Goodnews Mememugh Karibo.

I am a small storm; raging here with the debris of overwhelming years, clapping there with the echoes of uncertainty. It is a voyage of many speculations. Many twists and turns. Some days beautiful, other days, grueling.

It is match day. Another day to watch Caicedo put up a show in the middle of the park.

Goal! Emphatic! That is the word.

"Bi okun n fo Ti osa n sa Otito wa laaye Igbagbo ni orisun ohun gbogbo." __ Infinity.

You dey whine? ✊🤣 Estevao did the unthinkable. But credit also goes to Cucurella for squaring that assist. Up Chelsea!!!

Caicedo should be named Mr. Liverpool. We know the reason for that the way we know the back of our hands. The universe prepares those special moments just for him. I think Kante laid down the working template. Brilliant pedigree.

Acheampong giving Maresca reasons why he needs to start him often. In all honesty, our backline has been phenomenal in the past half an hour. Badiashile's composure is so unlike him.

Where all roads lead. Expect the best team in action in just less than a quarter of an hour.

The generosity of this ref with the cards is concerning.

Pain should be at the centre of every creative endeavor.

No.

If we are being proactive enough, we would let Gittens leave by January. But I know it is not going to happen because the board is obsessed with financial gains other than the actual growth of the club.

An absolute banger from Maggie Smith's Goldenrod. It takes guts to put down that collection. " If there is a God, is there such a thing as holy regret for what He's made?"

My day at work was characterized by sporadic rainfall. And even though I went out with the rain almost penetrating the thickness of my jacket, there were fun moments that stood out. Once, I packed by the road side to draft a poem that had hovered in my head all day. It was fun.

Cyril Dessers is coming on to replace the injured Osimhen. Wow! Osimhen's dominance in the attack has made it look as though all the players supporting him in that role are subpar.

I did not think that the hate for writing in the third-person existed until I read a certain poet's bio today. This sort of bolsters the proof that the difference in human inclinations is the seasoning of the experience of everyday life.

Obama put it right in that X post about Labour Day. While it seems to be the new jack that has emerged in the world to ameliorate the pains of thorough brainwork, AI has, without a doubt, been more of an inhibition to the growth of creativity, and this poses grave consequences.

The absurdity of piling up poem drafts for a long time. The absurdity of prioritizing the nature of the title of a poem over the poem itself. The absurdity that these absurdities exist to hold writers back from enjoying the erratic moods of the writing life.