ndoeyopbennet:
MR who told you bolaji was expelled ? You need more investigation As a gesture of goodwill, I will actually share parts of my data here. Everyone should note that I am not cultist or an ex-cultist. What I will say are not based on personal experiences but on some months of research (I am interested in sociolinguistics, psycholinguistics and cultural studies). I have investigated cult societies for some years and I'm bringing my research home. I am particularly interested in how language is used as an indicator of "belonging" within cult formations. I will not really go too deep into the theoretical basis or motivations for my research. However, I'll start by giving some of my data, beginning with the Bucanneers.
To begin with, I've posted a poem below which is in honour of Alora Ricca Ricardo (or Bolaji Carew), the founder of the group who was expelled from NAS (Pyrates Confraternity).
On the surface level, the poem appears to be a normal English pirate poem set in the 16th or 17th century. However, a closer examination of the poem reveals the key tenets of the confraternity. It is also a chronicle of how the cult started at their so-called "mothership". It celebrates the "BAN culture". The poem has been attached for your scrutiny and analysis. I can answer some questions based on it too (if you have any).
Eyeland Adventure: evolutionary manifestation of Skull & Dry-Bones. [HINT: ruggedity & humility, will be needed to chew and digest this meat.] ODAS, ceased to be ODAS (1) Ricca wept BLUD, FOR BLUD In service of NO FRIEND, NO FOE; Its value, had NO PRICE, NO PAY Mothership’s mast, hoisted Black Jack; (2) To mark a new beginning Her deck was built by hands: Handpicked Crew, with noble guts In the puzzle of “Who is Ripe?” (3) He could’ve gone against the grain But a clash of jaw to jaw, Revealed the chaff and grain in play The lubber was killed in them (4) Enough, to make a soul skillful For tribe and tongue is null, A Buccaneer is fair and square Having seen and known the Light, (5) Bag of Salt, is worth a sail Since we sail in the path of Ricca, A Buccaneer, is a Riccaneer The goal, was never to tarry (6) But to act within bounds of reason In the quest for truth and bond, All Free Beings, have their voice, alive A Cigarette, may seem like Trebor (7) But deep down, it is not one If you are choppin Tirebo, Give your broda small to chop Behold, the Dead Man’s Chest! (8 Ancient Scroll, charted the Course Shining Atupa, lights the Sea Route; For the Sextant to navigate sail The Skull, is lifeless and worthless (9) Though stained with acquired knowledge Slanting daggers in downward direction, Guard tradition, to parry the wrong In the old legs of dreaded voyage, (10) Rugged Men, needed no femur But Dry-Bones would thrive ahead Hence, abominable, when they’re X-ed Yet, a femur is strong enough; (11) To bear the burden of any challenge So, the young had to dig And exhume, the Grandfather’s Bone The Island was virgin, but bleak (12) Filled with squeaks of alien creatures Fine-Boys with prudent audacity, Made hay of our foregone terrors Crying out, Tom! Tom! (13) Rhythmic tone, in measured cadence For a laggard is hard of hearing, Thunderous echo, fades his sail While Tom isn't silly like Jim, (14) It is fun with both on-board: Moonlight Tales, in sequence of notes Uplifting Vibe, from a twinborn duo Barrels of Brew, ferment to taste (15) Though Sea-Lords gulp, to sally on-board Full of life, was the last man standing Lest he'd maroon, in Laggardom Isle As the moon begun to set, (16) The deck was set to move Rigid CLASP, in profound recall; Held fast, to keep brodas aligned Cold breeze, from rough Sea hounds (17) The Red Cloak, kept him warm As bonfire was guided to flame, Major Sally, drowned the storm Where are the sallying Sea Lords? (18) Poor eyes for thee to see Just as it is, for a child unborn; So has an Eye, a Big Daddy Deadweights, do no good (19) On a vessel, made of wood Leave no borras in the wood For loose tongue, sinks ship In recap, the Sea is deep; (20) With a melting pot afloat A leap at the cliff of mystery, Helps to forge, and sail ahead When the Call bellows, ALORA� (21) The vile and deaf, tremble In the spirit of foremost sail, The Decree, remains AWUMEN.
|