roads which little of them am sure will stick loose in my mind. I must attest to the testimonies and acclaim the common Glory that paints the brand of the “Pearl of Africa”. Sometimes I believe that the most beautiful places in the world are not the ones we know or those we hear about, but perhaps the ones that we have not yet seen.


As I speak now, I have been connected with nature and am in love with someone like it or someone else I do not know, or at least I feel like two strangers that have fallen heels in love on a journey. I feel like there is something that has happened to my life. How do I share my feelings? I feel I would like to. And if you will resonate with me, you will understand that whatsoever meets the eye in the in vitro art of mankind, the original earth shall always remain the ultimate offertory with the most beautiful things to admire.


To love yourself and others is sometimes a strength born of the gifts of loving and connecting with nature. The emotions and the smile it elicits are as a result of being in love with them-a spiritual connection with God’s creation and connects and relates with your strengths to the people that are connected with you. I felt it that way.




How to Describe Nature


I like to collect descriptions other people have of life. I keep them on a big spreadsheet that I’m constantly updating. I read a lot and I pay attention to how my fellow authors get their ideas across, how they create pictures of scenery from their words. I’m in awe of people like Peter Matthiessen with his nature descriptions and Margaret Meade with her emotion-invoking portraits of people.

Here’s my collection of nature. I’ve drawn many of them from the following authors:

  • Matthiessen, who I think is the quintessential writer on our environs
  • Margaret Meade–to her, people don’t exist outside of their habitat. I agree
  • Barry Lopez–a beautiful nature writer

View original post 486 more words

The Sin of WRATH

Danny Gregory

For the first half of my career in advertising, I would often have irrational feelings of anger during a creative briefing. I would resent being given the assignment. Then I would be pissed off that I had to sit in a conference room with loads of other creative people while the strategists took us through the brief.

I simmered with impatience. I would ask critical, acerbic questions. I would strain against the deadline.

The monkey would tell me that the people briefing us were idiots, that their insights were lame or wrong, that I already knew more than they did about the subject, that it was wrong that we creatives had to compete for the assignment, the playing field wasn’t level, that the whole project was a waste of my time, blah blah and blah.

It was pretty crazy — and incomprehensible.

With time, I became sufficiently self-aware to identify…

View original post 320 more words

histology-endocrine glands

You remember the two major objectives;

  1. To know the histological shapes, organisational structure, contents, and various constituent cell structures of endocrine organs.
  2. To be able to relate the histology of these organs to function

Remember the thyroid gland and its anatomical relationship with the parathyroid, that this relationship is too depicted in histology.

Was it enough for you to appreciate the structure of the thyroid tissue? Or the pituitary gland or the pancreas? What was your primary objective?

If you are studying endocrinology, it is inevitable that you appreciate the microscopic appearances of the glands involved, however, note that this approach may not bring to you the actual message of histology.

The real purpose of histology is achieved first, when the interpretation of the images is guided the principles of microscopy and staining techniques, secondary when you attach interpretation to physiology.

It is necessary that you do histology when you are being intrigued by expectations. Know what you need to see, know how it might look like, and know what it does. It is important that you study an image with such expectations. This will enable you realize the interesting relevance of histology in your course.

If you have appreciated the structure of the pancreas, what meaning have you attached to it? Did you have any expectations and did you draw any conclusions? What impact has the structure of the pancreas made on your knowledge of the endocrine system?

The endocrine system is about secretion, how do you blend the concept of secretion in histology?

If appreciating just the microscopic structure of the endocrine organs was enough, then you missed out the real message of histology.

But am sure you should have had rich expectations stretching from just microscopic structure to the cellular composition and relationship to function.

I wish you the best.

My power point is available in the link hereinendocrine histology

Cathy’s smile

 Its not a theory that a smiling woman would make me feel how special I am


There is a glimmer of white dental lining that beams through two red plump lips.

The whispers to my ears, as though it’s only mine, a smooth, gentle hand creeps around my shoulder, I wait to hear. ” Mathew. Good bye. It was nice meeting you.” am not aware I am smiling to someone” She smiles again.

The day is deluged with an obsession of her images, the night am sure awaits that I slumber in thoughts of her charming smile. And I hope am not about to lay off this infatuation. It will still linger in my memory for the next few days.

I met her in bus en-route to Jinja. She was combing along the stretch of the bus when she paused in perplexity as she figured out where to sit. In my eyes, it was more likely that she would eventually zero in on my line of seat than being far away from the driver’s vicinity.  (Its normally a strategicseat-you can travel while enjoying a wide coverage of scenes). So I was just waiting that she makes up her mind to be my immediate neighbor. In fact, it was itching me to make a humbling gesture that I was dying if she dared sit away.

I would never imagine having such bad luck, envy and “everlasting” torment of seeing Cathy in amusement of another man for the next hours of our journey.

Cathy is a small girl, of 20 or thereabouts, of beautiful, enviable attributes, of sophisticated poise, of a charming and  truly feminine demeanor.  I subtly struggled to capture clearly her face though Igreat-smile (2) could not bring it out entirely since her forehead, the neck and the entire margin of the face was concealed in her hair-an array of beautiful, dark hair resting on the back of her shoulders. 

She did not smell a strange perfume though but generally she was smelling sexy.                                    I hate shaking hands but that day it was nothing to go by. I craved for a chance to get how soft and tender her palms would feel. I never had that chance. Nonetheless, from a point, at least my eyes could keep peeping at her long finger nails painted with a shining rouge color.

She did not say anything to me but I hoped may be later she would. I reached to my headsets, covered my ears and constructed a semblance of a peaceful silence.

Well, it wasn’t peaceful. I was only worried that for the first time I traveled, Jinja could be the shortest distance. So Am poised to break the silence. But how? I would wait if perhaps upon a hump of sorts, I could then rant something. Obviously at that time all the good questions will disappear and only such as ” Do you like humps?”  are the quickest to arrive on the mouth. Cathy would be silent not because I imagined she might be cunning but as long as I could figure out the right question to break the ice. It was high time that I was not responsible for the silence.

I was beginning to question my popular antics before I swung low my headsets. I wanted her to know that I have taken the headsets off my head.  This time I was earnest and since I trust that I am not this kind that will let go of such purported charming ladies,

Here I go.  “Hello, Am Mathew. Nice meeting you” blah, blah, blah….

Cathy’s reply was anchored by one of the most beautiful smiles I have ever seen. She spoke with such a seductive rhythm that would plunge me a daunting space to keep me worried about my next conversation. So i kept numb, but while in my silence I was grappling with a scary amount of words until i deemed them fit for such a charming girl.

I started my conversation and I never looked back. I touched Cathy,s hands I felt how I desired to feel, I touched her hair I felt how I wanted to feel, but one thing, I saw her smile and desired how I never felt. I desired to feel enough looking at Cathy’s smile. I am not yet gone over it.


The dreams I have not had in a long time come tonight. Its a beautiful dream when i see her there, seated right next to me.

Her smile does beyond the loving, graceful and humble face. I see from it coming a beautiful message that is filtering inside of me. She is giving me a beautiful reason to write a story today.

She smiles and for sure, a soft fond rhythm passes all over my body and I will feel her message that shes willing to get me charmed by her heart.

So spontaneous with barely a reason to feign it. Its so magical in my eyes that makes a real difference and deeply influences how I regard it. And I will denounce it. Its so real!

Her smile lies to me about her. Her flaws have been veiled while flaunting her innocence. I have been blinded by the glamour of a smiling face that I no longer recognize the errors of her words.

Its not a theory that a smiling woman would make me feel how special I am.

Uttermost praise I sing among all the unsung gifts of life.
It’s the only obsession that never grows old.
Her smile gets me think that her shrewd face will be concealed forever.

That gentle smile, makes me feel like you are holding my hand and saving me from rage.
Sailing me across, and wandering away from resentful and vengeful waves .

You steal from me the afflictions, the pain of my soul and cast them away.

You broach on my failure to smile, but grant me a conviction to -of which I make a humble offertory.

Your smile is a silent voice that tells me how worthy of you I am. How freely you open your world for me. To see what I desire.

That smiling face awakens me from bondage of despair, and gives me redemption that soothes the pain of my loneliness.

Upon your smile, your happiness rises at dawn above the distant mountains and sets on the other side when you wave to me a good bye.

When I see you smile, your sweet charm of vitality fills my whole and seals the crevices of my crumbled shell of yesterday.
I feel myself whole again and a peaceful aura defies my urges of silence and envy.

Whenever you smile, your soul is exalted in me. I see your eyes rejoicing. I see your teeth shinning more and more and your jaws spanning to a taste of times.

If you knew what your smile made me…


I hope you like a tale of a beautiful smile. Follow more stories on Deliverance

The Sin of LUST

Danny Gregory

Ironically, the classic bio of my favorite painter is called Lust for Life. But lust is a sin that has sabotaged loads of great artists too. Lust is any intense sort of intense and uncontrolled desire — be it for sex, food, drugs, money, fame, power or freshly-poured, frosty lager. Society loves to depict the artist as a lusty, carnal creature — snorting, boozing, copulating, and then self-destructing at 27.

Uncontrolled. Undisciplined. Lust replaces thoughtfulness with raw impulse. You cave in to self-destructive abandon. Instead of doing the necessary work you are distracted. Instead of drawing the model, you drool on him.

Lust makes you myopic. It distorts your normal perspective and gives you tunnel vision, tuning out everything but the object of your desire. And what you see is not real. It’s a thickly veiled concoction of your fevered mind.

Perhaps you are slender and celibate and sugar-free and…

View original post 267 more words