I’m John Varane. I was born on some date, went to school at some place, and graduated at some point. And that’s when I met this guy – The Word – who is kind of a dick sometimes. I write – I love writing – and I love talking about writing and politics and movies and music and, you know, art-sy stuff. This blog is Word’s and my platform, as well as like-minded individuals looking to join our cause. We collaborate.
Twitter: I don’t tweet.
Writing, for me, is a lot like sex. With virgins. Awkward and weird and terrifying and wonderful all at the same time. Such an indescribable feeling! Why else do you think there are people out there willing to blow themselves up for seventy-four of them?
So, like my Boko brothers, I’ve adopted a suicidal approach in a bid to achieve literary greatness. I will write. And write. And write. And if that doesn’t get me anywhere, there’s always kidnapping and male prostitution to turn to. In Nigeria, my career options are as limited as the fucking Pacific. I am also not politically correct – I’m not a pussy.