Savage Women

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Is What We're Doing Working?

Placed in a crowded dining room turned exam room—pen in hand, calculator and ruler on either side of a small uneven and antiquated desk—I, like many of my fellow students, hacked away at the  tough Mathematics paper. Fighting to recollect formulae and a barrage of other mathematic solution roadmaps, I surrendered rather peacefully to the mental assault of this paper. As customary among many University students, I cowered under the old: “We didn’t learn this in class” euphemism. We were writing this paper around the same time Load-shedding was rearing its ugly head; which is an engineering problem and here we were writing Engineering Mathematics, some of Zambia’s brightest. And as epiphanies can be notoriously known for hitting you when you least desire them, I asked: “is what we are doing working?” and the secondary (notoriously existential) question: "what's the point?" Now, discussing education can be as polarizing as discussing politics or religion. But to the me...
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Dear Future Wife (LYRICS)

Verse 1 Dear Future Wife, I pray before I meet you I go blind, Hmmm, okay, not physically but metaphysically, I pray that my eyes don’t drown in the sea of your beauty, That the planet of my heart is not illuminated by the sun of your smile, That my emotions are not  strangled  by the curves of your body, I pray that I may never get so lost in the  richness  of your eyes I forget about the poverty of life, That the vacuum of your sight may never make me lose my breath… Chorus Verse 2 ‘Cause I know the blasphemy of my eyes, The idolatry of media shrines that stripe you of your substance and glorify the superficial, I've  worshiped in their temples, With Twerk Prophets, Bikini Priests and Apostles of Lust, Sacrificed your worth at the altar of porn, I don’t know how to find you in the garbage bag of my retinas, ‘Cause  I've  dated girls whose beauty had me way past tipsy…Am drunk! But when the hangover of their p...
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Parables of Souls # 2: My Anchor

The Priest blared through his homily on that hot October Morning with about as much oratory skill as an eight year old kid. In my twenty-two years in the Catholic Church I had learned to expect as much. To keep from dosing I would usually daydream. However, that morning, because of a terrible headache from a brutal hangover I was trying to get rid of courtesy of the night before, I decided against it. It would be too much work, I just blacked out into the realm of thoughtlessness. Before I knew it the Father was done and it was time for the profession of faith (creed). We all stood up and on cue began to profess. I knew the thing so well the words rolled off my tongue without any thought or any conviction either. We sat down and the Father did things I paid little attention to. Then, shortly after, the most interesting part of the service began—Offertory. Why? Simple, it was the time when many of those congregated in the chapel walked to the altar with their offering. Each ...
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