I can see five steps ahead of me. I can see the bigger picture and the endgame. I see how perfect and beautiful it is, to the point that I forget to stay present and focus on the next step.
I wish I could fly. I wish I could teleport. I wish I could arrive at my destination instantly.
But I have to submit to time—build a strong foundation and take the necessary steps in front of me so I can get closer to that beautiful endgame vision.
I can see five steps ahead of me. I can see the bigger picture and the endgame. I see how perfect and beautiful it is, to the point that I forget to stay present and focus on the next step.
Visual artists have learned how to get seen. What they still don’t have is infrastructure built to help them earn directly from their creativity.
24th March 2026: Founder’s institute VIP pitch review masterclass. i learned that i was fighting an uphill battle against some of the tech industry’s biggest companies and that put some sort of fear in me, not the kind that makes you cower in sight of opposition, the kind that makes the visceral nature of a task at hand very real. My vision didn’t waver though; i am on a clear path to building something that would impact the lives of those involved in something that i actually care about, and that is what i am really building for and i'll keep on.
This class helped me tighten the scope of what i was building, and brought some clarity to understand what niche i was building for ‘VISUAL ARTISTS’; the way their art is set up affords them an advantage in building an audience or getting contracts, but there’s no infrastructure to allow them monetise their creativity in itself.
Musical artists and film artist monetise their craft by innately existing in it, while visual artists showcase their craft to get attention and generate enough interest for someone to tell them to do something they want; not an expression of their creativity, but a job/side hustle, and social media is not structured in a way that promotes this style of expression because it is a content-first system.
So this is an official annoucement that Connect Culture is actively building the app for the Visual Artist, and a call to all sculptorss, painters, texttile pattern makers, fashion designers, designers, fine artists, potters, AI artists, videographers, short filmmakers and many more. If you want to test this community-first approach to creator monetisation and sufficiency; comment under this post and follow me, i'll send you a DM with details.
The new frontier is going to be a connected one.
Happy birthday to you Bryan
Living with you for so long has been an adventure, I see the growth, I see the effort, I see how you outwork yourself, I see your struggles, I see where you fall short and work to fill the gap, I've learnt resilience from you, I'm grateful to God for..
But by this logic, one could also argue that the scent of alcohol, or even food, offends others.
It might sound like a straw man at first, but think about it: if people are genuinely put off by the smell of smoke, what of those disturbed by the strong scent of food, of alcohol, of bodies packed tightly together in enclosed spaces?
Yes, smokers should extend the courtesy of reading the room before lighting up. That much is reasonable. But it is still a social setting, and people smoke in social settings.
What I’ve come to realize is that the deeper issue isn’t always the smoke itself, but our learned aversion to smoking and to smokers. Of course, some people have legitimate health concerns triggered by smoke. That is real and should be respected. But for the majority, the reaction is social before it is medical.
In many cases, asking smokers to step out isn’t rooted in immediate harm but in a conditioned association; smoking as something dirty, immoral, or vaguely “bad.” And once something is framed as disgusting, it becomes intolerable. Not merely unpleasant, but unacceptable. That, more than concern for health, is often the reason we ask smokers to step outside.
Now, this shift did not happen in a vacuum. Smoking moved, over time, from a common social habit to a moral signal.
Once public health arguments entered the conversation, rightly, in many cases, they were quickly absorbed into a broader cultural narrative. The smoker stopped being merely someone with a habit and became a symbol: of recklessness, of disregard, of moral laxity. When that happens, etiquette quietly gives way to judgment. The issue stops being about shared space and becomes about shared values, and dissenting bodies are, of course, pushed aside.
And this is where the discomfort lies. Not in the request for courtesy, but in the certainty with which it is demanded. Social spaces inevitably involve compromise: we tolerate noise, perfume, cologne, food smells, cramped bodies, loud laughter, all in the name of coexistence.
But when one inconvenience is elevated to moral offense, negotiation disappears. The smoker is no longer someone to accommodate, but someone to correct. And once correction replaces conversation, exclusion begins to feel justified, even virtuous.
TODAY I FELT VERY STRONG EMOTIONS
when I was told that I would be getting a certificate to celebrate my long service award at Zojatech, I thought it would be just another day in the office, but when this piece of paper actually materialised physically it brought a wave of...
Morality doesn’t exist in war because war, by its very nature, is the death of morality.
The moment two groups decide that the only remaining language is violence, every moral framework collapses under the sheer weight of survival. You cannot appeal to universal ethics in a space where existence itself is on the bargaining table. War suspends the normal rules of life because war is the failure of those rules.
People, usually the uninformed, love to quote “rules of engagement” as if they are sacred. They aren’t. They are conveniences, guidelines nations invoke when they have leverage and ignore the moment survival demands otherwise. No army, ancient or modern, has ever gone to battle with morality as its compass. They go with strategy, necessity, and the cold, brutal logic of securing victory. Morality is only invoked after the dust settles, when the victors need a story to justify what they have done.
And yes, morality may cut across all spheres of life, but war is not life. War is rupture; the interruption of civilization, the suspension of ethics, the breakdown of the social contract. To insist that morality must survive in war is to misunderstand what war is: the sanctioned abandonment of the very values we claim to uphold.
Our failure to meet moral standards in war does not erase morality’s existence; it simply reveals that morality cannot coexist with a condition built entirely on the permission to kill. War is the environment where morality goes to die, and victory is the burial.
I started this account on Sunday. I've posted every trade here on X. Let's pass it together too and get funded.
Let's see how consistent we are 😤
In 2025, I learnt a lot! Now, let's bring it to life 🙂↕️
I find the idea of eating at a burial deeply strange. What exactly am I eating for? Someone has died, a whole life has, without notice, folded into silence, and yet we eat, gleefully, merrily, as though the world hasn’t shifted. What does the food do? What purpose does it serve beyond filling the stomach?
Yes, the woman who passed was elderly, so it’s not as though we’re feasting despite the tragedy of a young life cut short, but still; when did burials become social events with food vendors, chair rentals, and overflowing coolers? When did grief learn to share a table with catering?
Yet, because hypocrisy flows in my veins the same way it flows in yours, when my aunties arrived with plates piled generously—basmati fried rice and jollof in heavy portions, one giant drumstick of chicken, an uncut thigh of turkey, and of course, my favorites, eggs—I didn’t say, “No, I am a man of principle. I don’t eat at burials.” I received the food with gratitude, bowed my head like I was about to pray for the strength to carry out the task before me, and without a shred of shame or guilt, finished everything. The plate was so clean the sun could have caught its reflection. And truly, it didn’t help that the food was delicious; grief, as I have observed, does not cancel taste buds.
You focus your creative energy and intellectual computation to keep the environment from consuming you.
There's no chance for growth when you're swimming against a raging river.
It's painful being trapped in an environment where your potential suffocates.
It's like a seed thrown in the desert instead of planted in a lush rainforest.
You feel the dry sand swallow your roots and the scorching sun consumes your sprout.
Your foundation is unsteady and your growth is like trying to light a fire in the wind.
You're forced into survival mode. You redirect your brilliance, vision and strategic mind to keep thriving against the odds.