Hi guys! I interrupt my regular feed to send out this urgent notice: I'm rebuilding :-) !
I'm rebuilding my two sites and therefore you'll find some changes here and there, noticeable on the top left and right corners where change is already happening. I have some plans cooking(no spoilers). No worries though, it's all in your best interest <3.
I have moved my name and contact information to the top left corner and on the top right corner I have added 2 new pages. The first one, SOULED OUT: THE NOVEL is...you guessed it...the novel Souled Out that is currently available(up to chapter 15) for reading online here. If you click on SOULED OUT: THE NOVEL on the top right corner, you will land on a second page of this site that will make available chapters of the novel from now henceforth so that you can get it right here. The second page, SOULED OUT, right under SOULED OUT: THE NOVEL, is an external link to the original site of the novel by the same name. This site is still currently open.
I am currently hard at work, trying to better my blogs. Thanks for your continued support and I will keep you updated on the changes and progress.
If you were to guess the city in the photo above, what would your guess be? A city in U.S? Or Canada? Or Europe? How many would guess that that is a photo of a city in Africa?
Maybe because this is the picture of Africa that many have in mind. This is the picture that international media houses insist on perpetuating about Africa. But that's not the reality. The reality is that places like this exist in all continents. Thanks to the dog-eat-dog economy, there are people living below the poverty line all over the world. It is thus not fair to paint Africa as the poor continent while the truth is that, in terms of raw materials and natural resources, Africa is actually by far the richest continent. So rich in fact, that white people fought over who should plunder which part of the continent in what is now known as the Struggle for and Partition of Africa. As if that isn't enough, they still insist of injecting themselves into our culture(Gods of Egypt, anyone?)
And who could forget how our leaders have been assassinated over the years so as to pave way for foreign interests? Read about how President Eisenhower ordered the CIA to murder Patrice Lumumba here. You can also find it here, amongst other sources. How about the murder of Colonel Muammar Gaddafi? His doomsday may have begun earlier, but calling for a United States of Africa was the last straw(God forbid Africa unites and stands by herself??). How about the Black Lives Matter movement in the U.S and how Beyonce pissed off white people with her Formation?
Couldn't have said it better Arthur Chu, couldn't have said it better. White people changing Black Lives Matter to All Lives Matter is like a fully seated hall where everyone has a plate of food except the black guy; but when the black guy says he needs food, they all go, "We all need food!" then they go on eating while the black guy still remains without food.
White privilege is knowing that when a bomber turns out to be white, your whole race won't be labelled as terrorists. White privilege is knowing that when a shooter turns out to be white, your whole race won't be labelled as thugs. White privilege is knowing that you're less likely to suffer from police brutality. White privilege is knowing that when your soldiers attack and bomb other people's lands, killing millions and displacing millions others, your whole army won't be labelled as militia/rebels. White privilege is knowing that when you get in to an Ivy League school, people won't assume it's because of your race. White privilege is knowing that when Trump wins, you won't be deported (and while we're on that note, can we talk about how EVERYONE in U.S is an immigrant except the Native Americans?? Can we also talk about how Mexicans didn't cross the border, the border crossed them?) White privilege is getting pissed off because Science says that Superman should be black.
These are all things that are happening in the world today, leading me to write this article. This article is me acknowledging several things, including:
1. Every shade of black is beautiful. Team #lightskin and team #darkskin competing about who is beautiful is just nonsense. Black people are not beautiful in spite of their blackness, black people are beautiful because of their blackness. I do not need to bleach myself to be beautiful, I am already beautiful. Black people everywhere need to understand that. Self appreciation is key.
2. Africa is the cradle of life. European and American museums are full of items they took from us and we want those back. They belong in our museums. Their being not in our museums where they belong is great, great injustice.
3. Most of what we learn at school is limited to how we should be thankful to white people. Not much of other people is mentioned(except when it comes to slavery and terrorism). The world's first civilizations were all black. Black civilizations were not limited to Africa. In fact, the Minoans of ancient Greece, the Indus Kush civilization, ancient Mexico, the Shang dynasty of ancient China and ancient Mesopotamia were all black civilizations(see here). Even native Americans were copper-skinned. The first Europeans were black, a fact that is conveniently not mentioned in school books when learning about how Europeans invented stuff. Read about genetics and the gene that gave rise to white people here. The invention of language and religion and transport systems and medicine and other things you expect to find in a civilization were all invented by the first civilizations(black) and other civilizations throughout time. In fact, Pythagorus credits his Pythagorus theorem to the Egyptians(Bantus and Nilotes originated in Egypt). Speech, writing, medicine, architecture, maths, mining of minerals, iron smelting, religion, law, international trade, philosophy and art are all attributed to Africans(also here). If black people knew all these things, I bet they wouldn't be feeling as worthless as most feel now. Know thyself - Niggalations 1:1 (borrowed). And while we are on that note, can we also talk about how white people are bleaching evidence of ancient civilization, all in an effort to 'whiten' them? Also, Kim Kardashian DID NOT invent boxer braids, boxer braids are a black trade mark(you can borrow but we don't appreciate stealing) and those knots on Blac Chyna's head are not Bjorf knots, they are Bantu knots(take note, People Magazine; you could've at least asked Blac Chyna to tell you what they were).
4. It therefore goes without saying that these(above photos) were the Gods of Egypt(take note, Hollywood). Cleopatra=black. Atlanta based photographer James C. Lewis in his series African Kings gives a representation of the power and beauty in nostalgic transcending journey. Tired of biased representations from mainstream media, Lewis’ main motivation for this series was a truth telling mission of our history significant in this era of modern colonialism. The series is available for viewing here.
5. Black incarceration is a corporation linked to slavery.
6. African hair is naturally kinky. Discrimination based on hair texture is rampant in the workforce where bosses term natural hair as unkempt hair. Women shouldn't have to treat their hair with chemicals and/or heat so as to straighten it so as to not be 'unkempt'. Telling a woman to do that is as crazy as a man blaming his wife for giving birth to only girls. The policy here is no African hair, no opinion on what should happen to African hair.
I have scoured the internet and it seems like every time someone points out that Cleopatra was black or that a black man invented dry cleaning or that a black man invented video games or any of the facts presented here, white people the world over ask why it matters. I'll tell you why it matters: if I were a painter and I painted my masterpiece then someone steals it and masquerades it as theirs, I'd be enraged. I put my blood and sweat into that painting and then someone not only takes it, but also uses it to try to obliterate me from history and oppress my very existence!? That's why it matters. It matters to the native Americans that their land was taken away from them, it matters to people of Arabic origin that they are labelled as terrorists, it matters to Mexicans that they're the face of illegal immigrants while it is the border that crossed them and it definitely matters as hell that black culture is being misappropriated and its masters are being oppressed. And if you do not see that, then you are part of the problem.
There’s this burning in my chest that I just can’t free myself from. A hollowing in my soul, a heart rugged with scars. How do I put this aptly – I’m dying. Slowly, I’m sinking into the abyss that my life has become. The pain I’ve been trying not to feel for so long is coming down hard on me. I must’ve been a fool to think that I could’ve remained forever numb. It runs so deep in my veins I just want to let it out, let it flow, and so if you come across cut marks on my arms or slashes on my wrists, do not be surprised. Pain flows in, blood flows out. Or maybe anorexia. Or bulimia. Or shit that actually works, say cocaine or heroin? Maybe even crystal meth. Where am I going with this? Quite frankly I do not even know. But one thing I do know is that pain scares the life out of me. It’s not even logical. How can a human being living in pain be so afraid of the one thing that confirms her life? Pain stops me from doing all those things. I cannot fight fire with fire, that’s just creating more fire. And so here I am, in the lonely hour, alone, trying to fight insomnia and get at least two three hours of sleep before the rude awakening. Which brings me to the question, why am I doing this? Day after day, going through the same damn thing over and over again, bearing the pain, wielding the glue that holds everything together, putting on a brave face and a brave smile, why? I could try taking the easy way out but it’s never worked for me for the times I’ve tried it. Am I weak, cowardly? I beg to differ. As many stay alive for they are afraid of death just as many seek their death for they are afraid of life. Who’s the pot calling the kettle black? There is certain bravery in seeking the world of the departed for who knows what follows; the happy hereafter of rainbows and leprechauns and candy canes and pots of gold and unicorns or the doomed hereafter with hell fire and lava springs and nuclear fission and tripods and all things red and flamey? Or maybe even none of them? Or reincarnation?
I don’t know why I do this, every single time you ask me, my answer is the same. You found me broken. You found me psycho. You found me with an innate passion of all things dark, like my lifelong dream of being an assassin. You found me like this. I understand why you would want to fix me. It’s a cruel reality to wake up every morning to the fact that the person that could easily be the love of your life is all these things. Correction – the person you believe to be the love of your life. And so you keep your quest, every single day trying to make me better, trying to make peace with the voices in my head, trying to make peace with the different people that I am, trying to answer why so you can make it stop, trying to take me into the abyss of candy canes and all things nice in the here and now, trying to heal me/help me heal. I get all that. Yes, we did hit it off. We connected, a connection deeper than I have ever had with any other person. Possibly even the deepest I’ll ever have, even sexually (and God knows I wouldn’t want to give that up). I could go deeper, pardon the pun, but that would turn this into a porn section.
You have seen what you think are all my demons. Yet that’s not even the half of it. It takes a lot of love and commitment to keep up with that craziness. Unfortunately, you cannot come out of it alive. And you know it. You can see it. I see it too. It’s eating you away. It’s rotting your very core. Soon your lungs will give way. You cannot keep living like this. This is my curse not yours. And in as much as you try to label it as ‘our curse’ in the spirit of oneness, I just can’t let you. It kills me inside to see you do that. It adds to the pain. It’s not fixing me; it’s pulling me apart quicker. And I know you’ve run out of options. But you’d never give up. We live in the moment, cherishing every bit, till the tornado sweeps forth and topples the boat. And though we’re in the same boat, the tornado leaves me a board to hang onto, what do you get? Nothing! It drowns you. It sinks you. You cannot resurface. Like the scene of Titanic where Rose is on the floating thingy and Leo (I forget his character’s name) is in the freezing waters. He dies. And yes, there was enough space for both of them on the floating thingy. That’s where the difference comes in, my floating thingy is my demons. Demons get you in, demons get you out. But you chased out all your demons long ago. You have majorly angels. My demons pull you in with me, your angels cannot pull you out. And so it happens. How you even resurface, I do not know, but one thing is for sure, you get weaker each time, and we both can see it. But still you hang on. You’re dying and we have to face it. Correction, I’m killing you as I die.
So why not just end this. Say the word because only you can. I’ve tried, doesn’t work when I do it. It wasn’t meant to be after all, you were ready for the plunge, I wasn’t. You are in love with me, I love you, but I am not in love with you. I said yes because I couldn’t say no, because you couldn’t stop asking, because I figured, “What have I to lose?” Well, I have you to lose. But it was going to happen anyway, I mean whoever heard of a boy and a girl who are best friends and don’t end up together one way or another, even if it doesn’t last? I might also be gay, not sure though. Though the right way to put it would be bisexual. It’s not like I haven’t been to the other side of the vineyard. I know I said I put it behind me – the truth to that is…not so much, not even close. Let’s just call it questioning for now, I mean, whatever the case I am definitely a member of the LGBTQY community and sitting on that just sucks. But it’s better to sit on it than to not sit on it because not sitting on it would mean I’d have to prepare myself for an exorcism. In fact, not sitting in any of these things would need me to prepare for an exorcism. But you already know most of them, don’t you?
I lie to you. That you know too, but you only know the lies that I let you know. Guess you lie to me too but hey, I trust it’s for a good reason. Yet I know you don’t lie to me. I’m a pathological liar. I’ve had years and years of practice. I do it without even batting an eye lash. Even a lie detecting test can’t trace the lies. Well, maybe the sophisticated one can, but not for long. Why do I lie? Sometimes a lie is better than the truth. For instance, if you were to read this, you would break into pieces that would never fit back together. Because some things in it I just can’t tell you. I should, probably, but how do I get around to it? Maybe it would be better if you read it. Maybe it would be better if you don’t. But one thing’s for sure, tonight you lie awake wondering how tired I was to go to bed at 10, the other day it was 9…and so it goes…well, if I were asleep I wouldn’t be writing this now, would I? I just can’t take it anymore and so I try to stay away. And part of staying away is avoiding the late night texting, which I love doing by the way, but one of these days all these will spill out, then what?
Am I trying to hurt you? No. am I trying to make you look the fool for love? Definitely not. I am lucky to have you. Blessed. But I can’t keep doing this anymore. These are not normal people problems. Normal people do not have split personalities or obsessive disorders or are schizos. We both aren’t normal. I’m turning you into me and it just isn’t fair. You know it, you said it, and I said it. The voices in my head tell me to tell you the truth, tell you how I really feel. I just wasn’t ready for commitment, probably never will be. I can’t even commit to finishing prescriptions. I have never committed to a promise, not even one to myself. And I love you. And I care for you. And now I’m stuck here, not knowing what to make of the end to our story. Maybe it doesn’t end. Maybe it goes on forever. Maybe. But the truth is, in my head, in my heart, it doesn’t go on forever. It ends. It ends when you break.