beyWrites

  My book, The Little Rain Girl , has just been published on KDP. I am excited about the journey it took to get this far. Many ups and downs, but finally readers get a chance to experience this piece of work. It is very poetic, with language that is often thematic. The idea of having a central character transform into something else makes it even more interesting to read. If you are interested, click the link below for more information. There’s a chance you could become part of the Rain Circle. In The Little Rain Girl , you will meet Madonna, Cast Shadow, Cast Wind, Icarus, and the desperate Aunt. If you are interested in a story designed like a stage play but written as a novel, blending fantasy with the nature of mythology, then read this story. Discover the ups and downs Madonna goes through in order to reach the heavens and sacrifice herself for the rejuvenation of the land of Loop. It is a story imagined like a fairy tale, where a character enters a different world. In the l...

    Something isn’t right. I mean, where do we get the idea that a few iterations in code change what the function of that code actually does? For some clever guys, they instead want to name everything just because of the hype. The most common word nowadays is “agentic.” It definitely sounds more like a biological microbe to me than an actual artificial intelligence. Since we now have ChatGPTs, and their companions sprouting like tasty mushrooms, we find ourselves delving into word associations. A little tweak here and there, and we start changing the naming of the technology to something so grand that it turns average know-how into a perplexed entity. Do we have to be so intelligent that we place the world on notice about everything we do? A browser is a browser—why call it an “agentic browser” ? So that when you finally understand why it is called a browser, your mind just goes, oh my, how far have we fallen with technology. The drive to be the first is like an addict. Ev...

  “How is it possible? Why isn’t there any mercy?” Akanni asked. “I am here to answer all your prayers, not just the ones you offered recently. I’m talking about all your prayers—even those you once uttered for your mother, your friends, and even your enemies. All of them will be answered.” “Give me wisdom to understand what you are saying, for I have prayed—most of which I do not remember.” “You asked for a child. Your womb is filled with one, isn’t it?” “Yes.” “You asked for bread and water, and you were given them.” “I’m grateful for that.” “You cried in pain when your father was lost. I found him for you.” “Yes, my father is with us. I am thankful for that.” “Once you were a happy child. You had a good life with your people. You were helpful, even to the beggars.” Yemoja stretched her hands toward Akanni’s face, sending warm heat deep into her being. Akanni shook, helpless and a little agitated, as if waking from a deep sleep. She felt some comfort; her fear had vanis...

  Yemoja moved.   Her feet felt the rubble beneath them, coated in dust left behind by a storm from outside. Akanni stepped back, frightened by the sudden appearance of this goddess. “I am but a woman,” she pleaded. “Please, do not harm me.” She bowed again, pressing her forehead to the floor. In her heart, she believed this gesture honored the gods. But she was wrong. Yemoja approached slowly, her voice sounding like the harmony of many angels. “Look up,” Yemoja commanded. Akanni raised her head, her heart trembling with fear of the unknown. “You do not need to tell me who you are,” Yemoja said. “I know. I am here to answer all your questions.” “Asheh,” Akanni whispered. “I am grateful—very grateful. May you be worshipped forever.” “Silence,” Yemoja said sharply. Akanni forced herself to truly see what was before her. She had never witnessed anything like this—not in all her life. A divine being, manifested in the flesh. In her world, the gods were only stories. P...

  Yemoja moved—her feet brushing against the rubble-strewn floor, still coated in dust left behind by an earlier storm. Akanni retreated, startled by the goddess’s sudden movement. “I am but a woman,” she said, trembling. “Please, don’t bring harm to me.” She bowed again, pressing her head to the ground. To her, this act was reverent—a proper show of respect to the gods. But she was mistaken. Yemoja stepped forward slowly, her voice echoing like a choir of angels. “Look up,” Yemoja commanded. Akanni lifted her head, gripped by the fear of the unknown. “You do not need to tell me who you are. I know. I’m here to answer all your questions.” “Ase! I am grateful. Very grateful. May you be worshiped forever—” “Silence!” Yemoja interrupted. Akanni forced herself to focus on what she was witnessing. She had never seen anything like this—not in her entire life. The physical manifestation of the divine. In the world she grew up in, the gods were only known through stories pass...

      Yemoja, radiant goddess of womb and water, appears in divine brilliance. Orisha of Womb and Water – Part 1:       the Temple of Yemoja In the fading echoes of an ancient world, where the divine walked among mortals, one woman dares to cry out to the goddess of fertility, water, and womb — Yemoja. Her name is Akanni, and she comes bearing prayers of desperation. What follows is not just a spiritual encounter but a reckoning of memory, mercy, and forgotten power. The words “Ase! Ase! Ase! Ase O!” rang like temple bells in the enclosed shrine—once known only to the true worshipers of Yemoja. Like a pillar of light, she sat before the devoted one, a presence of comfort, peace, and serenity. The goddess—Yemoja—radiated a brilliant blue light that shone into the devotee’s eyes. Akanni knelt in full submission. She shielded her eyes from Yemoja’s dazzling brightness, murmuring words under her breath. After every sentence, she paused—w...

Things Falling from Above The tin cramped TV repair shop spewed electronic devices out of the entrance; walking past required effort to avoid tripping over them. Ambushed by piles of next-to-nothing broken screens, Jonas crouched with a multi-meter over the shell of a television. “This guy put the wrong tube, stupid man.” He plunged two pins to either end of a circuit board and gently tapped. A wire connecting a tube to the circuit board loosened unexpectedly, causing a spark to flash. Jonas rushed to disconnect the pins of the multi-meter, then reached for the power button on the face of the television. He pressed the button, hoping the current would stop. The fake tube dislocated from the screen board and more loose screws fell on the base of the television, then a surge of current splashed across the screen before vanishing. He fetched a rubber tool, slid it in place to hold the tube—only to realize there was a leak the other side of the broken televi...