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Quote by Steven Chuks Nwaokeke

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Steven Chuks Nwaokeke

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“I was unaware that Adam had been trying to stand between me and Sabrina since ever, and the expos gave him room and time to mingle with her, and talk about me, just before I met Martina. Adam and I knew that we would most likely get the place we wanted, and only we knew that we were going to make it happen - I was going to make it happen - we both knew. I was unaware whether Adam had been manipulating Sabrina throughout the last weeks and months of our so-called “relationship” until I acted out of character one night and broke a security door with my shoulder the following morning, when her behaviour was becoming too much for me to endure. I didn't think that she had any potential relation to business or criminal activity on Adam's part against my own life. I was wondering if Adam didn't want me to reconnect with Sabrina because he had other plans with her. If we reconnected with my little sweetheart of a crazy ex-girlfriend, then Adam's manipulation of both of us wouldn't work. Adam had been manipulating both me and Sabrina for a long time, I just didn't realize it since we had split up and she moved out. Adam couldn't really manipulate Sabrina before because she hated them. But Adam had an easy job manipulating / corrupting / influencing / instructing / transforming / changing / destroying Martina apparently and I didn't understand why. Was it because of Ruan? Did Adam promise jobs for Ruan, Agustina in London, Amsterdam, and Paris? That sounds like manipulation. Of children. “Manipulation.” – Mani = hands “Mani” – hands / money “Manipulation” – Money – pull – ation Pulling the hands. The lines. The cash. The strings. The puppets. I told her I wanted her to move back home for her safety. We had been living there for over half a year, and Adam, Sabrina, and the others didn't know where we lived. Was it only an illusion and only for me personally, to think that they did not know our address? If they didn't know where we had moved, why had we moved to Mount Juic, the Jew Mountain? By chance? If they knew our address from Martina, then what was the point, or what were they waiting for? For the construction to be completed. Why would they want me to think that they did not know our address? To let my guards down.”

EuropeIsraelCriminalsMafiaBarcelonaMurderersCoffeeshopPsychos
Book:BARCELONA MARIJUANA MAFIA
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“the canvases which Mr. St. Jones referred to with a paintbrush that was long and slightly bowed: for the most part interiors, or undergrounds, of pocked and craggy holes, rock vaults with mossy floors and slimy walls, or narrow scenic vistas that skinny silver streams squirmed through like sidewinders flipped on their backs, beneath downward grasping tentacles of roots, stalactites dagger-sharp and dangling by threads of stone, stalagmites teetering, all doused, frozen in molten electric white that suggested what a glimpse of hell might be, too beautiful, some still lifes too, great bulbous beets, hoary legumes, giant scallions, white carrots, tomatoes, berries, squash in huge radiant bowls, and portraits, signed by Ionia, of shadows, from which gleamed eyes and teeth and nails and, here and there, a glowing bubble, or scrotum, caught the eye. Near the door a counter clacked but rather quietly.”

Subterranean
Book:Wall to Wall
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“Once again he could hear the planet’s joints and lifeblood. Stirrings in the stone. Ancient events. Here, time was like water. The tiniest creatures were his fathers and mothers. The fossils were his children. It made him into remembrance itself. He let his bare palms ricochet upon the walls, drawing in the heat and the cold, the sharp and the smooth. Plunging, galloping, he pawed at the flesh of God. This magnificent rock. This fortress of their being. This was the Word. Earth. Moment by moment, step by step, he felt himself becoming prehistoric. It was a blessed release from human habits. In this vast, capillaried monastery, through these openings and fretted spillways and yawning chthonic fistulae, drinking from pools of water older than mammal life altogether, memory was simply memory. It was not something to be marked on calendars or stored in books or labeled in graphs or drawn on maps. You did not memorize memory any more than you memorized existence. He remembered his way deeper by the taste of the soil and by the drag of air currents that had no cardinal direction. He left behind the cartography of the Holy Land and its entry caves through Jebel el Lawz in the elusive Midian. He forgot the name of the Indian Ocean as he passed beneath it. He felt gold, soft and serpentine, standing from the walls, but no longer recognized it as gold. Time passed, but he gave up counting it. Days? Weeks? He lost his memory even as he gained it.”

CavesSubterranean
Book:The Descent
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