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".

Love, Maybe - 3. Recovery

It’s the 21st of January 2010. 

This might not mean a thing to you but it represents a great deal to me, the first month of the year is almost over, the year that just started.

As more and more occupies my timeline I feel as though my days are slipping away, but in stealth mode.

And I’m single again, as it should have always been, I am hoping he is not under the impression that we are still together, to be honest, I might not have been totally clear, he touched on meeting my mother yesterday and I promptly shot that plane right down, it’s bad enough I introduced you to my grandparents, you want my mother as well?

I bloody well think not.

There are still emotional ties, but to some degree I’ve switched off and it will take time and a lot of work on his part for me to feel that way ever again. In fact I know I won’t ever go back to those blind in love days, if I really was in love in the first place.

I mean I’m 19 after all.

I never forget that.

When I get older I have no idea what I’m going to use as an escape route, we’ll have to find another plausible reason to protect myself from long term commitment.

-----

A Few Days Later .... 

So as suspected we have reached the pinnacle of our debauchery and our moral compass has become completely askew…it is the intentions of our heart that matter the most correct? It is not in my heart to hurt him but I must to keep myself happy, I do not set out to cause him pain, I simply do not have the courage to break free and so I have deviated and like so many of the others before my feelings for this man have been completely eradicated in a matter of a few simple and blissful minutes.

It was some bomb ass sex, that going all the way in to the core of my stomach while hitting my g spot and smacking my ass fucking sex. He’s really…cool…and it’s the perfect sort of relationship for me, low maintenance, little to absolutely no expectations, no planned ‘future’ ahead, just simple sex and brilliant conversation.

If only the whole world worked as such. I really like creatives and I think it’s the knowledge that this is not my first neither will it be my last really cool big dicked creative that keeps me floating so high above the tethers of emotional attachment.

Besides, I enjoy the single life immensely, I know it’s perhaps my age that instills such a need for emotional freedom inside of me, but I have to admit I like the effect I have on the opposite sex, I love the way he /looked at my ass when I was dancing, the way he watches me when I move or the way their hands go up and down my curves, it feeds my ego, makes me feel treasured and creates the best energy for me to carry on into my daily life. All the while maintaining my need for independence and solitude.

Therefore…I will always be single…even when I’m not.

 ------

A Few Weeks After That .... 

I have started working out, not the run for 3 days and do yoga once and forget about it working out, like an actual gym membership, 20 minute cardio 20 minute strength training working out. And I feel so bloody strange. My body feels heavy, I’ve been told I might need to detox from the marijuana but I do not see the point., okay not really along the lines of ‘do not see the point’ more of ‘tried to make me go to rehab and I said fuck no no no’ smell me? But I do actually feel the toxins, continued consumption of water, continued burning of fat and my system will be cleansed, it’ll just be me, my blood cells and my THC. I wonder where the THC will attempt to store in my body after all the fat is burnt off.

Haven't spoken to the previous love of my life since Valentines, I hope he thinks I cheated, I hope he knows, it’ll make my life a great deal easier.

It’s not that I dislike him, it's just that I don’t love him anymore, and since we weren’t friends before anything romantic was introduced into the relationship his absence in my life makes no plausible difference.

Quite sad actually. I went along with it, played the duet brilliantly, then smashed the entire fucking piano.

I fucked someone else. Fucked the living shit outta his ass. And would again, and again and again, I really do like him though. But it’s a strange sort of affection, it’s the sort that doesn’t really ask for much, the sort that is just content in existing, never pushes you to go out of your comfort zone, never rocks the boat, in fact encourages your need for independence but drives the need for good ass sex from someone of like mind.

That was a problem with my ex, can I say ex now?

We weren’t really of like mind.

He was not and never will be my 'Eternal'.

My eternal rides the waves of spiritual unity, my eternal is equipped with thousands of lessons, he is neither conceited nor weak, but instead humble in his knowledge of his power, of his direct lineage to the Gods of the Universe. My eternal is a fucking pothead, who probably grows eight different strands in his house in Amsterdam. My eternal is filled with the courage to climb a thousand volcanoes. My eternal is not illogical in his emotions, does not profess to know all there is to know about this conundrum of a planet, he instead cradles his steady belief with the knowledge that it may only be an option not absolute truth but believes it still. My eternal hates no man, and only pity’s the ignorant. He is strong.

And he is not Catholic.

Amen.

Love, Maybe - 2. Struggle.

January 13th 2010

Sitting outside of Rhapsody's enjoying the stillness for a moment. This whole 'in love' thing has me going a little mad..ordered a cosmopolitan & feel very chic right now ..... I'm so out of my element & I don't know what to do to regain equilibrium, my first instinct is to run but everyone is telling me not to, that he's perfect for me, so on & so forth but I just feel so strange.

My emotions are all jumbled especially after what happened this Christmas, especially after the side of him I had never seen before. That was a side I cannot say I loved very much.

He came to Rhapsody's.
He saw me, at the time trying to will away an unwanted suitor disturbing my peace. 
& walked by.
When I called him he cut my call.

So I quite promptly went to his place retrieved all my left overs & left all in the span of 7 minutes. He was home of course, but on the other side of the compound. I entered without his noticing. I broke up with him.

Via text as seems customary now.

I don't know what he's feeling, nor do I care. If I have to work to get you to express yourself then there's no point. That is such a bitch move you know? Such a pussy ass thing to do. He weakly tried to justify his behaviour saying that he didn't want to disturb my conversation with the stranger I very clearly wanted nothing to do with.

He's a fool.

I would never have just walked by him like that. I'm done anyway. No long ting man. He's gorgeous & all but I'm very young. Too young for something that serious.

Hiding behind my age numbs the pain for now a great deal.

I thank God for my youth & my opportunities. I thank God that I will survive. Next time I will fight every step of the way. Every kiss, every touch, any emotion will have to be earned.

I dated. I tried. Now I'm done.

I need to get away from this bloody city to clear my head & get him completely out of my system. I need sex .... actually .... I'm good on that one ... I just need to get the hell away from all this nonsense.

Lord give me the strength & set my mind at ease, none of us k ow what tomorrow might bring, only you...I accept whatever you have in store despite the drama that took place. Take my heart & heal me of all disease, both spiritual & mental. I pray for patience & I pray for serenity

My time will come.
This is not over.

------

18th January 2010 

 In the silence of my day I miss you the most.

Your silly little smile as you lay your head next to mine & your whispers of love against my skin sinks beneath my pores & distracts when silence falls around me.

I miss you.

In those little ways, but my fear overshadows it all. My fear of the power you have over me. My fear of the misery you could cause. I don't trust you not to hurt me with some flippant remark or a sentence of dismissal. I am completely out of my element with you.

Too fragile. Too soft. Too loving. Too kind. Too willing. Too blind.

The words you say can make my heart soar for days but when action comes you're nowhere to be found, the image is shattered & I'm left with the silence & the fear that everything I felt?

Everything you said?

May not have been real.

& in the silence of my day I decide that I never want to feel this way again.

------

I want someone to love me, to truely make a difference in my life, the first time I thought about leaving him I realised that I would do everything in my power to make myself want to stay.

I decided that I would try.
At all costs.

My pride took second row & he took first. Because I adored him & for a relationship to maintain a sense of equality the favour has to be returned. So why do I end up feeling so disposable? Why does it seem like I haven't made a single difference? It's like someone threw cold water on me & simply said;

"You were right"

It sucks being right, right now, it sucks so much.

I'm not hurt. There are no tears, I'm just ... surprised & incredibly sad. I loved him. Or atleast I think I did & even my youthful ignorant idea of love would go through almost anything for him ....

Why hasn't his done the same?

------

19th January 2010

I'm disgusted with myself for harbouring so much negative energy these past two days. How can I expect things to get better when my heart is so heavy?

I thank the Lord for the lesson that was this relationship, the first lesson of many concerning this field of study I expect. Of course the obvious measures must be taken to ensure that we get over the whole idea vey quickly & in the most profitable way possible.

So I've had my 'in love' sex, it was awesome.

Thank you Lord, I may not understand what happens around me but I know you have my best interest at heart. I will learn from all of this & grow even more with your guidance.

Bless my mouth, eyes & ears so that thy may see through the smoke of the wicked & light up all that surrounds me.

You are my fortress.
My God in whom I trust.
Thank you.

Love, Maybe - 1. Complications

Tonight on Twitter some hilarious men were going through their past heartbreaks, how they reacted, how it felt & as previously stated, it was fucking ridiculously funny, but all true & what I found beautiful about the open discussion was the willingness to be as honest as possible, a sentiment that only reflects growth of the best kind.

So I thought of my own previous pain & suddenly recalled just how much I had written during those volatile times & discovered a slew of brilliant phrased dissertations on the situation in question that I now deem fit enough to present on this platform as a series.

I wrote everyday, as I usually do when utterly emotional & I am thankful for this habit, it again enlightens me, it reflect how far I have come emotionally & how brilliant this balance feels in comparison to that struggling darkness.

I am a very interesting character to say the least.

The series is tentatively entitled 'Love, Maybe'.

I'll be switching from third person to first person at will, so keep that in mind as well.

 Feel free to share your thoughts.

 ----------------------------------


December 2010 

He was having a party.
He was honestly.
Having a party.

She walks up to the house, shades on despite the darkness around, already prepared to lie about whatever emotion this turn of events incited, completely ready to fake a smile even though she was incredibly unhappy and instead marvel at all the cars parked in his driveway.

Her resolve strengthened as she got closer to the noise and since her sunglasses were so dark she could barely tell which of the great tall masses belonged to her. But she did see O…but more importantly O’s weed .

As she placed one foot in front of another she realized that she had no idea what to say to him. She wasn’t sure which route she should take, left or right? Sad or angry? Happy even? Apologetic? Stubborn? Apathetic?

Which of the roads would lead her in the right direction? But as she took a step forward, inhaled the marijuana and took a good look at the ‘love of her life’ a kind of placid amusement engulfed her.

He was pressing some buttons on his phone instead of looking at her, the same phone she had been calling no less than an hour before.

The same call he had ignored.

Placid amusement was the perfect way to describe it. She took another puff and handed the spliff back to it’s owner, turned to walk away when he called to her. Fighting the urge to burst out laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation she had placed herself in, she placated his request and moved closer to him.

Looking up at her with those contact lenses she now absolutely detested, he whispered.

“Are you alright?”

She smiled in return and said;

“I’m cool”

He was lucky there was weed. Very, very lucky.

She turned around and went inside the house to put her bags down, placing her heavy luggage on a chair in the living room, she stopped moving for a moment then picked up her laptop, unsure of what to do, what if she went into the room and all her shoes had been packed? What if he didn’t want here there anymore? What would she do to hurt him? What could she do?

Her phone rang, ‘Shake Zulu’ it read.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, you cool? You home?”

It was her boss, her mentor, her father calling to check on his money maker. She had just come from the office, and had spent most of the time during her fitting for the next days photo shoot pleading him for advice on what to do in her love life. She laughed a little and replied.

“Yeah, I’m cool, but get this. I pull up to the house, and he’s having a party”

There was silence for a spilt second.

“He’s a fucking tosser, he’s playing games man! Lose that! You know what? Enjoy that party yeah, eat as much as you can, drink as much as you can just have fun yeah? Let him think it’s all cool, then fucking leave…”

She laughed loudly at this rant, picked up her bag and transported it to his bedroom. Opening the door she fought back the laughter that threatened to come out at all the clothes that were neither hers or his, strewn across his bed.

He continued on, when she had cried on his shoulder he had been quite plain in saying that she was basically focusing her attention on things that didn’t really matter, her mind should be on work, on her art, on her talent as both a writer and a model, on things that would never make her feel this way.

He told her that she had to protect herself better than she was doing at the moment, told her that she was too valuable for this. She was an artist, he said, and she was wasting her time and attention on something that was making her unhappy and in turn destroying her art.

She had agreed of course, and she knew deep down that was where the fault lay, she hadn’t been able to write, she hadn’t been able to work, too much free time on her hands and nothing productive had come of it.. And that was how she managed to convince him to give her one of the companies Mac keyboards she was so deftly using at this present moment in time.

“So don’t feel bad yeah?”

He continued.

“He’s a European bloody tosser and you’re a goddess, bare mans will be coming after you soon you know? Everything happens for a reason alright? You know I got mad love for you sweetie, I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?”

She nodded and whispered back.

“Bye Daddy”

-------

He had left, they’d had a conversation where he had played the wounded spoilt prince quite brilliantly, acting all injured and hurt as if he hadn’t done anything wrong. He had still left. Gone with his friends, even though they did need to speak, even though there was currently a huge gaping hole in their young relationship, he had still gone, because she would be there when he got back right?

That might’ve been the real reason she had left in the first place, to create some sort of urgency within him, some sort of need for her within him that she didn’t see anymore, he had become used to her, so he could leave and come back without a thought to where she would be. She’d become a tad too predictable.

After all she had taken time off, regardless of it being holidays at the office, she was still a model and could be busy every day of the week if she chose too, but she hadn’t chosen to she had chosen to spend it with him, to learn more about him, to love more about him but he hadn’t given her that time.

“He’s a fucking tosser”

As soon as the words had come out of her mouth the slow realization of how fruitless they were came upon her. If he was such a complete tosser, why was she still there? Was it premature to just say “Fuck it” and move on? But wasn’t she in love with him? Or in love with whoever he really was, this party him, this ‘we need to talk’ but still leaves for Twist him, wasn’t at all attractive, was there hope still? Or should she just leave?

She never liked hassle. She never liked trouble, and he was stressing her out. Whoever this nigga was, was stressing her out, and she didn’t like stress. And aside from the huge zit this had gotten her she didn’t see any plus signs or bonuses.

He had ignored her calls, cause he was having a party. A fucking party! It was always about his friends, some party, some venue, he hadn’t made the same sacrifice she had. And so when she told him she had to work the next day, the look of displeasure on his face felt very satisfactory.

And she wouldn’t share her art with him, right now she couldn’t, she didn’t trust him to betray her for one of his 19038940854936789526758965069854389475489 “close” friends.

It felt like she wasn’t dating just him anymore, it felt like she was dating the whole city of Accra. She never told people what she was doing or where she was going, or who she was with, but it seemed as though he was always answering the question.

She hoped to be the most important.

But she wasn’t.

At least that’s what it felt like. 

So she would take her time back, and fall back in love with her work. She adored him, she worshipped him, but her art never hurt her, or replaced her with another, and her art didn’t ignore her phone calls and throw fucking pool party’s instead.

Her art was eternal.

12/04/08 - Two Hits & He's Out

Another gem from the vault, I wrote this stunning piece of satire on the 4th of December 2008. Wasn't I a pleasant & happy child? It really just reflects on how much I've grown & changed over these years, this time machine is nothing but intriguing.

 -----------------------------------------------

 'Two Hits & He's Out' 

I haven't had sex in a minute...or 5. Okay...it feels like years but it's really only been a couple of months since the last round...I think...okay let's not get technical about this cause I have a tendency to forget these things but as I was saying. And I was thinking about it, in depth. Intellectually of course, it's gotten to the point where the very idea of the act disgusts me.

Think about it.

Physically, remove all mental capability from the equation, no one's in love, no one's horny, no one's lonely, no one's anything just basic sex. Kissing them? If you kiss them at all.

When you kiss them and they get all extra into it, they start breathing extremely hard, and put their whole body into it and you open your eyes and look at them with a "Wooooa this is not that serious" face, but they can't see it because their eye's are closed and they're "in" the moment.

Pfft. 'The Moment'.

There is passion, and then there's foolishness. I've been dealing with a lot of the latter lately. Clammy sweaty hands all over your body. Too soft. Too rough. Too there. Awkward. Uncomfortable. GET THE FUCK OFF ME. Fingers.

Don't get me started on the fingers. Trail down to your vagina (I'm going to be as blunt as possible so be warned) And 90% of the time miss the clitoris entirely, especially if they're doing outer underwear action.

Up it from 90% to straight 100%.

Awkwardly rubbing my fucking skin.

Skin, I just shaved.

I try to adjust myself and my body, even move their hands to the right position, but nooooo they 'got it', they're 'experienced'. Some idiots try and move my hands down south to their own little spots, to which they get the "Nigger please" face.

I'm not jacking anybody off, if that is not the definition of tedious and awkward I don't know what the fuck is. God gave you a hand for a reason, I don't see why you have to take mine. If I have to I grip it for a minute to do help with the calculations in my head.

Aside from all the idiocy this is normally where I get a little bit excited. Because in my mind this is where I am supposed to get the sex. But it hardly ever works out that way. 95% of the time foreplay is forced on me when I'm really not feeling it. And I hate having to reciprocate, nigger I did not ASK you to go down on me.

Don't stick your penis in my face and make me feel guilty.

And don't even think about asking for head if you haven't done the deed your damn self. I will (unfortunately) if you will...well that's not entirely true. In some cases, in most no. And speaking of going down, that whole situation as lovely as it feels is incredibly silly. Because a lot of the time, just like with the fingers, they lost it, and are just licking skin. And licking skin...doesn't really feel like anything, but I go along with it, and adjust my hips hoping to alleviate the problem.

When the diver comes up for the air is always once of the most traumatic experiences for me. I don't know why I dislike it so much. Maybe it's the way they look at me afterwards. A lot of them linger. And just stare at me. And try to wipe their mouths off all manly and shit. There is no way to be manly after you just spent 10-20 minutes on your knees, I almost always fight the urge to laugh around this time.

It's always a little bit too much for most.

A fucking waterfall.

 There have been various code names used to refer this. I.e.:

Thundercat, Bricks, Puddle etc. etc.

 So the deep see diver comes up for air to review his spoils. Most of the time they expect me to be out of breath, and rabid with passion and I never fail to act the part, most of the time I'm thinking "For gods sake just fuck me already, bloody hell!"

Then they move in to kiss me. Now a lot of females out there claim to not kiss a dude after he's been -insert whichever phrase you'd like to use to describe the act here- but that's completely ridiculous. Grow the hell up, it's your own fucking body. If you're not comfortable enough with it you shouldn't be having sex at all.

Move in to kiss me, and normally insert some silly little sexy whisper here like;

"God you're so sexy"
"You like that London?"
"Who's your daddy?" (Crack kills)
"You're amazing"
"You're so beautiful"

Yada, yada, yada. If you haven't picked on it already, I don't take sex at all seriously. And I normally just smile and laugh because I hate talking when I'm waiting for the grand finale. I hate talking in general, but I always seem to pick up the fucking yakkers. After the silly little whisper, the business hopefully goes down.

They back up and position themselves, I patiently wait, trying not to get annoyed as they slip and miss. Oops, hope he didn't catch the eye roll.

Oh there it's in.

Depending on the size, my gratification varies. If it's fucking monstrous, I just have to concentrate on it and ignore him entirely. I do that a lot. Ignore him I mean. I'm not interested in what he's doing, or what he's saying. I just need to feel it.

To feel like I'm still human.

Feel that warmth in the my stomach for those five brief seconds when it first goes in. Then the feelings gone, and I open my eyes, and there's this idiot on top of me. Time to put on a show. I squirm, I moan, I grip, I bite. I laugh, I gyrate my hips, I try and excite every single sense available. This is a performance after all, gotta get this done quick, get my grade & be out. Positions switch, and if the dude is man enough, I go on top.

A lot of the time with the newbies, they don't trust me on top. I'm overwhelming them enough as it is and they don't want to test their luck. On top? My best score ever. I like to turn around most of the time, so I'm not facing the victim, it makes things less complicated, and I find much more peaceful for me.

I can do whatever I want without that annoying sense of being watched. I hate sex stalkers. You know, when they stare at you faaaaaaaarrrrrrrrr too much during the act. God I'm not in love with you, quit that shit. On top. I have the most fun. Because I can always try something new. It's like I just got this new toy to play with, who has a thousand buttons and can make a thousands sounds each time you press one.

This is where I learn the most about the person I'm dealing with.

And this is normally where we finish. I like to exploit weaknesses, during sex. Especially when I'm on top...I like...winning. Because I never have an orgasm. I'm pretty sure it's physically impossible for me during sex. Trust me I've had enough of it to know.

So when their Air Force One takes off I feel like my mission has been accomplished and they can get the fuck out.

Reading over this, and thinking about it all over again. I don't even know why I had sex in the first place. I basically equate this bitch to a game of fucking Cluedo. It's a good thing I've quit. I wasn't helping anyone with that sort of behavior.

Especially not the girl friends.

02/27/09 - "Honesty" & 10/11/08 - Blazing

I wrote these two pieces more than 2 years ago now, on the 27th of February 2009 & the 11th of October 2008. I googled myself today & found my ARTST profile, along with these gems. This was all before I smoked. The seeds that these great oaks in my mind grew out of are all here. History, can be so beautiful at times.

That is only if you choose to learn from it.

----

'Honesty'

It's raining, hard. Pitter, patter, pitter, patter.

You ever think that maybe I'm not the crazy one but you're just the stupid one? A human being that has closed off all all other understandings and possibilities in this world/universe/dimension aside from his own limited one.

Ever entertain the idea that my ramblings aren't mad? But honest and blatant truth you fail to comprehend?

No?

That's why you're there and I'm here. That's why you'll die and I won't.

It's tough you know?

Being aware of all this bullshit but breathing it all in still, because after all, what other choice do I have? Until something better makes itself known I'm stuck on this planet with you.

Stuck in this world, created on another world.
Stuck in all this fallacy.

Ever look at a building and think about the fact that the earth, the land, and all the resources that went into making that building have come to us with no price for their services? That building could be free.

That building IS free.

But because of our own laws, rules and statutes we limit ourselves, and this earth. What right do we have to limit a fucking planet? What right do we have to push our useless laws onto anything else? What right did we have to make them?

I don't need a punishment to deter me from doing evil.

Whether jail was on the line or not, my ass won't kill shit. Ever think that it's all these laws that spawn even more of the evil we try so very hard to combat?

No?

That's why you're there and I'm here. That's why you'll die and I won't.

That's why I can sit here, stick up this finger, smile and say.

 Fuck you.

-----------------------------------------------------

'Blazing' 

I want to endure forever.

Past this life, I want to remember.
I want to remember this feeling.

Laying in the middle of my bedroom floor searching for something more in my heart.

In my head.

I want virtue, honestly, love and compassion.
From myself.

I want to be an example of truth. I want to be a true manifestation of his honesty.
I want to be walking with a clean spirit and mind.

My heart...my head put to rest.

I want to wake up in the morning and think not of man but instead of this universe. Of the stars, the suns, the planets, the future of it all.

I want to have the power to show you your mistakes. I want to help you realize more of yourself.

Because you are not real. You are not you.

You are only want you wish to be, not what he has made you.

Look the mirror. What do I see? Only what I choose to. I want to open my eyes wide enough to see what he has made. To see himself in my body, in this flesh, and perhaps see my very soul.

Perhaps finally understand the importance of my existence and then realize the futility of everything I have created for it.

Perhaps see the truth in how polluted I've become.

So when I close my eyes, and those bright colors accost me once more, my fear will have left me and I'll finally allow it to take over.

Finally understand what he meant for us in the end.

In the beginning.
In the next.

Did you know that I exist before the earth?
And did you know my eyes are windows to this world?

There is more than this. That much I know.

Everything you have created for yourself is bullshit. It is not real, it will not last, put no stock in it, have no faith in the collective works of humanity for no good will come of flesh.

Exist past this.
Transcend all.

How Could I?

I got some new bulbs for the lamp in my room, it provides this dim & warm glow, the kind that reminds me of weed smoke & naked skin, Blu spitting about love in the background, the eternal transference of God between two bodies. My hearts in a warm place. The energy feels ethereal. This light makes my skin look ready for combining some DNA.

But I'm alone. Well not really. My heart is still beating so obviously I have company. Whatever keeps me hooked up to Planet Earth is always with me. Lonely is an illusion.

Frigid air blows on my nipples, the idea of a contrast cuddles my thoughts, warm air from another Being flowing down my back. Large hands gripping my thighs, a mouth blessing the crook of my neck.

"Selasie. Selasie. Selasie."

Memories filter through, this ambience is perfect for nostalgia, it almost demands it. Only ever think of the past when it's pertinent to the present & these memories are more than pertinent. They're art. No pain. All glory. Golden skin against my brown.

Unbeknownst to me it seems as though I prefer a mixture of various races. I like the color of all the races mixed & matched on the campus that is man. The various tones & hues intoxicate me. Fascinates me. All men in one package. A great deal indeed.

This light has my mind traveling miles. Hands all over me. Gripping me like I could disappear at any moment. Like I don't even exist. Like I'm a figment of his precious imagination that I hope never dies. That in me will never die. I'm the match to that fire.

A black hole of a slow burn.

Swallow all.

"Never forget me."

Further Away.

Nowadays I'm quite content within myself, even more so than I already was, this feeling of satisfaction has flooded all aspects of my life. It feels as though I have let go of all that used to define me & only look to one source for the understanding of my core. It is not my skin color, it is not my descent, it is not my sexual preference, it is not my sex, it is simply my existence.

My Being.

That is all I need.

This peace enables me to live in silence. Things I felt imperative to share before, things I could not hold within, my impulsive longing to share examples of my few glimpses of the same serenity are now gone from my mind, body & spirit.

I suddenly relish secrets. Information about myself that no one else really needs to know, whether it be a sudden connection born with another human being, or the glistening array of my thoughts, they are my own harvest to enjoy at my own dinner table. Everything seems more magnified now when I keep it to myself. The past is still convenient to penn about, my heart is still a beautiful thing to display within my art, but it is only a translation of my secrets, a coded language only I can truly decipher, my art should be in fact a mirror for others to see their own reflection in, to see their own truths magnified within mine. I am to be a portal, but in my creation I have my own little quirks known only to my specific strand of DNA.

There are so many different forms of transparency & my own is in fact the division of it that is without shame.

Shame: (Noun) A painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior.

I have done wrong to no one but myself in these 21 years, but I have forgiven my youth & my foolishness, grown to love every lesson learned with the understanding that without those trails I would not be here today. I would never have gotten to taste the peace of these still waters with out treading through the valley of fire.

So what I have I learned?

I have learned that everything is imaginary.
Your thoughts create your world.
Your pain, your suffering.
Everything is in perception.

Most live in a constant refusal to accept the reality that Is their Now. Thinking they are able to control any aspect of this life outside of the dominion of their constantly straying thoughts, they live under the false assumption of complete control of all outside of them, without realizing all they truly have is their Self's.

No matter the life situation you can choose whether to smile or lament.
Knowing one will help ease the trouble of the situation while the other will only exacerbate it.
Life does not happen to you.
You happen to life.

Yes, almost everything is out of your control, but you choose whether to live on your knees or die on your feet & then stand up, face this reality with courage & resilient joy & realize....

There is no death.

Your world is so small. How on earth do you fit?

Things of the flesh bore me incredibly now more so than ever. Seeing woman rely so heavily on their ability to ensnare & consume unknowing victims & use it as a stake to claim some form of power bores me even more. I mean, is that what we're really here for? To eat men? To be cannibals? To turn this into a competition of who is the strongest?

I mean, for fucks sake what is a Female King if not a sorry doppleganger of an already failed system?

"Women who want what men have know nothing of ambition"

The whole stereotype is just as tedious as the disastrous ideology that is feminism. The entire affair is just sickeningly redundant, but their entire existence is born in it, their sense's of Self are engrained in the slope of their breasts or the sexual desire they give birth to in the opposite sex, it's all so dreadfully limiting to me.

Why? What for? What purpose does this all serve?

Your Spirit is unisex.

It is just another Will to Power, just another form of ultimate weakness. If you cannot find strength in any other manner outside of oppressing others than it simply reflects your own barrenness in that regard.

You mock the prisoners by shackling yourself to them.

I do not know why they believe that they will get away with all of their unnecessary antics, their spiritual murders, their intentional emasculations, as though they think karma will overlook them because they wield a vagina, because they can at any point stand up & play the victim, but that is only when you work from an understanding that the system already in place is what is supposed to be in power.

You fight a stereotype based on massive & cavernous rampaging misconception & instead of perhaps trying to find an existence outside of the limitations they have given to you, you, well intentioned of course, turn their label into another weapon to use against them.

It's really just a matter of the lust to power the lust to power begets.

The strong oppress the weak, the weak oppress the strong, but when on earth will it all end?

Perhaps I find this all too difficult to understand because to put it simply, I grew out of this, I realized that these games held no true fulfillment, that in working under their definitions of me, I destroyed me. I suppose I truly am blessed in regards to the development of my body, I was by all means a late bloomer, so I had far more years to exist outside of that horrific stereotype men so easily push us into as soon as we become "desirable".

I am not limited by the box, because my mind did not develop underneath it's constraints.

My body is fairly androgynous & so most often than not it has been my spirit that has intoxicated those who sought me, never my breasts or my curves, my physiology was perhaps an extra, there has always been something about "Me". Not my body. I can say it's because I'm beautiful but the world is full of beautiful women, who very clearly never have the effect on men I at times seem to.

If I so choose to.

But again, I find it all very unnecessary. In these "cannibalistic" antics you force yourself to draw a line, to differentiate yourself from your "prey" & then your mind from your body. You need not speak, you need to express any sort of psychological ability, just flash some cleavage in the right dress & that's that.

Doesn't that bore you?

You're simply a piece of meat, there is no true power in that. You reign over complete morons, there is no honor in such.

A Female King to be sure.

But what dignity is there in what you so eagerly choose to rule?

There is no challenge, no battle, no fight.

Everything is an illusion. This great war you claim to wage, is an illusion.

We are all created by the same God.

There is no difference underneath our epidermis, the same fire lights us all.

Is this not unnecessary?

Is this not the epitome of superfluity?

Redundancy, my cup runneth over.

Zion knows no sex, no color, no difference between our lights.
This is the world I live in.
This is the peace I seek.

Silent Thoughts

Think of how you "hear" your thoughts, what sense is that? There is no audible sound noted, but there is an illusion, if I might be so bold, of hearing none the less. You hear them in the confines of your mind. But never use the actual physical sense of hearing akin to the physiology of your auditory senses.

A silent sound. Or perhaps it is audible to all, or it could be audible to all if the plane is unlocked. If the area these thoughts reside in demand use of another set of senses natural to us entirely. Obviously we are all capable of hearing our thoughts, we all share the universal ability, it is the same plane. But the thoughts of another are never audible to me.

It leads me to further questions of the subconscious, does it perhaps work like a universal network? When I am asleep & it is fully in control does it have the power to make itself known to others who reside in the same realm? How does it become aware? Or has it always been? Has my conscious limited it in anyway? Is there a balance of both within me? Or is the power of my conscious still too strong? Or has it relinquished hold of our cohabitation to allow my subconscious free reign when it needs it?

My subconscious is purely oral, it records nothing for my conscious to draw back to, no typography of anything. Only audio & visual stimulation. Like those fables of our ancient ancestors who existed before written word. Was there ever a time the network the individual subconscious worked in was open to every & all working in the same field? Could they still connect today?

I feel a great power within me lying in wait, simply biding it's time until I discover it, I feel this ability present. But my mind, my ears, the channel to the inaudible sounds of others are blocked from my understanding at this present moment in time.

Today I dreamt of being unblocked. A man was speaking to me & I could hear nothing he said, as a result he stuck a straw in one ear & blew an entire world out, the liquid that accompanied it poisoned him. These thoughts on silent thoughts suddenly make this dream much clearer. I was traveling somewhere, perhaps to this plane that has been yet to be discovered by my conscious?

I know myself in my conscious understanding. I think of my subconscious as a greater version of me, my conscious diluted for the world's consumption but my subconscious exists completely concentrated.

Is it fiery? Is it kind? Wise? Stubborn? Impatient? Unintelligible? Or is it simply waiting for me to make a formal introduction. For me to accept my Being as a perfect amalgamation of the two?

This unknown power that we take for granted, the power to "hear" without physically employing the use of our ears is a clear sign of the psychic mastery that could possibly await us.

The most obvious sign of all perhaps.

See the false as false. Walk on.

Karina spoke to me the other day about remnants of a former friend's bitterness making itself known to her in a series of flaccid subtweets. I told her as I tell myself that it is not her concern. I feel a deep lesson learned from my relations with that girl, my instinct was to add the adjective 'poor' to that description of her but my spirit corrected my understanding. I do not seek to hold any part of myself or my soul above her, we both inhabit this world, I have simply chosen to exist at a distance from her confusion.

I feel sorry for her & I feel sorry for myself for ever deluding myself for such. I believed, sincerely believed that I could save her, that I could help her & she fed this conviction of mine by wearing my own skin, making me believe a problem had truly been solved. I should've listened to my instinct, I should not have allowed myself to feel guilt about the reality my subconscious was demanding that I acknowledge. I ignored my better judgment for the sake of a false sense of friendship.

For a blatant lie.

She never was what I believed her to be, my light shone so brightly that at times it forced a beautiful purity in her that was not natural to her conscious & without me she simply faded to the dull gray that she has always been.

After that transference fiasco (see Over) her delusion cut through mine with such ruthlessness that it practically paralyzed my senses. I was utterly stunned at the ruins before me, when only a few moments before stood a pristine castle.

All was delusion. All was fallacy.

& I willingly bought into it for the sake of society. I did not stick to my convictions when it came to her, I compromised, I ignored, I babysat her nonsense.

& I say today. No more. No more. It was not meant to be. My Creator has corrected me. My Creator has saved me.

May Allah always be with her.
May Peace always be upon her.

But her madness is not my own.
Her confusion is not my own.
She is not my responsibility.
I can make no allowances for willing victims.

I cannot entertain walking deception.
I cannot walk with a slave to the System.

I must seek myself in all others.
I must seek equal or greater.
I must seek God in all avenues of my life.

She is not among.
She is not among.

Guiltless I walk on.
Compromise is cowardice.
Reality or death.

Saw a new day coming, it looked just like me.

I seem to have forgotten a lot of myself. Or rather a lot of the things that used to stimulate me when I was barely aware, of my power that is. Jung says that as a therapist you should only follow the theories your patient reacts to, I find myself reading his suggestions & advice on how to deal with patients & applying them in my dealings with my self, or rather the unknown within me.

I have accepted my conscious as a simple window into the massive & never-ending expanse that is my Being. That it is only a small percentage, a representation of the true one & that my unconscious has a direct connection with the true one instead.

With this pain currently throbbing in my back I have begun to understand that perhaps this pain is my unconscious punishing the stubbornness of my conscious, punishing it for always ignoring the latter, making my ego understand that it has no power, it has nothing & it has no right to ever ignore it. To ever belittle it in anyway.

To listen to my highest form of intelligence; instinct.

It is right, I am guilty of all of those things, I did not understand my own corporeal reality. I took for granted every other portion of me outside of my mind. My Ego dressed insidiously as my quest for knowledge. Moonlighting as the unconscious.

This pain is a wake up call. This pain is to remind my ego that it revolves around the sub, not at all, or ever the other way around.

That it revolves around the Eternal & that vicious, fiery & uncompromising Selasie Amewusika Acolatse within is my direct path to the Formless one. To the Sovereign.

She is passionate.
Dauntingly so.
I, this conception of me, is nothing compared to her.

She is the Impossible.
She fuels all.
& she wants me to learn, by any means necessary.
She wants me to understand that this will not easy. That I must filter every part of the System out of myself before I am worthy for this gift.

Before I am worthy to see her True Face.

As a result of my dreams last night I fell susceptible to fear, it was as if I had forgotten everything I had been taught, I did not fight hard enough. I did not question enough. I did not observe enough. I was too overcome with emotion. I suddenly see my dreams as the home of my unconscious, she furnishes it as she see's fit to test me & drops my conscious in the middle of it all.

It's as if I am visiting, as if a door opens to a whole new reality, I process things as if I were awake, logically, rationally, I even act out of fear.

I am so easily taken up, last night I forgot it was a dream. I could not feel that it was a dream.

Perhaps that is what happens to me in my conscious life, that, when immersed in all around me I forget this is a dream too. I fall too easily in the delusion.

I am weak.

She only endeavours to make me stronger & training is not easy, victory would be worth nothing if that is the case.

I pray for the strength to overcome fear. I pray for the insight to understand what I am to learn & see. I pray for knowledge to discern & remember.

I pray to be completely in the hands of my maker. I pray his will continue to be done. I pray every thought, sensibility, step & word I emit comes from his grace.

All Praise Be Unto Allah.

For Cowardice.

Revolutions are being born all around us.

This new generation of the Divine can no longer stomach the stale & abject taste of the system they force upon us. They dress the rancid flavor in the material, in false ideas of success, of a happiness they claim can only be found outside of us.

WE ARE UNSATISFIED WITH THIS LIE THEY CALL NOURISHMENT.

Some of us would rather starve, would rather die & return to our maker than subject ourselves & our freedom to this modern prison system.

They enslave our hearts, minds, body & potential.

With their limitations, with their arrogant pride.

Individualism promoted for the cause of capitalism. We play with our toys, we equate them to life. We forget this is all puppetry, we think money equal to the bliss of true existence. We think we can purchase with our imaginary system of currency the true gift that we were born with. We worship the tools we have made with our own hands.

We forget the Universal.

& we call our amnesia "Truth". We wear our cowardice with pride, calling it intelligence. We feed into the lie, we grow fat off of it. We die. Over & over again, wandering through the wasteland like the Israeli ancestors who wandered blindly for many decades because they forgot the true covenant they made with their Maker. Our hearts, our souls, wander & wander. Never satisfied, never fed. Always seeking "a little more". Our comfort is deception. Our "joy" an illusion. If it is not born within the fire that burns in you, the fire that warms your blood, it is false & you have been enslaved.

Babylon drinks your blood from her bejewelled goblet & you freely, hungrily bleed out for her, for a touch of her riches, a taste of her apparent wealth.

But the fool lights the fire wherein one day he must burn.

& burn you shall along with her.

You claim you fear death & I simply laugh at your misconception.

My brother, my sister, you are already dead.

Your tombstone is encrusted with diamonds & rubies, but what good is a Range when it's time to go home? These things you claim you "need", that are not natural to your Spirit shackle you to the destruction of this earth.

You cannot recognise nor feel the heavy weight you have borne upon yourself & your future.

You live in hell & wilfully ignore the burning & festering skin that decorates your Temple as a result. You dress it up in jewels, your swag, your wealth, your technology, your cars, your weaves, your bitches, your niggas, your hoes.

You fear freedom.
You'd rather suffer.

To each his own I say.
I only ask that you don't expect me to do the same.

I am not among.
I am not like you.
My family, my ancestry, what Allah has revealed to me about the many planes of this existence disenables me from investing in this fuckery.

Rebel I must.
Revolt I must.
Fight for every division of freedom I feel the need to.
I must.
As Mr. Lamar says I'm in the dead fucking centre looking around.

I spent 21 years searching for answers until I realised that it cannot be found outside of me, that every answer I shall ever need lies beneath my epidermis.

As does my God.
My soul.
My Truth.

No, they can't control us.

The truth is written clearly in the prophecies of every religion. Your Bible's speak these truth's. The Revelations speak of your present destruction. The answers are right in front of you, inside you, behind you, above you, beneath you.

The answer IS you.

Know yourself.
Tap into the Hive Mind.
Or continue in your life of death.

Your choice.

Post-Nymphomania

Twitter can sometimes stunt my literary growth & other's, inspire it. Tonight, we have found the latter.

While analyzing myself & this new found peace, I thought of my sexual history, my attitude towards sexual reproduction then vs. now & found them to be two completely different modes of thinking, of course one can claim this as a consequence of growth, which I won't deny, but instead demand to expand upon.

Why did I, the nympho cross continental sex fiend, retire so swiftly & apathetically?

& today, through my musings, I have discovered the true reason for it.

Previously I had claimed, it is admitted I did believe this theory to be the most sincere at the time, that I was uninterested because men now, sexually, render me completely disinterested. I claimed that, I simply hadn't found anyone to satisfy both my mind & body, I had found no one to ensure the harmony of both in receiving profuse amounts of pleasure. I claimed I was wanting, not a quickie, but a tantric 8 hour session.

I was wrong.

It's not that I demand a higher or deeper, or more intense level of sexual activity from the opposite sex, it is instead that I demand more, from myself.

My body & beauty is what generally enthralls these beings. Men lose their composure, their dignity, any sense of pride inside of me. They lose their very sense of Self in a mere matter of minutes & a few well placed Kegel's here & there. My body, is what drove the opposite sex wild, my body is what controlled all discernment. They knew nothing about me, they only knew what I felt like & that was more than enough for them to hand me their strings. My vagina enabled me to become a puppet master.

I, my mind that is, had little to do & found my actions monotonous & repetitious. My body shackled these men the same way every time, I received the same compliments, the same journey to obsession on their part, it was basically scripted & my mind had memorized it all.

I mean, I've had a lot of meaningless sex. Meaningless to me that is. Inconsequential for me, best I ever had for them. Imagine. They believed what I perceived as mediocrity, excellence. They were completely & always overtaken by their physical sensibilities & I find it now, a complete bore.

I'm not asking for them to change at all. I'm not asking, for an aware soul, I'm not asking for a deeper connection, because asking for any of those things would imply that the problem is outside of myself.

& today I have found this assertion to be completely false.

I am bored, because my mind demands a challenge, a greater challenge. My body, makes conquering far too easy & too quick, the chase is over in a matter of minutes, what used to enthrall you, you suddenly find completely annoying, while they're sitting on the other side of the bed planning what to cook you for breakfast.

I have grown to demand more of myself in almost every aspect of my life, so it is only logical that this sentiment should reflect in my relations with the opposite sex. Like how I now want to become more knowledgeable about the workings of the male fashion industry, instead of indulging in what I'm already brilliant at, my mind demands that I retire the method I am so dextrous in & instead employ the use of another, unused & unfamiliar.

This method being, keeping my clothes on & still having the same affect on the individual in question. Where as, watching the face of a man I was driving insane with a few gyrations of my blessed hips, with a few squeezes of these blessed muscles used to feed my ego, intoxicate me with power untold, now, driving a man insane with a simple sentence provides an even larger bounty for this hunter.

The physical is too easy, that's all there is to it.

& I've done everything I wanted to do sexually, there's really nothing left for me, outside of fucking men who are already deeply enamored with my being, I have yet to presently experience such.

Fucking a man who worships my mind promises to be a far different & far more exhilarating experience. Driving a man to complete loss of control by simply walking into a room. I want my aura, to have the affect my vagina does & then see what the two of them combined can accomplish.

So there you have it, that is why, the real reason why, I honestly do not ever feel like taking my clothes off anymore. I am sexually anorexic because I demand a harder drug than just sex.

I demand a harder drug than just mind fucking.

I demand soul fucking.

I want to make a man feel eternal just by brushing my fingertips against the back of his neck, if that simple action can warm your entire body, then what will all of me do? What will you do when you finally experience all of me?

Will you survive?

Shit, will I?

I want to harvest passion, the truest sense of it, the kind that is birthed in your very being, not in the blood cells that rush to harden that muscle you so frequently entertain.

I can't just fuck now, because I've fucked everything I wanted to fuck, I've accomplished everything I've wanted to accomplish sexually, on a physical level that is. Now, I demand deeper waters, I want it to be more difficult for me, I want a challenge & to get a man of the 21st century to love you as though he lived in a Jane Austen novel? Is an accomplishment indeed.

I'm just trying to do it bigger that's all. Naturally, I must evolve & grow stronger. Just fucking, is too easy, there's no real pleasure in it for me anymore. I'm not a man, if I had a penis, perhaps none of this would matter to me, I'd be cumming all the time. But the fact of the matter is, I don't. I have a vagina & it's more difficult to please, far more difficult in fact. Yes, they're both sexual reproductive organs, but they demand completely different rules.

My vagina is a Wii, the penis? A PlayStation 3.

Both gaming consoles, but both entirely different.

My Wii, demands far more mental exertion, as I stated before, every avenue of my life now demands the same thing.

This was inevitable.

So, in conclusion, I just wanted to clarify myself & let it be known that I'm not not fucking because I'm waiting for a turbo Super Saiyan dick. No, I'm not fucking, because I want to own your soul.

Why? Because it is difficult. I love difficult.

I flourish in the face of impossible.

& if I can somehow retain a slew of lovers who are all equally completely enamored with my non naked body, I'd have defeated any sense of the word in my life.

It's not that I'm not sexually attracted to the male body anymore, it's that I'm more sexually attracted to the workings of the male mind.

I demand a heavier meal.

I demand more sweat on my part to accomplish such, more exercise for my brain cells, more inspiration for my writing.

& point, blank, period, lovers are way more fun than fuck buddies.

Fuck buddies are a thing of my youth.
As I grow older, I dive deeper, the pressure around me grows & I relish the challenge.

In this too, I shall reign victorious.

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.

Act like you don't fuck with me. Get slapped.

I ran out of pages in all my journals last night, so today I aspire to fill these "pages" with my complexities laced in simple philosophy.

If there is such a thing.

Today has afforded another lesson in the psychology of man, a further look into the treacherous nature of a once very close, well as close as the unaware can be, associate of sorts, who acted in an ugly manner I accurately, yet blindly, divined the cause of. Once presented with my prophecy, I was painted as desperate & insane. Months later, said former associate has revealed all to the cause. He has to some degree be truthful in his attempt at sticking his phallus inside of her.

The truth being, and in turn fulfilling all of my previous prophecies on the matter. Although justification holds no badge of pride or joy in my being, I knew I was right, I felt it, why celebrate Divinely inspired accuracy? Without it there could not be faith. I digress, although the justification is not necessarily pleasing in any sense of the word, it does not come without a sense of higher peace.

There is after all a difference between noticing there isn't a floor beneath your feet & actively flying.

Clearly, I flew.

Allah protects & shields me from deception. My mind goes through the tiring & monotonous task of recalling past presents & adding a new ending to each scenario. But what can be done? Allah knows best.

This individual was never meant to be in my life. So he is not. It was my fault for even including him. Why should I be upset that a turtle cannot conceptualize flying? Ask only for what they can give. In fact, ask for nothing at all. He was & is, a simple bitch. How very stupid of me to expect anything more in such morally deceptive gluttony. I hope I am not too harsh. May Allah be with him still.

The truth remains & pervades all. My Russian spy has been instrumental in destroying all the unsound foundations that made themselves known in my life. Naturally so, with little to no active thought on her part, her very existence, like mine, rattled the weak. She alone has replaced all. Unsympathetically, she continues to gnaw on the bones of those expelled.

I love my little monster.

I'll leave to Saudi Arabia soon, in my heart, I wish it were next week. I'm ready for a new environment & for the first time during this 4 year love affair with West Africa I am not leaving my country in pain. I am not fleeing.

I leave, because it pleases me to do so.

I've resided here for almost a full year now, no breaks in between. My emotional & physical self continue to flourish & grow by his Grace, but both understand that it is time for a change, time for more than what "home" can offer. I must flap my wings, after all, home is in my heart, my heart exists on earth, earth is home.

I'm excited to go & establish my own area in my mother's new apartment. There is so much more light in this one, she has these massive windows all over the place. I honestly cannot wait, I am ready to travel, to write on the plane, to record all of God's majesty as he see's it fit to reveal it.

May he bless me & these dreamy eyes of mine.

All Praise Be Unto Allah.

Over.

I can feel myself changing.

Or perhaps the familiar situation I am in at the present moment is understood differently with this new & higher level of clarity. It is admitted they could be one in the same thing.

This weekend was quite defining for me. I mean to say, that it could be the catalyst for the final & determined layer of cement I am required to build my Zion upon. Silence is so much more welcoming & in the silence you become more aware of both yourself & of those around you. you begin to discern aura's, without even having to actively perceive the person. Silence enables you to be, without being present.

The absence of sound empowers me.

People fall easily for silence, this once again leads to blasted Descartes & his confounded "I think, therefore I am". Like Freud with single parenting, Descartes failed to account for a defining factor that very well undermines his overly simplistic view of existence. He ignored the existence of the subconscious, that is to say the "unthinkable" within, primal instinct we cannot presently fathom or make sense of. I mean, does he allude to the idea that I am "not" when I am asleep? Which is of course, fucking ridiculous.

Thinking does not always constitute doing, nor does doing, thinking.

But I digress.

Under the affect of Descartes' bloated assertion of the human mental condition & existence, general population works under the assumption that silent is weak. Now in this visually stimulated culture especially one is always looking for entertainment. Now as I am without such base urges I always find myself in the position to provide what others so desperately seek. Which inadvertently throws me in a distinct position of power.

I am depended on.

While I depend on no one.

The puppets then hand me their strings.

But of course when "seeking" to ensnare & trap a conditioned mind one must always make an allowance for the fact that they are still human, like you, & that light within to match your own makes them uncontrollable. You can only suggest a road, it is still within their right to deny your control. Which leaves a margin for error you must always account for. I have found humility to be the best safeguard against such errors. It enables me to adapt & change my strategy at a moments notice. I am never deterred. When my solar plexus lights up?

I have found my answer.

An entire existence emotionally alone has enabled my gifts in this respect. But of course natural talent is prone to err & err I did, as much as my youth & vitality would allow. But I am a fast learner. I cannot drown myself for long.

Allah taught me how to swim.

I do feel some sense of finality after the events of this weekend though. A deep & irreversible change in my perception. Looking back on my journey to this great summit I realize that all mistakes behind me, all the lessons learned were merely stepping stones, but were of the the utmost necessity. I could not skip any of them. I had to involve them all to reach this wonderful plateau. The deep valley of His grace & certainty. I am completely devoted.

Not even a man has been able to distract.

But I do not parrot my self assertions, I consume all around me & now with greater volumes of calculated silence. I give myself the freedom & power to grow.

Unhindered.

To abandon these lies that throw me in such despair. This wretched planet that WE have made so barren, have raped & plundered. Any joy once found is being destroyed by man's own inability to see past the nature of his immediate gratification.

I look for a new species of consciousness in Zion.

Year of the Slut: Voodoo.

I don't remember the number of this one & I can't be bothered to scramble for the list & share it with you because I don't believe it's of any real importance. It doesn't stop it from being a reality. Doesn't stop me from subsisting only on sweet recollection of the entire affair.

Of those very specific moments.

So I'll just call it 'Voodoo'.

This boy, in essence, was sort of like Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde. When I remember his clothed temperament in comparison to his naked one I'm always a little blown away & utterly stimulated. To see such a switch, so real & capable, a man's unmitigated overhaul of his general personality driven by complete passion.

He was electrifying. It's not something I think I'll ever be able to truly forget, because it was just so full of what I demanded from a man, from a soul I'm willing to intertwine with my own. Whether it was passion for my sexual skill or passion for myself, his fire burned me.

He left countless marks.

A Nigerian boy. An Ibo boy. Visually not at all my type, but all the young girls around him were jocking so he was confident enough in himself for me to let this go. There was something about his nature that attracted me at first. When we were in social circles, he was the most quiet, the most concerned & the most distant from everyone else.

Being aware of the unknown potential in such men I was immediately drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. Bee to honey. A fly struggling against a spider's web. I simply couldn't help myself. I had to know.

So I went about it as girls normally do, made myself ever present, seduced through moments filled with smoke. Basically came out of nowhere with my interest in him & then when I fucked him? & woke up the next morning with a slew of hickies lining my shoulder blades? I dived into every part of him.

I was intoxicated with the slight sting my bruises provided the day after our encounters. It was my alcohol. My THC.

I see flashes of him pushing me into dark corners, eyes ablaze with an inferno so sincere that it took my very breath away, I was suffocating in a burning house. With pleasure. Willingly. He enflamed me with the essence of him.

Left memories by sucking on my skin as he buried himself into my stomach. He gripped as he ground against my soul. Plowed into my subconscious. He made me remember. He made me want to remember.

Stripping in the dark. Soft streetlights filtering through the shades illuminating my task. My eyes never left his as I rolled my dress down to reveal nothing underneath but my glistening black beads. I smiled coyly & swayed to his bed, laying down on my stomach, face turned away from him. Poised like Solomon's great black love waiting for her ancient King.

He stood over my body for a moment. Then I felt a finger tip slowly creep up from my Achilles heel, to the back of my knees, to the thickness of my thighs, to the curve of my ass, his nails dug deeper here, to the small of my back, to the side of my neck & then back again.

His imagination is what enthralled me the most. Within that quiet nature, that stoic face & serious manner was a never ending fervency that took over once my clothes came off.

He'd be almost frozen in time, until I reached out to touch him, until I instigated some sort of physical communication then he would just rain down on me. So hard, torrentially, it felt like a hurricane of sickeningly painful indulgence. & what's more, I saw the transformation clear in his eyes.

I watched him turn.

For me.

The way it ended still saddens me in a way. As Mr. Blac Garner says “Can anything end well when you never wanted it to end?”. It was abrupt, illogical & a little painful. Perhaps it was a casualty of my growth, but my body still remember his.

The bruises fade but the feeling remains.

I will never forget that energy he drowned me in continuously.
I will never forget the sting of each mark left on my flesh.
Flesh I thought immune to such.

See, the nigga, SURPRISED me.

His type of loving cut me deep.
Made me appreciate passion once more.
Made me appreciate burning in that pit of fire.

Made me appreciate my wounds.

It's no fun if it don't hurt.

Year of the Slut continues.

Bad Luck.

What do I want to say?

Is there anything to say?

I always start off like this. Standing at the threshold of self imposed writers block, convincing myself that there is nothing worthy yet. But how do I know what is worthy to minds outside of mine? I can't say that there is nothing to say because I do have words to express. Thoughts to convey, they do exist, speeches, novels, motion pictures all take precedence in the glistening civilization that is my mind.

I can talk of men, of how I've been without male affection in the 2011, or I could talk of women & how they fascinate me so. I could talk about my family, the elderly, the emotional incompetent.

The fearful. The beautiful. The foolish. The world is full of topics really.

But what is significant? What matters the most today? Right now? In the next 30 seconds? Or am I just forcing myself to write to bring a sense of scheduling back?

Perhaps I should invest in iCal once more.

I started reading Don Quixote again & I am thoroughly enjoying myself. Cervantes' beautiful & satirical way with words definitely inspires my own rhetoric. I realize that my vernacular changes depending on what I'm reading or what I'm not reading.

I, for a long time, went without this sort of stimulation depending solely on human interaction to keep me afloat, as I have now distanced myself I am now aware enough to discover it.

Constant human contact does not foster independent thought. It weakens it.

I am far more miserable when I'm social, so I've found living at such a distance from the busy bee that is the city of Accra a blessing indeed. I now have the time to independently search & grow. I can spend the whole day naked & in silence.

I choose this silence.

It's beautiful to me. I notice so much more, I discover so much more, immersing yourself in a system that is not even aware of itself, will of course pollute you. The world at present is not built for us to prosper, spiritually, mentally, individually. But we forget this & invest our all in it.

& widen your eyes in surprise at the misery that weighs your heart.

Find your OWN way. Find your OWN system.

The script our parents gave us does not fit the world we live in. We must walk, learn & grow, ALONE. Continuously surrounding yourself within a pack before you have learned to stand on your own will diminish your ability to at all, ever again.

It's very plain & simple.

You MUST know YOURSELF before you can know others.

Destroy & rebuild.
Light up your own darkness.

I lost a lot of people last year. People I now know weren't ever really supposed to contribute to my life. People who don't actually deserve to know me. The liars I had accepted, the confusion I ignored, all dashed aside in a couple of days.

I want nothing of it.

& I know in my heart that this is what is best, because detachment came so easily for me. I must replace those that have failed me with those that will love. I must replace.

You know there are some who tethered so tightely to you with the rope of time & twin journeys of evolution, that you will never be able to peacefully leave. A leech in a sense. That you must rip off. A parasite, that plagues you, that weighs you down with memories of time past.

But it is so unnatural of my kind to live in the past.

It is only befitting that the light of tomorrow eradicates it.

I am not sad. I am not disappointed. Some people are not meant to be known to you. Those that are not known to themselves.

It is the will of Allah.

All praise be unto his Name.

The Boyfriend Situation

So I got on the subject of my first “real” boyfriend tonight on Twitter & it got me thinking about it all. In the bigger picture I mean. I had a wonderful relationship, it was loving, it was kind & it was nurturing.

He was older than me. When he met me I was 14 & he was 18. MySpace things, he fell in love with my eyes & my taste in music, my taste in life. We were both the weird little black children with weird so called “Oreo” interests. Plus I was foreign. The foreign always hooks American's easy.

I lied & told him I was 15 & then when I turned 15 I told him the truth.

He freaked.

I remember it so well.

Because I was crying my eyes out, in honest fear that he'd never want to speak to me again & my precious little innocent self sincerely couldn't fathom that as a possibility.

A boy liked me, a boy I could talk too.

I wanted him to stay.

& he did.

For a while, no sex. I remember our first date. I don't remember if we did something specific but I do remember him taking me to this park around his neighbourhood. We sat next to each other in the dark on a park bench & talked, laughed, vibed.

With a boy I liked.

When previously? I had found it next to impossible to even open my mouth around an attractive member of the opposite sex. It rained on us that night & he took me to his house to wait the rain out , then he took me home.

& that was the start of the beginning of a more than adolescent 'Me'.

It was a growth unmonitored by anyone. My mother could never outwit me with a computer, I hacked into everything she tried to prohibit me from with ease so of course she'd be blatantly ignorant of my activities on MySpace, activities that included finding myself a boyfriend in college.

He waited for me though. I was obviously a virgin & not the kind easily bullied by any sort of outside pressure. My intelligence made this impossible. He understood this, might even have been a reason to like me even more. I'd spend entire nights on the phone with him then I'd hang up, when it was time to go to school. Every day was filled with constant communication with this individual, constant meaningful communication.

With a boy I liked.

I'm sorry, but as I recall all of this, it's all so unnatural to me now. All so surreal, do these boys still exist? I've become so accustomed to only being seen as a sex object that I completely forgot about this entire process.

I forgot about this sincerity.

We'd talk for days, entire weekends, just sharing useless information about one another, meaningless information that only made us fall deeper in love with. Or whatever you'd call it. He loved me, at a time where I needed male affection most.

It should've come from my father.

But I suppose a sincere boy in love isn't that bad. My 'How I Lost My Virginity' story is pretty blessed compared to some of the tales I've been privy too. No cheating, STD sharing asshole here.

I lost it in love.

I don't regret that.

I won't say 'lost'. I surely mean 'found'.

I'm sitting here, just going through flashbacks, remembering all the little things & I'm overcome with wonder.

Did this really happen?

Or did I dream it all?

My perfect skater boy who rocked his skinny jeans & fucked up skate shoes with pride. He loved all of me. My mess, my insanity, my writing, my art. My ancestry, my body, even before he'd even seen it naked.

& he never rushed me. Never belittled me in anyway.

He never lied to me.

I'm honestly trying to remember if I ever suspected him of dishonesty, but I just can't recollect any trace of deceit in his person. He told me everything, about everyone, every stupid girl, every stupid decision regarding girl he had ever made.

He wanted to marry me. He used to talk about our house, who we'd live next to, the study he'd build for me & I remember being on the other end of that phone with a stupid little smile on my face listening to his promises, listening to his love.

So what happened?

How did I turn from this?

We simply weren't meant to be in the end & I was the one to make the decision. Another one, I don't regret. I only wish I had done it for the right reasons, i.e., myself.

But I left him for another boy, who in turn shattered my ego to pieces.

You get what you give.

& after my heart/ego was shattered, for some reason, I just refused to remember all this damn goodness. I refused to remember all that damn love. Maybe because the embarrassment, the pain & the guilt would've been too much. So I resigned myself to pretend as though I had never known love.

The same love I call back today & smile upon could've helped me when I lay in bed crying over a nigga that did not deserve me.

I took the wrong set of rules into the game. Instead of remembering all the joy love had brought me, I chose only to focus on the immediate pain & I let it define me. I suddenly became 'heartless'. Unwilling to love, only wanting to fuck. Sex then being my drug of choice. Remember my 72 hour rule? Any nigga that put himself around me for more than 72 hours? I immediately became sick of & would erase from my life without question.

I could no longer distinguish sincerity from deception within the tale of 'The Pursuit of Frank's Box'.

That hesitation was only a result of pain. I closed so many doors to opportunities of love because in all honesty, I had forgotten how to love entirely. I had forgotten how to be loved.

But now I remember.

Love for me? Is ….

Foreign movies & Sour punch straws.

Cuddling on a blanket, in the park under the stars being taught an impromptu lesson in astrology.

Strip video games.

Debates about porn.

Texts when you say you'll text.

Calls when you say you'll call.

Emails.

MySpace messages.

For no reason other than to say;

'I love you so much'

Hands to wipe the tears my absent father caused away.

Humour to make every bad day seem okay.

A kiss on my forehead, on my cheeks & on my chin before my lips every morning I wake up & every night I fall asleep.

Post it notes on my mirror, telling me how beautiful I am.

Giving me reasons to dress up just so you can undress me.

& love, every part of me.

He knew of my mind before he ever knew my body.

& I think that is the most important distinction when it comes to a brain such as mine. I covet recognition in that sense. I would rather have you tell me how beautifully intelligent I am than marvel at the length of my eyelashes, something I have no control over. Something, I actually didn't create for my self.

After him?

Everybody just wanted sex.

Sex. Sex. Sex.

Everyone was in love with my appearance, in love with the surface, saw a pretty girl outside & painted me 'generic' on the inside without even bothering to investigate. Not that I ever even gave anyone the chance to get that close to me. I made the mistake of fucking, thereby instantly eliminating in my man eater mind, the ones who possibly wanted much more than sex.

& for all the sex I did have, nothing has ever seemed to compare to those marathon ones with that boyfriend.

Objectively speaking, in comparison to the sexual adventures I partook in with him? I've been starving myself. I should in fact, have starved myself into complete oblivion already.

In comparison to that?

I'm sexually anorexic.

My heart is howling with laughter at my vagina right now.

Howling I tell you.

So now as I sit here & remember this wonderful relationship, that wonderful communication? That example I should've carried as a badge during the rest of my encounters with the opposite sex was completely forgotten & I deluded myself into thinking I was happy with scrambling for romantic croutons.

Why didn't I take his memory with me?

I need to understand that of myself. Why was his bliss so easily forgotten, while instead I chose to lament over the fool I left him for?

The fool that knows she is a fool is wise indeed.

I will take care to correct myself when I say I'm not the girl friend type.

Because, by what I remember, it was exceedingly easy for me.

So I shouldn't say “I'm not the girl friend type” when asked “Why don't you have a boyfriend?”

I should instead say.

“No one has been good enough.”

Because really, that boy? Loved & moulded me to be loved.

Outside of the promise of seeing me naked.

No one has offered me such security since.

Which is why, I have for the most part, been 'single' since.

But shout out to my first love for putting down the rock solid foundation of self love I so desperately needed.

I will never forget what you gave me.

& I'm FINALLY putting it into use.