Midnight Things by Onthatile Marang Modys

Music at 01:20
Rendezvous with rain.
Midnight blues. Few things sound more beautiful like rain and jazz at 01:23.
One of those days it had been, but the natural harmony, accompanied by the sweet symphony of Jimmy Dludlu’s the winds of change calmed typhoons down. The blissful smell of hookah in the background was enough to forgive any sin. Hookah cleanses.
The young, wild and free have invented an incense of their own; one only their God of Ciroc and Rihanna understands.

Midnight things.
Have you noticed how some people don’t just break your spirit, but your libido too? When they leave with the bits and pieces of your heart, they take your sex drive along with it.

Men can exist without sex, without any need for meditation. Maybe it’s because I’m beginning to attach some sort of significance to sex, that emotion and physical pleasure are in contest.
My liberated self saw no issue with sex, not before now. Sex was sex. A midnight rendezvous wouldn’t be a midnight rendezvous with your heart attached to that person. Now, the magnetic fields falter, and it becomes almost impossible to have good sex with a person I don’t love.

Low libido.
After a night out of heavy drinking, a sober realization hits – the true condition my life is in.
Maybe the need to encounter such a realization is what got me drinking in the first place, or perhaps I wanted to dilute these bitter thoughts with the blunt taste of barley, or fermented grapes.
Whatever took me out to that bar, or drove me to barley, the effects are only temporary. This alone should prevent a person from committing a multitude of sins. Later, you burn actual incense, seeking to cleanse.

Not hookah.


My friends dropped me off at home after another Saturday of heavy drinking, cut short by the lack of funds, burnt on rounds of cocktails to impress the lovely ladies. Hoping to get lucky. Loyal congregants to this church, this ritual. Go to a club; bless the women with alcohol until they submit to the unholy screwing I’ve sought so much. Most nights, we’re unsuccessful.

I tried getting up from the sofa I’d carelessly plunged myself into. It’s either women are getting smarter, or my game skills aren’t on point.

To me, there was nothing wrong with these actions, or my expectations of these women, after I bought those drinks. Darwin had identified the natural order of things. I was just another link in the chain of evolution.

It’s strange, how drinking is accompanied by the most random of thoughts. I mixed drinks thinking I’m some scientist in a lab somewhere, in the midst of the chaos in my head. I always threw up when I do this.

My friends laughed. Throwing up isn’t manly, it seemed. I’ve concluded that this was the reason I wasn’t picking up any chicks.

Two weeks later, I’m out again with my buddies.

I don’t throw up, I drink only beer.

Still, I do not pick up any women.




Onthatile Marang Modys is a social sciences student, she was born on a Tuesday and lives in a blue house.


Photo Credit: Iván Montánd via Flickr

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