Scoresheet.

.

Whenever I sit down to write one of these pieces, I never really know what I'm going to say, but this feels needed. The ritual purge of whatever the fuck is going on inside of me.

So I'm still in Saudi Arabia, I've created a nice little system for myself, a cool existence in the middle of the blistering desert. Whatever I'm bereft of? Whatever feels missing? I find that all I have to do is release my wishes into the air, to give my hopes, dreams & minute aspirations to the Universe & it is given. All of my questions are answered, one way or the other.

It helps.

The sentiment that a being like myself isn't meant to thrive in a world like this is being combated daily. No matter what is thrown at me I continue onwards & I keep on swimming. It's not about survival anymore, maybe it never really was about survival. I don't need to fight for what has already been given to me. All I have to do, in the words of a dear sister, is remain & all of this confusion straightens out in a manner that befits me.

Not survival. Optimum existence.

Every step I have taken has awarded me with a lesson. Every person I have met has taught me something invaluable about myself. Every hiccup, every disruption, every single fuck up has been so necessary in the creation of the one who types this message.

I say message now, because in essence this is what these are. Letters to beings like me, humans that connect with me, who at one time thought they were completely alone & yet somehow found traces of themselves in the words that poured out of me.

As long as your heart beats along with mine we are connected & whoever you are, you are not alone.

Overcome every negative lick of fire that is being rained down on you & come out glistening like the pure fucking gold you are. You will continue & you will survive. The trick is in seeing the bigger picture of it all, even when you're being attacked, there is a message in that, in love? There is a message in that? Afraid? Ashamed? There is a lesson in that.

Tired? Worn out? Ready to give it all up? Look here bitch, there is a lesson in that.

For whatever reason, we exist now. For whatever reason, I fall asleep, I wake up. These might seem like mediocre & everyday things to you but the fact that they are in actuality every bit as simple as you believe them to be fucking baffles me.

I have no control.

& yet somehow, I am still here.

& yet somehow, I am still heard.

There are almost 7 billion human beings on this planet, how many do you think are blessed with this sight to see as you do? To feel as you do? To even recognize what does & does not fit as you do?

Be thankful for this consciousness, be thankful for your sight.

It keeps us higher.

It keeps us balanced.

In this sea of material nothingness, we are rooted in the souls of one another.

Only seek what is enough. Never more, never less.

Keep fucking swimming.

One day, all this mess will make sense.

You might dismiss this as a simple belief of an unconventionally eccentric individual & you might be right, you might say that it's utter shit & you might be right, but there you are working under the assumption that you have the right to dismiss a theory you have yet to try & test.

My methodology does not require your faith.

I am proof enough.

"Remain".

Reality

"I want to make something very clear in my understanding of love. Not even in my understanding, in the reality that is love. I want it to be known that if you stay with somebody because you are afraid to hurt that person, you are lying to that person & you staying with them is even worse than you leaving them.

Because you are trying to shield them from reality. You are lying to them.

If you break up with somebody & she goes on her knees & she's crying & she's begging you & she tells you that you are her life? & you are so affected by her one statement that you run & you tell niggas "No one's ever said that to me before, this must be really serious" & you're looking in my face & telling me that that emotional hysteria, that dysfunction, that psychological DISEASE is love.

It doesn't worry you?

That this girl, how ever old she is, how ever young she is, looks to another human being & amounts that human being to her entire existence? When in reality, she doesn't even know this human being, this human being has an entire different side to him that he is hiding, & he is shielding from her. Trying to protect her, all in the name of what he says is love.

I don't ever want to be in that position.
I don't ever want to be in that girl's position.
Ever, in any of my lifetimes.

Cause when I think about it, I remember I once loved a boy like that. He broke up with me & I was crying my eyes out, I was calling, I was begging, I completely made a fool out of myself & here today I still stand, alive & well & strong & BETTER FOR IT.

Because he gave me reality.
He did not want to lie to me, no matter how painful it might've been for me at the time. He LET me learn & heal, he could not, would not & did not shield me from this world. He did not shelter me, he did not appease me, he did not compromise.

& if you do not do the same? You damage her. More than you can ever say you love her. Her telling you that you are her life? Is dangerous, especially when you do not feel the same way. Loving her suddenly becomes a chore, what disrespect!

Why not let this girl go & perhaps find somebody that can love her as deeply as she claims to love whatever you she thinks she knows?

Why do you hold them back in the name of keeping them safe? When it is not your place to?

You don't put on no fucking armor when they ain't no mother fucking beasts to slay!

You're shielding her from reality, from truth! & so what if that shit makes her cry? She will continue on! She will grow better & she will learn to love this world even deeper & even more, because she will learn to love HERSELF.

How can you say your boyfriend is your life?

No nigga should be your life, nobody else but your Self & your God should equate to such.

That shit is dangerous & it disturbs me & it's painful for me to think that this poor girl is sitting there thinking something completely different from the reality that IS. All in your name of protecting her.

What disgust, this produces in me.

I don't ever want to be that position. I fucking pity that girl. Because you are shielding her from reality. You're lying to her. In the name of love.

These niggas, when they're telling me a dysfunctional ass babe is going all crazy over 'em & they're telling me that "Nah, I can't leave her, I can't leave her, I don't wanna hurt her, I don't wanna hurt her" All that nonsense? "It's so hard for me to let go"?

Really, IT AIN'T ABOUT THE GIRL.

It's about you & your mother fucking ego.

You love that she's so fucking hysteric about you, you love it! The attention! The power! It makes you feel so strong, so capable & so you keep it up, saying you're protecting her.

Saying that you can tell that the tears really affected her, that she was weak after two days? YEAH NIGGA WE ALL WERE.

EVERYBODY.

Every single strong ass Queen braved this fire of delusion, when they are crying their eyes out for a FOOL.

Cause that's what you being right now.

A fool.

You thinking that you can dole out the lessons God might have in store for these people? You thinking that you wasting her TIME is SAVING her? Cause what happens now? You don't want to settle, you don't want to compromise, you don't want to be with this girl, you keep on lying & lying, loving her suddenly equates to a sacrifice! A burden! You keep drawing it out, this time that she could be using to heal, to better understand herself, you keep on shielding her from & one day when that truth finally rips it way out of your mouth it will be done violently! It will be so much more painful & this girl might not survive it & it will all be because of your own,

SELFISHNESS.

Compromise? Is Cowardice.

You do what you do for your own happiness. Reality is the only thing that can provide that. & God will sort everybody else the fuck out. Don't worry about these girls. We're strong, we will overcome, we were built to.

Reality is what we need.

& reality is what you need to feed them.

If you cannot give them reality? My nigga, don't come round my way. Do not speak to me about these girls. Do not talk to me, do not complain to me, do not tell me a damn thing. Because every time you tell "My girlfriend this, my girlfriend that" my heart cries out in PAIN for my fellow sister.

You have shackled her in a cage of delusion & you proudly wear the key around your neck.

& you call it love.

That ain't real nigga.

This is emotional dysfunction supporting emotional dysfunction.

That's all the fuck there is to that.

& if you don't have the balls to face the true reality of it? Well my nigga, MAN THE FUCK UP.

Fuck you got a dick for?

Nonsense. "

Middle Easting it.

There's another sandstorm brewing outside today, my writing desk is right in front of the window in my bedroom so perceive it all I must & I find it astounding, death by wind & sand.

I am in Saudi Arabia, visiting my mother, my first day here flew by so splendidly that I might just stay a couple more weeks than expected. I am here for about 2 months though, so I suppose we'll see when we get to the end of this road.

The Holy Land is full of inspiration, beauty, peace & rampart repression, so many factors contribute to your own change of self perception & no one outside of this place will ever really be able to understand just how much this world affects you.

This is a System that recognized the debauchery of the System already in place, but still wanted to eat the cake, so it thought to compromise, entertain the original System in all manner of business & currensy acquiring endeavours but then completely shut it off from it's own people & culture. Not realizing that the money it so covets, is in fact the source of the System it hate's power. So now we have a doppleganger of the original failed System, dressed in a body of religion & xenophobia, a paradox, for all the money they have? They are not happy.

So what is the point?

One must understand that there can be no compromise when one makes a decision to live outside & inspite of the System, you cannot invest in it & believe yourself to be outside of it. One way or another, it will get to you, you must flee. It will make you believe that you are something you are not, a simple calculation. Because that is all it sees of you, that is all it is capable of seeing, it seeks to classify, never understand. Because it CANNOT understand.

The wonder of human life cannot be fit into a simple little box.

The System has no conception of this, it sells all kinds of boxes for you to fit your soul in.

Bejeweled cases to imprison your soul.

So how then to free yourself?

Want nothing, need nothing. Recognize the poison, shun it & follow your own way. There is no formula, there is only your understanding, there is only your mind.

Your flesh will rot, but your soul lives on, energy cannot be destroyed. There is nothing to fear, life, death, synonymous, you simply change location.

The Sustainer forever sustains.

Who would've thought I would've become so damn spiritual? But I ask you this, what is left when illusion ends? Truth.

Truth led me here, logical inferences, a seeking mind, a thirst for knowledge led me to this blessed peace, to this understanding, enables me to laugh at those who live on the ground. Not with malice, but with pity, to see them flailing so desperately against the shackles they placed on their own arms is a wonder indeed.

The human mind/soul is the only thing of any real worth to me. I think I'm Morpheus in this. Meant to guide & liberate, after realizing such for myself. I teach as I am taught, my Maker beseeches me to share truth & only truth & no matter the situation, truth liberates.

You can either shoot for freedom or drag a ball & chain.

Look around & see your prison bars, strangle the guard, steal the key, jump out the fucking window & discover you can fly.

The sky is not the limit, the sky is an illusion.

Rise above.

Playing dress up.

I really don't think I'm gonna grow my hair back any time soon. And by any time soon I mean IN YEARS. Why should I? There is just too much in the wig game.

Arabian Nights (Captured Moments)

Leaving Tuesday, so many more pictures to share. But off to pack/shake my ass naked when I should be packing.

Hourglass.

SLC Punk just finished downloading and the thought of watching it, watching it as a somewhat completely different person is sort of harrowing for me. The idea that I could've morphed without my noticing is such a mind fuck to me, I was emotionally weak then you know? Easily hurt, easily angered, always fighting against some idea or some stereotype. But I still understood that simple strain of happiness, that never left me, only developed into the version I have now.

My life was so simple, I was a daughter, I was a teenager, I was a high school student who went to rock/punk rock/screamo shows, hung out with skateboarders, lay in the middle of my ridiculously messy room singing my heart out to Fly or Die.

Just seeing the ladder of progression so clearly now makes me laugh, I never saw this coming but it's everything I ever wanted. When you're young you think you'll stay that way forever, and in a sense I did. But the most important part? I feel...wisdom.

Which is a heavy thing to say because of my precarious age. I only left the confines of teenage years earlier on in the year, but then I have that whole old soul situation going on. A terribly ancient soul, makes my brain age at an alarming rate without my noticing.

I can't wait to watch this movie. I know it'll be different for me. Everything is different for me. Even thinking about my emotional state with boys back then seems so foreign, I just want to chuckle at the image and pat myself on the back during my most angst ridden moments. Stand me up on my own two feet, hold my tear ridden face in my hands, kiss my forehead, look myself dead in the eye and say;

"You will be beautiful. You will create so much happiness in your life and in the lives of others. You are a force of nature, you are power, you are boundless energy, you are eternity. Don't waste tears on moments past, they contribute not to your tomorrow. Every second is a chance for a new life, every minute a change for a change, every hour a dawn in your reality. Do not let time escape you because nothing, absolutely nothing is more painful than wasted time. You are young, you are pure, be thankful always for this time, for this opportunity to enjoy the beautiful gift that is life. Know nothing else but this"

It's written on my heart, I don't know where it came from but it's something I constantly remind myself of every second of my day. Something I can never and will never forget.

I love, not because I have to, but because I can.

I'm so thankful for it all, that journey to my now, every hiccup, every mistake, only brightens the path before me.

There is really isn't a more powerful feeling than Knowledge Of Self you know? You should look into it, I think it's on sale.

Paloma Faith is my temporary Amy replacement, the album doesn't flow as well as any of Amy's for me, but it'll do for now.

Summer is here. I can't wait for that sunlight, I'll be half naked constantly, I have so many sawn off jean shorts to break in, so much to do and see in Atlanta. School to sort out and a whole world to revisit.

Everything is different.

There's this warm calming sense of empowerment whenever I think of it. I've been out here for so long, almost 2 months now.

I AM SO READY.

Off to watch my cult classic now.

Ciao.

Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy

I like sex. I love sex. What else is there to say after that? I'm an incredibly sexual being, I don't know when I crossed the line from adorable to stupendously sexy but hey I'm here now, might as well get used to it. Apparently when presented with all aspects of my being I get even sexier, like when my thoughts are melded in with my appearance and the audience, whoever that might be, is now fully aware of both of my strengths my sex appeal only multiplies exponentially.

I was told I was intimidating because of this.

I draw so much pleasure from that idea, but that's just the chess player in me, that's what I've decided to call it. Chess Player. I love observing human beings, their motives, their actions I watch so intently without anyone realizing it, and without meaning to insult you're all quite predictable at this point. And I enjoy that, it's knowledge to me, and knowledge is power.

It's easier to fight a current if you know which way it's flowing. There's no sense in being lost. I like power. It's sort of cult leader-ish of me, but my intentions aren't evil so I don't see it in such a negative way. I'm a natural born leader I suppose.

But then in the same breathe, as I say all of this, I yearn for equals, people of like minds, a small group I can fully trust, a small group who see's the world and it's inhabitants the same way I do. I yearn for that connection with another human being, but I think that stems from my being an only child, I moved around so much that I got used to being alone. I've lost a lot of friends on this journey, and somewhere in the past year I refused to lose any more.

I'm gonna be a rock star. And it'll be so strange, yet so brilliant all at the same time. My mother suggested I look into taking acting lessons once I get back to Atlanta, get head shots ship around agencies, I was actually surprised by this idea, I mean it was in the plans but for it to be suggested by her was a pretty big deal. Of course I'm going to do that, I refuse to have any free time in Atlanta for the next four years, if I'm going to be in America I might as well take full advantage of it all. And acting lessons might be a lot of fun.

Queen's 'Crazy Little Thing Called Love' started playing, I immediately took iTunes off of shuffle, let's let the rest of the album play out. I've rekindled my romance with almost all of my beloved high school musical interests. Queen was definitely on the list. Freddy Mercury was such an inspirational being.

That and I have a huge thing for rock star's with cool ass nicknames, i.e.; Sid Viscous.

I want to mind fuck all of you, for centuries to come. I want my children to have the same aspirations, but if one of them is happy with owning a farm somewhere in the mountains of Cambodia I'd understand that as well. Do what makes you happy in the end you know?

It's all about striving for that eternal joy.

You want to break free from the shackles of misery and have the freedom to do whatever the hell you please. It's all about freedom, the freedom to be really, truly and completely unadulteratedly happy.

Well at least that's what I want.

What do you?

3:20 AM.

I have to force myself to keep writing on here, I must not lose this interest. I'm writing this to The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou Soundtrack, I watched this movie when I was 14 and fell in love with a Portuguese singer named Seu Jorge, he sang renditions of David Bowie songs in his native language. I was touched by it.

My next sentence could've gone in so many different directions, I could've touched on my formspring.me stalkers, on the words that only disappointed me when I read them, on the feeling in the pit of my stomach I want so much to get rid of, that cavernous feeling of distrust when I now think of Atlanta.

I have a lot of faith in the wrong people sometimes, I retain hope when I shouldn't in the face of the human brains multifaceted delights. I sit back and realize that I have to once again vet every singly organism I let into my life, that once again no one should be underestimated, no one should be immediately trusted.

Is there not one single honest human being left on this planet? We're all capable of terrible things, but in that same light, we are equally as able of not committing to this ideal. We are equally capable of being pure, being honest, being bright and shining pillars of the human race.

But then it all gets lost, and I am filled with commiseration.

My generation is in such a sad state. I truly hope my spirt of faith somehow touches the world around me, I hope that my light shines on it all. My beauty, my gift, my peace is not of me, but of the creator. Whereas my anger, my insecurities and any evil act I may commit is of my human nature. I ask the creator to forgive me, forgive any negative thoughts, show me the path, give me the words to say, give me the wisdom to embark on this difficult journey ahead.

I wonder if I sound like I'm preaching. I don't mean to. It's just how I feel at these times.

The idea that I cannot trust anyone anymore saddens me. Disappoints me. But doesn't snuff out the flame of my life, because all I really need is a blunt and some sunshine to reach my peak. That's all I've ever needed.

Keeping me happy is quite simple.

To put it bluntly; I pray for the strength to smile at these hoes, to help them, to create this peace within their lives, to evolve them in a way.

I just want the world to be a happier place. The spirit of anger, the spirit of hatred is not of our creator, it creates nothing good in your life, it creates nothing good in mine. I've learnt to let it go, anger serves no purpose to me.

Pity, never hate.

Have I mentioned how brilliant this soundtrack is? But I suggest it only for those who are truly open minded in the realms of their musical taste. If not, you probably won't understand it, or why I love it so much.

To be honest it brings back memories of the 14th year of my life. Walking through Devin's neighborhood with Emily, breaking off honeysuckle flowers and tasting the sweet nectar, what did we talk about? Who did I adore? Oh, in those days I was getting over this skateboarder. Or former skateboarder, I don't know, but he smashed my heart to smithereens on xanga of all places. He really hurt my feelings, truly hurt my feelings.

I laugh at the idea of it now. For someone who smiled so much I retained a lot of angst back then. I had brilliant hair though, curls, dark thick black curls. Tightly coiled, coiffed to perfection. Later on they developed a sort of "bed head" behavior, I'd curl them about once a week, sleep on them, wake up in the morning run a hand through them, mess them up, shake it a bit and viola! Big curled hair.

I miss it. The look I mean, I will never miss the work that went into them. Hair is just so much work. Never again.

It's 3:10, I can hear the prayer call in the background of this Bowie track. It's Queen Bitch, if you were wondering.

But I am excited about Atlanta, I'm excited about rekindling my love for it's underground culture. For all the vapid nonsense that the city spews out into the mainstream rivers, it's underground world is surprisingly dazzling, sparkling with untold treasures and undiscovered beauty. I can't wait to unlock it all.

But first I have to defeat all the basic bitches (male and female) that will inevitably cross my path.

A task I pray my creator helps me with.

All I ask for is patience. Wisdom. And compassion.

I was once a very angry human being, I'm glad that has left me.

Life can be a lot of things, pick one.

Lustful

All is well in my world again. Positive energy and sincere words have the ability to heal all wounds.

Always say what you mean, and mean what you say.

A very simple cure for misery.

It's 2:36 AM on this side of the planet, and I am determined to sleep like a normal human being tonight, dash my vampire nature entirely and abide with the day walkers. Whenever I put a song up, I expect you to let it play as you read this, it's supposed to be 'mood music' you know? It kills the whole steez if you read this in silence. My literature and music go hand in hand.

I actually write to instrumentals, I can create all sorts of scenarios from music, beautiful music. But right now this song has been getting a lot of play, I like conscious hip hop. Especially when it's about a girl, it's less "DAMN YOU GOT A FAT ASS" and more "Damn you got a beautiful soul".

I hate hearing the first, but melt a little at the second, I have mad respect for someone who can see past my beauty into the depths of my being, that means we're of like minds. I'm all about like minds, about souls of the same nature. Not even on a romantic tip, on a human being tip, those type of people are trust worthy, those are the type of people you can learn from, the type that won't lead you in the lair of bullshit. I don't like to mess with that lair. It's not really my cup of joe.

So I was going through my old facebook pictures, a year can make a very large difference, growing up and then realizing you've grown up are completely different sensations you know? It's scary, going back to the same place, but knowing that you're a completely different person. I'm not gonna feel the same way I did about things a year ago, I've seen a lot, I've learnt a lot.

In a way, I've found myself, gets my head all big, my ego pumped up with positive energy, knowing that now, that culture won't affect me like it used to, cause I know myself, I know my origin, and I can cook all the dishes.

What the fuck you think I was sitting here doing? My ass has been learning. When I want okra soup, okra soup will be made, when I want fufu and light soup? Fufu and light soup will be made.

I'm even learning a prayer in Ewe, continuing my cultural lessons, I don't want to be lost in the big cultural melting confusion that is America. I need home to stay as close to me as possible.

I'm proud of my country. Of my history. Of my heritage.

Ghanaian first, everything else after.

Beli' dat.

Fatigue.

I know it's time to write, but I feel as though there is nothing to write about. My days are empty here, just the silence of this apartment, the clickity clack of my keyboard as my fingers move dexterously across it.

My mother seems hell bent on ruining every possible positive mood I could muster. And I'm tired of it. What is the point of being here if I don't even feel welcome? I'm only here for you.

I don't want to eat breakfast. I don't want fake like I actually have something to do today. Because I don't. I never do. Just this silence.

I hate this silence.

I discovered a ledge underneath my bedroom window, I covered myself appropriately and climbed out onto it. Looked up at the small slither of a sky squeezed in between two concrete monsters and suddenly felt afraid.

What if I were to fall? And die? Right there? In this god forsaken desert? I thought.

And with those thoughts clutched closely to my chest I solemnly climbed back inside the safe confines of my prison.

I refuse to let this place take my life as well as my happiness.

My moments of despair are outfitted with appropriate Zencast podcasts, the lonely spaces are filled with lessons on how to become a dutiful Buddhist. I feel a headache form in the cushy perimeter of the left side of my head and I let out a sigh. Dispersing this negative energy burrowed so deep within me perhaps?

I am tired of fantasizing, I am tired of biding my time.

I am simply tired.

I won't sit on the ledge, I will sit on the windowsill and I will find cigarettes, because after all...what else is there to do? I'd rather live a picturesque bored life made for the cinema then live another day as the dutiful wasted daughter.

Why can't we speak english anymore? Why can't you just be direct in what you say? There are so many different forms of "internet slang" "thug slang" "slang slang" that even I am at a loss for what you actually mean? What happened to a good grammatically correct sentence? You are talking to me about a business proposition and yet I have no idea what you are actually saying? What does that say about us? About tomorrow? About yesterday?

Why don't you think of us? Of tomorrow? Of yesterday?

Let me be honest with myself, I fell out in love with him the moment he showed disregard for my literature, because in a sense it mirrored him showing disregard for my heart, for a true understanding of me, how can you love something you refuse to know?

The sea is cancerous, isn't that a mind fuck? There are portions of the ocean that if I swim in, my skin and eye balls will burn off.

BP cares.

I am thirsty, but I don't want to get a drink, I simply don't want to cross the path of the self consumed self victimizing monster that has taken over my most beloved once more this morning. When she's in these slumps she forgets that she isn't the only one affected by this fuck up.

Do you know what it feels like to have your entire life, your entire personality be defined by your mother's romantic mistakes? It is the most belittling feeling on this earth, to be summarized in one small and jaded action, time and time again. My family sees me and thinks "She'd be normal if her mother was".

But my pain is forgotten, because I choose to forget it, in turn making her life easier, one less tear she has to wipe up. I keep myself happy, not only for myself, but for the people around me, because after all smile's are contagious, but they're getting harder as the silence wears on.

I know this will all be over soon, I know this solitude, this massive wave of loneliness will seem like a faint memory in the life of Atlanta, but it is my now, and my now is all I know. My now is deep and vast, every feeling amplified, every sound holds meaning, every thought a justification for my misery. Over analytical and morose Franki. The creative genius rears her ugly head. As words flow like poetry through my fingers into this metallic vessel, I sneer at the mundane, I spit on the average.

My throat is so dry. The silence is so loud. And the light isn't bright enough.

And then my thoughts mull over the thought of a man. My thoughts confuse me. Sometimes I see them as a small child that I watch with amusement in the playground, it looks up at me occasionally seeking encouragement for whichever toy it has created but it mostly ignores me and continues to play in it's own imaginary world. And I sit, on a park bench, with a coffee and just watch and wait for something to happen.

These past weeks it has brought my attention to the thoughts of a man, a dear friend, a dear friend I didn't know well before I left, a dear friend who shouldn't have made the cut but for some strange reason did, it continues to bring this man before me. And I remain seated and look up at him, scrutinize him, scrunch my face and stick my tongue out in aversion at the idea, she kicks my shin, pulls at my skirt and forces me to stand.

And now I am facing him. A questioning look of skepticism on my countenance. He smiles, and there is a slow flutter in my stomach, weak but strong enough to make me wretch. It is not his own physical being that incites such distaste, it's the whole affair in general.

But then I find that thinking of him makes the silence easier. Cushions my thoughts, paints a smile in my now. Thinking of him helps.

Thinking that perhaps he might read this and wonder if I'm writing about him, perhaps he might think I'm being emotional, maybe it'll scare him, if he draws that conclusion he doesn't know me very well. I just sit and watch her play, I take care of her, I protect her and I'll release her when the time is right, she seems to have chosen him, for what purpose I think I know, in fact I do know, but I'm too unmotivated to fully delve into it. I remain cautious at all times, cautious and tired.

Right now I think she brings you forward because my thoughts of you are happy, and I need that happiness in these moments, I don't know if she'll still see you as the go to figure in my heart, in my head once I reach freedom. Once my days are filled with work. With purpose.

Once my days are filled with you. Once I am filled with you.

Double entendre.

But then again, I might not even be talking about a person, I could be talking about a thing, about an action, about a place, about a certain space on this planet, just something that makes me smile.

Cause that's all I need really. A hug and a smile. That's all I ever need. It's easy to keep me happy, because I keep myself happy, so external forces are rarely needed.

I'm like a self cleaning oven in a way, just press a button and in 20 minutes I'm sparkling.

But today? Today?

Repair is needed.

Finito.

Razzle Dazzle

Two different "collections". The first was just a tester wedding dress for a friend of mine, a favorite out of the bunch. My sketchbook is filled with all sorts of things now, the free time I have on my hands right now would drive me insane without it. The second is the first dress I'm completing once I get a sewing machine in my hands.

Open it up, empty it out.

I don't like well lit rooms anymore. I look up to the bright light fixtures on my ceiling wishing I had a lamp to replace the glare. I need soft light in the moment. My mother is on the brink of another major life changing decision, and it again has something to do with a guy.

I've learnt a lot from her relationships, I've learnt to not subconciously let my negative energy spill out onto others unfairly, I've learnt to realize when I am doing this, and my efforts to desist in those actions.

I am aware of myself, I am aware of my faults, aware of my motives behind certain actions, and no matter how proud I am, I learn to admit even the silliest of emotions. For a cleansing life, you have to be honest, with yourself, with the world, with every little stupid feeling you have.

Because if you're aware of them, then you are in control of them. And we won't be having arguments about absolutely nothing. I don't like arguing with her, because it never draws any positive conclusion. She'll just walk away with this "Everyone is against" me mind state, which hurts me.

Because I'm not everyone. If anything, if I say it, it should be the only one you take as truth, because I've known you for 20 years, before all these guys, before all these idiots, I was there, I've lived with you for 18 of those years, I know you better than anyone ever could and will.

You gave birth to me.

Don't include me with the rest of the world. You're my mother. I'm your daughter. It's like yin and yang. So when you include these strangers in your assessment of my words to you, it hurts.

It really hurts.

Why can't you see the difference? I'm always on your side. I'll always be on your side.

I'm just writing it all here, cause if I say it you'll take the "disrespectful" child route, read into the wrong things, and ignore the right ones. You just want to be a victim right now, and I understand that, it was a blunder, and you're beating yourself up, but this won't help you Mum.

Just stand up, you're aware of it all now, you can leave, close the door and start anew.

Why has that always been so hard for you?

This is the cycle of life, rebirth, regeneration and continuation.

The ironic thing is, I learnt all of this from you.

I just wish you could see how poisonous your "what if's" have always been.

----

2 minutes to midnight, I'll go jog tonight, run all this frustration off. Another life is starting, pressing refresh again. But this time, I feel sort of...'grown up'. I don't feel like a kid up in my cranium, my old ass soul is growing even more.

The finality of my future is so apparent, my path has never been clearer. Conviction, knowledge of self, and self empowerment are the tools of the trade.

I just want to be happy. Striving for that eternal smile. I want my children to smile that smile, I want my mother to smile that smile. I want to share the world with all of you, I want you all to be happy.

I don't want to ever change.

I thank God for this lesson, for this pain, for this hurt, I thank God for this fire that only hardens my shell, everything happens for a reason. He's made the road map pretty clear, it's just your choice if you want to go right or left, but know that you can always make a u-turn and start all over.

Amen.

Balancing your life.

Today has been an emotional roller coaster. There are a lot of decisions I have to make about my life, decisions with consequences I don't generally support but it must be done. I love Ghana you know? Because it's home. And after being raised all over the planet, the idea of home is extremely valuable to you. 

I never really had a definite "home" so if I can sit down and say, this is my heart, this is my home. I'm happy. But to achieve the things I want to, I might need to leave. Ultimatums are being brought forward and I'm resentful, cause in honesty, I want to have my cake and eat it too.

I'll bounce back though, the light will illuminate the path before me. I'm just at crossroads, I have so many options, I just don't know what to do. 

I really do hate America, living in America, being alone in America. But I now have the resources to go back and forth whenever I please, and a psychology degree from an American accredited institution would be a lot more lucrative you know?

I think my decision is already made, but I hate it. 

But at the end of the day, it's for the better. You gotta live today for tomorrow. You gotta be smart with the big responsibility that is your life, cause if I fuck up now, if I slip up now, I'm the only one that'll suffer, I'll be the only to blame. 

I can't risk my future. 

When she presented the idea to me, I was upset, I was terrified, I basically cried at the idea of moving again, but hey, I'm young, this is the only time I'll ever get to do it. And she's right. Admitting that is the hardest thing I've done all day. 

But I feel better. The idea sucks, but I feel better. 

All zenned out and shit.

Peace and blessings.

Don't be afraid of discomfort, especially if it turns out be lucrative. You have to have a balance you know? Nothing worthwhile comes without work, nothing real, nothing lasting comes without difficulties.

Do what you have to for your future and your legacy.

I'll cop that degree and have you hoes calling me Dr. Franklyn Acolatse. 

Amen, thank you Jesus. 

Star shines bright but the light rarely stays on.

I didn't sleep last night and was fortunate enough to watch the sun come up. Although I never actually saw the sun, it was just the slow and steady illumination of the world outside my window that touched my core and gave me pure serenity.

As I watched this light increase my mind traveled to thoughts of the sun, of the stars, of the universe, of the great dark space that encompasses this planet and I was amazed, I was inspired, I was in love. I carried these thoughts with me through out the day and it touched everything I came into contact with.

I discovered iTunes U this morning. Free university lectures from some of the best school's in the world, free information, free education, free knowledge and it blew my mind. I spent 2 hours listening to Dr. Paul Bloom who teaches at Yale University, 2 blessed hours in which I learnt about dualism and cognitive psychology. When I finished these lectures, I felt fulfilled because I truly love learning, and then I suddenly thought of Waka Flocka Flacka.

And felt very afraid.

Our generation has been blessed with the gift of limitless information, information that is only a few clicks of a mouse away, information that rivals that of Alexander the Great's own fabled library, information that once nations and empires ravaged the planet for, and yet my generation wants nothing to do with it.

As children we are raised to be better than our parents, to be an advanced variation of their souls, to be the 2.0 of their legacy, and yet we waste away and disappoint them. Why is it that now that we are free to learn and encompass all, and truly be all that we can, we waste it?

Why are you content in your stupidity? In your ignorance?

1. I love fashion, I love weed, I love music.

2. I love psychology, I love history, I love philosophy.

Why does #1 make me a normal human being and #2 make me a nerd freak?

If I say my expectations for my generation are too high I would be insulting the being that created us, I would be insulting my very existence, I would be insulting anyone that ever fought or died to give us this edification.

A lot of the times I am looked at like an alien because of my wide range of interests, when someone walks in on me watching The History Channel, the first question they ask is;

“What the fuck are you watching?”

And at this point I honestly think that I am what my ancestors wanted our generation to become, I am the full embodiment of what we are supposed to be. And yet, I'M the strange one. You're walking around with shackles on your brains and you don't even realize that you've bought into the mass mental slavery that is 21st century marketing.

You're basic cattle infected with mad cow disease and you've have been ravaged by this infection for so long that is has become a part of your life so when you come across another animal sans the affliction you are so blinded and taken over by your physical filth that a healthy representation of your race is deemed unnatural by your sensory neurons.

This generation is suffering from a mass case of the Stockholm syndrome. You trust and love your captor, you see anything else as foreign and unwelcome, you see knowledge as the enemy.

There is nothing wrong with opening a book and reading it, that is what they are for, there is nothing wrong with knowing how much venom a rattle snake holds in it's fangs, there is nothing wrong with knowing the exact coordinates of your home or workplace, there is nothing wrong with being a genius.

And there should be nothing 'strange' about being smart. Why should intelligence be special? Why can it not be the average? You're so busy searching for Katt Stack videos and hoes on WSHH when you could be traveling through the universe with Professor Chung in HD.

Why does my generation choose ignorance over wisdom?

I don't want to care, and in any other situation I wouldn't. But I want to raise a family in this world, this world that seems to be crumbling around me socially, everyday we lose another bright young brain to this monster, everyday the light lessens and it frightens me because if my generation has been degraded to such a level...what about the next? And the next? And the next?

You have to understand, that from this point on in human history the resources we have, the resources we can use in our development have never been seen or implemented in any of the generations before us, we are truly different on all levels.

We are the forefathers of the information age, we are the beginning.

AND WE ARE FUCKING IDIOTS.

How can there be hope for the next?

But for some strange reason, I still do have hope, it's tiny, absolutely miniscule but it's still there. It's sewn into my soul, it flows in my blood, because I can't succumb to the fear of this mental disease. I can't surrender to this deception.

Because somehow I survived this mass cerebral genocide and my endurance is proof enough for that little flicker of hope to pull through. Because we're made up of the same material, the same number of atoms, the same number of cells, and if I can supersede this you can too.

"Life without knowledge is death in disguise"

This is not poetry. I am simply emptying out my head.

Her fingers grasped the door handle. She didn't know what to say.

Or think.

Or even feel.

He stood behind her. She could feel his eyes boring into her back. She knew what would be appropriate. The problem was, she didn't feel what society told her to feel. He had "cheated". They had been a lie.

It should hurt right?

It should sting.

She should cry.

She should scream.

But all she could do was sigh. A small tinge of a smile touched her face. She quickly batted it away. The refreshing cold sensation of freedom assaulted her. She felt liberated from his hot doldrums. From his long boiling dehydrating days, and freezing antarctic nights.

She felt like she could fly.

But this wasn't what was in the script. She kept her back turned. A train wreck of emotional dissent railed into her. She felt crocodile tears welling up inside her eyes. Her fingers touched them and she stared at her wet finger tips in awe.

Feeling nothing.

She turned around immediately, causing more tears to spill. "I don't care." she said. He was startled and took a step towards her. She kept her hand on the door handle and turned it as his foot landed closer to her.

"I really don't. I don't think I ever really cared"

He opened his mouth, and she was sure words had come out, but she hadn't heard.

Planet Earth was on mute.

All she could hear was her deliverance.

"It doesn't matter, all those words you've planned on saying, none of them matter, because I don't care" she continued. His lips moved faster. She wasn't a very good lip reader. She opened the door behind her and took a step backwards. Crossing over the threshold.

Leaving him behind.

Leaving them behind.

She finally allowed herself to smile as the space between them grew. He had stopped talking. She nodded as her smiled widened.

A breathtakingly beautiful smile.

A smile that the sun was created for.

So it could shine on it forever.

"I don't care. Because as much as I loved you. I love myself more."

Another step back. The door shuts in her face. The silent darkness of the hallway engulfs her.

But her smile shines.

And lights up the world.

BLING BLING BITCH.

It's Sunday.

And I am visited by memories of old, my high school career, that gap year in ghana the first two years of Art Institute of Atlanta. I've come a long way you know? I remember those Thursday's 8 to 9, Ugly Betty, gagging over Vanessa Williams outfits and Amanda's insane shoes. Sitting in Biology the next day in front of Meiosha gushing about it's madness.

Nights after school when I supposed to be doing homework instead sitting in front of the computer watching the latest runways shows and dreaming of attaining that front row status. I remember that angst ridden novel I started, now on it's 30th chapter. It's something I pick every now and then, and one day I'll finish it.

I remember that magazine project for graphic design, the side of my head was shaved and I took a picture with me with duct tape taped to my mouth with the words "LUST" written on it, I've forgotten the cover, but the blurb said;

"We all have our vices: An Interview with Cheryl Acolatse"

The shot was black and white, and the header was red. I made a make up advert for the back cover, and I definitely got an A. All these memories bring a smile a to my face, even some I never thought I would draw joy from, and I'm just so grateful that through it all, I managed to stay true to myself, and I always did what I enjoyed. Do you think my mother was happy with my choice to dash Psychology and go to an Art school instead? She definitely wasn't, but she respected my decision because she loved me, because she wanted to give to me what her parents never gave her; a choice.

No one wrote my life plan for me, I have made the path myself. No one gave me a schedule to follow, no one gave me rules, I was blessed with the freedom to be ME.

And not a lot of second generation African children have that luxury.

And I am so damn grateful.

My mother always said I was a trendsetter, and the look of pride in her eyes when she looks at me every morning fills me to the brim with conviction and hope for tomorrow. With drive and sets my dreams on fire.

Because she let me dream.

She let me take over the living room every thursday, somedays even watched Ugly Betty with me, she actually knows my style, she can actually shop for me. It's a journey but she knows who John Galliano is, she knows what Louis Vuitton is, she's knows, she care's.

Because she believes in me.

I'm passionate about these things because I have been given the chance to be, she showed me the world and with that view I could knowledgeably pick and choose what was right and was was wrong.

When it comes to fashion, I am extremely passionate, and extremely learned. I love shoes, I love style, I love the vanity of it all. It's not just about "stuntin'" It's not just about "shopping".

IT'S ART.

That is what determines fashion head status. How fashion makes you feel. How creating something out of nothing gives you goosebumps, how a bad ass pair of shoes can bring joy to your life and you don't even have to leave your damn room wearing them, you can just stand in front of the mirror and stare all day long. What up Tega? :).

There is a lot of ignorance about the fashion industry amongst my fellow Africans, what Western culture portrays in our mass media is rarely what is real but you stick to it like it's written in the bible, Louis Vuitton and Gucci are not the only designers in the world, and you can cover yourself in them from head to toe but trash is trash honey.

That does not make you a fashion head, it makes you a waste of money.

Today an unknowledgeable fool tried to say the Ugly Betty is NOT for fashion heads, and anyone who cannot see the art that is the styling in that series really needs to shut the hell up and sit the hell down because you know variably nothing about fashion, you see your favorite rappers rocking something and you ride their dicks like there's no tomorrow.

Example? Ed Hardy is shit. Lil' Wayne wore one Ed Hardy shirt, and the entire world followed suit. Those Kanye glasses? Should have stayed inside that Stronger video, did they? Are they still making fashionheads cry all over the world? No, and YES. YES THEY ARE.

Fashion is more than just what a celebrity makes cool. Being a fashionhead is more than just following the trends.

Maybe I'm coming off too boujie, but I remember forcing myself to not cuss out my Fashion History teacher on her utter uselessness because she mispronounced John Galliano.

I try to be as nice as possible with these things, when people mispronounce shit around me, I say nothing because I make allowances for fashion ignorance, not everyone can enjoy Fashion TV for 24 hours, not everyone memorizes creative directors and go through a fashion's house's entire runway catalogue. I understand that. I do.

I wish you would too.

Think before you speak, especially when it comes to fashion. Because one can look a hot ass mess, but still know her photographers from her creative directors.

Being a fashion head isn't about your personal style, it is about your personal KNOWLEDGE.

That is all.

Happy Sunday my loves.

Operation Pegasus

I'm watching The History Channel, they're showing a special on MI9 activities during the WWII. Some of these female spies are hardcore you know? But then again the British have always been a little crazy.

It's 4:42PM, and I haven't really done anything today, at first the peace was welcoming but now I feel the cold hands of boredom feeling up my back. I've started sketching again, I know I'm a great designer and it's something I should be taking advantage of more ferociously, so I am, with this new bucket of time on my hands.

I like to think of myself as a great friend, to people that deserve it that is. I really would do a lot for the people I care about and I'm viciously protective of them as well. My mother says that I should stay out of people's business, but when someone is getting hurt I don't see a good enough reason for me to step back. If I saw a stranger bleeding on the side of the road, I WOULD HELP, whether it was my business too or not.

That's just how I work. I can't turn a blind eye to someone in pain. Unless of course they continue to put themselves in that situation.

Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me.

I could've easily walked into a Bush joke there but I'll leave him alone, he's sitting pretty on his Texas ranch rolling in billions of stolen Iraqi dollars.

I miss Ghana, I miss it's simplicity, but I'm not ready to go back just yet, I have more of the world to see.

Back to Atlanta, then Greece and Turkey. I can't wait for that trip, I low-key have a fear of getting kidnapped and getting sold into human trafficking, I'm a hot babe you know, old perverted guys like me, I told my mother that if she ever turns my back on me while we're trekking through Greece she better be prepared to go Taken on some niggas.

But then again I'm not stupid enough to follow hot boys down a dark alley, unless it's to do with work and I can do a verifiable background check on niggas, all I am doing is flirting, nothing more than flirting, no one gets my name, no one gets my hotel room, nada, won't get me psycho white people! Won't get me.

Switching to FashionTV.

Eric Tibusch Haute Couture Spring Summer 2010 is ridiculously boring. But I do like those dead animals he throws on the models. Okay so maybe the white girls are the boring ones, three black models in a row all gave me the business.

But then again I'm totally model racist. The shoes for this show are intense though, and no not the flaccid Payless heels he's thrown on their heads.

I like how designers just throw a whole bunch of feathers and layers on something and call it "Couture".

That's it. I want a mink coat. I don't care PETA, I don't care, eat my dirty knickers I want a mother loving mink coat.

Mother just called, she's working late at the hospital again, I guess that means a couple of more hours alone in this big ol' apartment. I do like the ceiling though, it's so high up, I love space in a living area. It can be a tiny room, but if the ceiling is high it adds so much more depth.

I'm just rambling I know, but hey? What else is there to do? Enjoy the music yeah? Roll one up and take a couple of shots for me alright?

I'm as sober as the day is old.

Sergio Rossi Spring Summer 2010 collection? Shoes? Yes please.

Frankey out.

Arabian Nights II

Maybe I have nothing to write because I have nothing to say, which is an impossibility of course because I always have something to say, there are always thoughts to translate, always a message to convey.

So where the hell is it?

Okay so let me just type.

I've become overly health conscious, yesterday for example, my Mum got herself some KFC, I respectfully declined on the breaded chicken tip because 1. I can't stand the taste of chicken and 2. I'm a vegetarian, so I asked for fries. I couldn't even finish one, cause it tasted like chicken and an instant artery blocker. I couldn't eat it because it just tasted unhealthy, the problem has been progressing to a lot of things. Like white bread. I can't finish a piece of white bread knowing that these carbs aren't going to do shit for my body.

I like my body you know? I actually really do like my body. When I look in the mirror I enjoy what I see, yeah my tits are little, but hey at least I don't have stretch marks all over my chest and my ass is perfect. I have a great ass. And have curves, I have that little waist, big hips thing down pat, and I love my skin, what I'm trying to say is that I LOVE MYSELF.

So why shouldn't the food I ingest do the same? My mother calls me a food snob, it's really not that serious she says. But it is! It is! Because the food I eat today will reflect on me 20 years down the line, and I plan on having that eternal Stacy Dash badness, so I'll eat my 7 grain whole wheat bread spicy grilled tuna sandwich in joy knowing that this food invariably contributes to eternal beauty. I like taking care of myself, I like exercise, I love Yoga, I love meditating, all that herbal shit? I fucking adore it, I get so into it, because I want to have a long and healthy bad ass life. I want to still strike fear in niggas hearts (type Grace Jones) at 62, at 72, at 82, on my damn death bed, I want to be the baddest in that funeral home!

By God's Grace of course.

By my creator's benevolent mercy.

But all the while I'm saying this, my stomach is rumbling and I can't be bothered to get up and put food into it. I know, I know, fucked up priorities.

I just remembered a man telling me he couldn't function without me for more than two days, you looking pretty good now son, so where all those words at?

Niggas really just like to talk. Honestly, spark a little flame and they'll set the whole city on fire with it, leaving nothing but ashes in their wake.

I won't say that shit. Cause I know I'll be fine, why?

BEFORE SPOONS WE WERE EATING.

Damn straight.

Arabian Nights (Look what I copped)

Since I don't have any hair to clip the head piece into we must find another solution. I love this country, even though it's forced sobriety on me, the shopping possibilities are mother lovingly ENDLESS.

I had no idea he could sing.

I thought he was just a run of the mill average estate rapper. I saw this video on MTV Arabia (LOL) today, loves it.