She’s got daddy issues, she’s eager to please. Her daddy left when she was young and she has never been at peace. No masculine figure in her life, she sucks dick to appease. Rumor has it she blew the whole squad, got her on all fours like a quad. Insecure, void and empty, always looking for something to fill her, hard and phallic it fills her. Every man looking to fuck her, slut shame her. A pornstar in the making, her pubs are already trending, legs in the air but her confidence descending. That’s why she’s promiscuous cause every boy is an opportunity to get close to someone, she wants to be loved by someone, the attention validates her, it feels like she matters, reality sucks and confidence in tatters. So she’ll do whatever you like to please you, the pussy she will lease you, for free and include videos, knowing they will leak, her nudes are making rounds and are close to peak. Her self-worth is all yours to keep. She’s got daddy issues, I could get her to drop her panties and wrap her legs around my waist. Cum on her face or use protection to excrete the waste. A bit unstable, should come with a label. So easy and gullible, she thinks she’s unlovable, calls every man daddy. Men use her as a caddy, to store their seeds inside, only to contaminate the can and abandon the mission like a ban. She’s got daddy issues, easy to get her in the sack. Missionary style or blow out her back. Fuck her out in the deck, so everyone can see, issues deeper than a shipwreck at sea. She’s got daddy issues, her life is sad, you’ll need a tissue. All the men in her life are disappointments, the world is cold with no one to kiss you.
I never did stop loving you, even throughout the long years, I thought about you constantly. I did my best to stay in touch. But you were playing games, corresponding with my friend in attempts to make me jealous. Sometimes it did work but it was in the minority. He was never in my league so I never felt threatened, but I did question you and whether or not you were worth it. I invested so much of myself in the idea of you that I never wanted to lose you. I thought I had it all figured out, that we’d someday be together, but I was wrong. Despite you being the inspiration of everything I did, I still lost you. To this day I still don’t understand why life didn’t give us a chance. I regret nothing, I stand by everything I did in the past. I am the accumulation of my past efforts and I am proud of the man I’ve have become. But I keep wondering what if? We were vibing, we were on the same wavelength. I loved you and I know you felt the same way. Is there something we should have done differently? Were we deluded in our love? I am guilty for being distant and not being affectionate so maybe it’s me, I should have sent you text messages that warmed your heart and showed you I cared but then again, I didn’t want to manipulate you, you’d pick it up, all this love-bombing stuff, I wouldn’t be able to sustain it. I prefer to be with you in the flesh and gaze in your eyes, shower you with compliments and tell you that I love you. Unfortunately distance got in between us and that barrier couldn’t be overcome. Our union was doomed from the start. We just could not get it together. I can’t help but to think that you are the one that got away and I am rueful ruminating about potential realities. You are mine in a perfect world, I’ll never stop loving you.
A man who has money is beauty for women just like how men look for beauty in women. Granted you wouldn’t marry a woman for her beauty but it sure helps. Money is attractive, money is intoxicating, it has the promise of fulfilling all your dreams. Visions of not having to struggle anymore, gracing balls wearing designer clothes burdened with sparkling diamonds that hang on your neck and wrists, driven in luxury and escorted by royalty. Which girl wouldn’t want to be Cinderella for a lifetime? This time the magic doesn’t dissipate, the clock keeps ticking, the fairy godmother on speed dial and the glass shoes keep on multiplying. Living in Mansions, walking on marble, oversighted by crystal chandeliers, swimming in heated pools and served by foreign butlers. There enters the Gold digger, the manifestation of every man’s fantasy. She represents a tunnel in the repressed subconscious mind. She fulfills you in every way you desire. She subjegates herself to you, granting you power. She soothes and fills what’s lacking in your life. She is your escape in a world were routine triumphs. She is exciting, new and forbidden, uses her body to make you yield into the temptation of her bosom. You can squeeze if you want to, that’s the whole point. She’s yours for a price. The esteem and prestige of being your wife, but no prenups. Also, she wants to be included in your will, a stake in the inheritance fund and half of everything you own and oh, she’ll get it all. Her cunning intelligence guarantees it. You are her gold mine and she’s not letting go. Unlike the typical woman who operates with the right hemisphere of her brain, she is a blend of both hemispheres, she is both feminine and masculine. She is not just a woman whose emotional and acts on her feelings, she thinks, she plans, uses reason and logic, she has drive, she is ambitious! You are the route to her Gucci and Louis Vuitton bags, bespoke designer clothes, red bottoms heels and summer vacations in Monaco.
It was difficult to defend against the Blitzkrieg attack because it enveloped the enemy and crushed it with great speed. It gave you no time to think, no space to move, you were crushed by the weight of the attack. The perfect gold digger is akin to a blitzkrieg attack. You’ll never see it coming, she will crush you and dispose of you faster than the speed of light. Great gold diggers will seduce you, play to the repressed qualities of your being, ascentuate their body features, lower the pitch of their voices, play the demsel in distress, regress to a childlike persona, dominate through passivity to sink their claws in, marry you for your money and then divorce you. They are the definition of deception and smokescreens, they disappear like an illusion, like a dream, like it never happened. After you it’s on to the next one. You have to admire gold diggers because they are ambitious, they are driven, they have will, they want a good life and you are a means to an end. Gold diggers have balls, what makes them great is their ability to tap into their masculine sides while maintaining their femininity. That ambition will get you everything in life. I would love to be a Hugh Hefner, a magnet for gold diggers. To be surrounded by young, hot, beautiful women and have the relationships be platonic and transactional, using my pool and walking around the house in nothing but their birthday suits, oh Hugh cracked the code, the Playboy Mansion is heaven!
Women cheat, men cheat, its human nature no one is perfect. Men cheat a lot but women are better cheaters. Women play the game better, they think long-term. Men just want to fuck. It’s not even a contest, your lady can break you down. She can cause permanent damage to your psyche, she can flip the switch to end your life. You don’t want to know who’s dick she’s sucked. And when she cheats, you won’t know a thing. Bet money now, you’ll get the biggest shock of your life! This is because female nature is more cunning in nature. It’s more chaotic and creative. The masculine brain is more leftist and derives it meaning from reason and rationality. The masculine brain wants to instill order while the feminine brain just doesn’t give a fuck, it wants to see everything burn! Nothing and no one is out of bound. Its difficult to catch your lady in the act of cheating because usually everything is so premeditated, so precise, there is so much detail, so much care, the deceptions, the story has had time to grow, ties that used to be platonic are metastasizing into something more. To go through with the process of cheating they need to feel secure, so most likely they will level up from the relationship they are currently in. It’s not uncommon for them to level down because sometimes the nigga with a bus pass has better dick game, but that’s for short-term results, they usually level up. They will be in stealth mode and wait for you to fuck up, they will even bait you to it and when you trip, leave your tired ass. Men on the other hand get caught cheating 9 out of 10 times. Men don’t invest as much as women in keeping infidelity a secret. The bare minimum will suffice and if they are caught well “I am sorry, I’ll never do it again” but that’s really just bullshit because men cavet everything. Everything is emotions with ladies so when she cheats it’s a double dagger to your spirit because she stopped investing in the relationship emotionally and started an entirely new portfolio with someone else. It means she stopped loving you, she stopped respecting you. If she stops respecting you then it’s over. It’s not redeemable like a voucher. Women can move on much faster because they stopped investing in you emotionally for quite some time and it might come across as cold and sudden but oh, it’s not, she has been stacking up your fuck ups for months and years. Women hold grudges and they remember everything. It’s useful for when they want to get back at you! Men on the other hand just want some pussy, it’s not deep, just some short-term gratification, it won’t hurt anybody, no one will ever know. More body counts doesn’t mean I love my lady less, just means I was hungry, I wanted some pussy. Let’s be real, men were never made to settle with one partner, that’s not how evolution works. If that were the case, our species would be in trouble. Men with strong genes have to take the lead, they get preferential treatment, if it means mating with more suitors then so be it. Strong genes signal vitality, health and life. It’s simply nature, has been that way from the beginning of time. There’s also the case that women outnumber men by 5 to 1. God is not an idiot. Women domesticate men for survival, it’s hardwired into their brains, we can understand that but it’s a projection and an attempt at control and is not really natural for men. When you really think about it, marriage is a fancy word for domestication. A man must sow his seeds and so he is bound to fuck up, it’s hardwired into his brain, it’s in his genes, his just gotta get variety on that pussy. When a woman cheats on the other hand that’s blasphemous! There is no coming back for a woman who cheats but “I can change” for a man who does, it’s expected, it’s his nature. Double standards I know but we are not hardwired the same. Women and men are not the same not even a sex change can alter that. Intent matters, we cheat to satisfy different things. Love and sex can be separated for men while love is a byproduct of sex for women. Cheating for men is hardly malicious, cold and calculated but it usually is for women. A woman will fuck your cousin to get back at you, now family gatherings are ruined forever. I know times have changed and women are more liberated with their bodies but have you ever been with a woman with a high body count? The intimacy, the connection, the warmth, her love, it’s all wrong, it’s not the same. She’s cold, distant, out of sync, avoidant and probably damaged. You can’t build something of substance with someone like that, she’s not interested in building anything. Where is her value? Where is her feminine essence? Body count matters especially for women, for men it’s just sex. Women can’t be in the casual sex game for the long haul whereas men can test drive different generations.
When everyone knows you’re a writer, the stories come to you. On the weekend, I decided to see a couple of friends I hadn’t seen in a while. A friend was hosting an event and he invited me. I was excited and the event was a success. It was youthful, vibey and very summer. All I could see was girls in shorts and mini skirts. The place was illuminated by yellow thighs and you needed shades to let in the proper light in your retinas. The speakers were blasting Piano, of course and you could hear that lock drum and bass beating to the soul of the universe. There was happiness and it was contagious radiating throughout the room and manifesting itself on the dance floor. Tables were filled with bottles and hookahs connected to pipes emitting smoke that bubbled like a chimney from lungs that breathed out vitality and Joy. Oh, it was great. I drank alcohol and I smoked weed, I was hunk. A friend got into an altercation and the whole situation nearly spiraled out off control but luckily I managed to diffuse the situation. I can’t take all the credit, I am lucky he wasn’t a hot head, he chose peace. I merely told my nigga, “relax, his a fool let him take his petty win. Let’s focus on the girls we have here tonight”. He smiled and put his ego aside, calmed down, left the scene and let the fool be. Unfortunately, his girlfriend heard our conversation and she wasn’t happy with my proposed plan of “focusing on the girls here tonight” but she played it cool and intercepted my plan of action by keeping his man on lock for the whole night. For the whole night I couldn’t get to my nigga, she had her claws in deep. If I persisted she would give me this ice cold stare that you would get from a cobra with its hood raised up and I would cower because I knew her strike was venomous. I knew she had won, my nigga called me to the side and told me the plan was compromised and I shouldn’t protest that I must enjoy the night. So I did, I made a couple of connections and got a couple of numbers. A window of opportunity presented itself and the nigga came up to me and I was chilling with hot honeys, he was being courteous and wanted an introduction and so I obliged him. His girlfriend looking from afar catched feelings and gave him an ultimatum when he returned to her. It was between me and her. My nigga chose her and it’s no hard feelings. I understand, vagina always wins. I can’t compete with pussy. I would probably do the same thing. He took her home. We are fine, we still good friends and I ended up having a great night, if that’s too cryptic, I didn’t sleep alone.
He’s pussy whipped, the claws of her vagina reeled him in like a fisherman and now he’s dangling on a string gasping for air, castrated and flat lacking a pair. He’s pussy whipped, a woman pleaser, always on her side but never gets to please her. Yet the woman is a rental and every man gets to lease her. He’s pussy whipped, on his knees begging for the cookie. Buying the whole shop but he ain’t never sample the pussy. She be controlling him like Lucy, using all her mental capacity to keep him in the deep sea, like we look good in this picture boo, see. He’s pussy whipped, respect and dignity evaporated like steam. She’s his biggest achievement, he’s retired, he never gets the cream. It’s a nightmare, it’s hard not to scream. Gave up his life and forgot about his dreams. He’s pussy whipped, worse is that she don’t respect him. Pitched me her pussy to make him the fool. Tore that shit apart cause I am so cool. Licked the plate clean and got rid of the drool. He’s pussy whipped, emasculated and mute. Has his clothes picked out, he’s a baby his cute. Never astute, follows the skirt like he doesn’t have a choice. Docile and obedient cause he doesn’t have a voice. He’s pussy whipped, without the pussy, he’s a simp! My nigga, get money, get pussy be a Pimp!
Don’t be a romantic is what I gathered from Johann Wolfgang von Goete’s book “The sorrows of Young Werther”. The book tells the story of a passionate doomed love affair between a young poet called Werther and a beautiful clever young woman named Charlotte. Unfortunately for Werther, Charlotte is married, so the love affair is impossible from the very start but that doesn’t stop Werther, a dreamy and practical young man who loves the arts above all else. Werther is under pressure to have a sensible career and join the bourgeois life but he can only think about one thing: the impulses of his heart. Eventually young Werther can’t take it anymore and kills himself, but rather than condemn him as a lunatic and a hothead, Goete one of the founding fathers of romanticism directs all our sympathies towards Werther. We are supposed to be on his side admiring his passionate and entirely impractical attitude to love. I think that love is a biochemical that the conscious mind can’t detect. We often find it hard to account for it when it is in process; it consumes and controls leaving us in a remote state from our mind and body.
Romanticism seduces because it comes from the works of artists, poets and philosophers. I am drawn to Amy Winehouse in a way I cannot truly comprehend. I reckon because she died lonely, depressed and misunderstood – I find those elements seductive and soothing. I want to be there for Amy, I love Amy, I would give my life for Amy, I would do anything to make her happy. I am seduced by her tragic death, by the fact that she was vulnerable and alone – I am seduced in a primordial, primitive sense. I was intrigued by her and based on that evidence I can hypothesize that I am a romantic. “Hypothesize” because it is not a fact nor a concluded statement simply because I know with certainty that the world of romanticism was fabricated by mortals. Therefore you can choose to be excluded from this mass hysteria.
Romanticism is what I call “Kayfabe” a termed coined from Professional Wrestling which means the portrayal of staged events within the industry as “real” or “true”, specifically the portrayal of competition, rivalries and relationships between participants as being genuine and not of a staged or predetermined nature of any kind. You could argue that everything in the modern world is “Kayfabe” and you’d make a compelling argument but that’s a topic for another day. We all know “romanticism” is “kayfabe” – a concept fabricated perceived as good and effective but disastrous for couples in the modern era. Evidence of this can be found in the high divorce rate, the anxiety storm in the west and the demand for drugs from pharmacies to help elevate stress and depression. The drugs don’t help because no one is happy. Striving for happiness is like an unquenchable thirst: we may attain some brief satisfactions, some momentary release, but in the nature of things these can never be more than temporary, and then we are on the rack once more. So unhappiness, or at least dissatisfaction is our normal state of affairs. Romanticism promises eternal happiness something that is not possible because happiness is expedient. Romanticism is ruining relationships.
Romanticism is being deeply hopeful about marriage. It united love and sex. Previously people had imagined that they could have sex with characters they didn’t love and they could love someone without having extraordinary sex with them. It elevated sex to the supreme expression of love. Romanticism made infrequent sex and adultery into catastrophes, proposed that true love must mean an end to all loneliness. It promised that the right partner will understand us entirely possibly without needing even to speak to us. Romanticism believed that choosing a partner should be about letting oneself be guided by feelings rather than practical considerations – that you are loved because you have a “special” feeling. It has manifested a powerful disdain for practicalities and money. The myths have reached cult-like status. That we should meet a person of extraordinary inner and outer beauty and immediately feel a special attraction to them and they to us. That we should have highly satisfying sex, not only at the start but forever. We should never be attracted to anyone else. That we should understand one another intuitively. We should have no secrets and spend constant time together. That our lover should be our soulmate, bestfiend, Jesus, Allah – My Universe! Oh, this is an extreme case of kayfabe and is now almost embedded into our cells – our senses. It has become a world of destruction that we walk into willingly with everything – our hearts, souls, hopes and dreams and come out empty-handed with nothing but battlescars that never heal. Romanticism is not love. Romanticism is a world that is fabricated solely from psychological needs.
Urban poet Kanye West expresses that “Love is cursed by monogamy” in the hit song “No Church in the Wild”. I think this is partly because of romanticism for now love “restricts” and “confines”. It has become contractual and formalized. It is now bounded with a checklist of do’s and don’ts. It has become about expectations and ownership. Love is passive with no will to power or the courage to be imaginative. It is cursed, set in stone, in a spell, intoxicated, bad and ruined. Marriage and monogamy should be expressive, open-minded, mature and enable the beloved to grow and self-actualize. This is reflected in the movie Emmanuelle about a young woman who takes a trip to Bangkok to enhance her sexual experience. The young woman is happily married and her husband encourages to follow her desires citing that Emmanuelle is not his property, and not his beauty – that her beauty belongs to the world. This enables Emmanuelle to grow and trust in the relationship because of the mutual communication, respect and honesty. To love someone means to see him as God intended. There are no restrictions to Gods lenses – no confinements. All he wants is for you to flourish and fly as nature intended. All life is meaningful.
Pop star Adele expresses love in its truest forms in one of her songs on the hit album “21” lovesong: “Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am free again, whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am clean again”. Those are words with meaning, words that matter, words with a lot of love, words that are full of serenity, words that provide a second chance, another glance at life. They are pure, heartfelt and honest and what I liken love to be like – a second chance to truly be myself, to share the best of myself and be all that I can be. To be liberated – I can be that when I am with you. It’s practical and concise. It builds and regulates one’s conduct and character, it inspires – it is love.
Propelled by a woman’s love. She projected her spirit onto me. She looked at me and dreamt, dreamt of the impossible, dreamt of the mthyical, the mystical. She was intrigued, subjegated, locked in trance. She was hopeful. Her eyes gleamed with excitement. Through me she saw the avenues that where hidden to her by life, by the universe, by God. Her reality was renewed, refreshed and she was rejuvenated. It was like she was a child again, innocent and pure eagerly waiting for Christmas with all its cheer, new clothes and presents. She believed in me like a Christian blinded by faith, for she could see the potential. She was a visionary who understood that to attain success you have to give up what is, to sustain what could be. A long shot? Sure, but in life you have to gamble on yourself. Bet on yourself to beat the odds and get even with the universe. Believe it or not, everything in the world is set up for you to win. Life is all about you, life revolves around you. You are the center of the universe. She projected onto me, bid all her money on me, attached her spirit on me, me – the biggest underdog in the world. Her energy is not misplaced.
I have demon that possess me. It helps me do things that are above me. I have learned to harness the energy and power of this demon within me. When I engage in a creative activity, it takes a hold of me and forcefully pushes me aside. I let it man-handle and dominate me. I let it take control of my body. I let it roam freely in my mind. I find that the demon makes me better in the activities of life even though I am prisoner to it, a slave, a passenger, an accomplice. I don’t know where the energy of the demon comes from, it’s so violent, unsympathetic, unrestricted and chaotic. The demon has explored other domains of my life like a cancer. It now dictates my everyday life, leaving me with time to detach from my body. I often float over my body like a ghost, observing beforehand the routes that will accommodate my structure of being. My demon has allowed me to operate in two realms. It is because of this that I live life with absolute confidence, I know I am not alone. I found that invisible forces are always conspiring in my favor – the only requirement being that I listen to the demon, that I let it consume me and make all the decisions. I found that the universe only wants me to nurture the demon, to take care of it, to stand by it and be proud of it. The demon is that inner voice in all of us. You see I found out that somehow, unconsciously we already know what we want, we are not lost in some maze, we are not the labels the world assigns to us – we are greatness! I found that to get what we are rightly entitled to [greatness] we need to follow our inner voices, our demons.
This has been reflected in history. Legendary artist Leonardo Da Vinci, work only on his paintings when his demon took ahold of him. He was very passionate about his work, he would work on a painting for 7 years incorporating realistic details on his artworks. Commentators often referred to Da Vinci as a procastinator. Because of those comments, history is unfavorable to such commentators. They are simply shunned and relegated to a world of fools. Da Vinci’s artworks are timeless and ranked among the most expensive in the world because of the time he spent working on them, because of the spectacular detail he added, because of the times he didn’t work on the paintings because he couldn’t access his demon. In making the perfect art, all conditions have to be perfect every time – you have to be one with yourself, you need to listen to your inner voice. Urban Poet, Kanye West created the perfect craft in 2010 with the release of “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy”. He explained that the album took 5000 hours of manpower to create. The album is a burst of creative energy concocted by Kanye West’s demon. The title of the album is so descriptive and animated. The album is a piece of destiny and immortality. Another example of an artist who was consumed by his demon when he was working on his craft is Urban Poet Kendrick Lamar, who created without a doubt the greatest hip-hop album of all time with “To Pimp A Butterfly”. For the creative process of the album, he had to go to South Africa to learn more about apartheid and Nelson Mandela. The album explores human nature, greed, self-gratification and expediency, existentialism, suicide, self-appraisal and self-love, money, the plasticity of the human soul, self-exploration, fulfillment, peace and death. The album has been dubbed a classic and was recognized by the Academy who awarded it 5 Grammy awards. On the last song, “Mortal Man”, in a conversation with hip-hop legend 2Pac, Kendrick Lamar talks about his demon and how the spirits come from nowhere to possess him. He explains that he sometimes doesn’t know what type of energy his going to bring out into the world. 2Pac concurs and seems to understand, he responds that it’s the spirits of the “dead homies” speaking through him and that they are just the outlets. That is a sophisticated analogy considering Carl Jung’s work on the collective unconscious.
I want a femme fatale like Sharon Stone, Hi Ginger! Hi there, Cleopatra. Hi there Robot Lady from Ex-Machina, I can’t believe that boy fell for your tricks, what a moron! Hi there Albertine, thank you for the lessons Proust. I want a dangerous woman who will lead me to my eventual death. One who is a master manipulator who will attune to my moods like a satellite. A woman who will string my ego like Beethoven. Play me against my friends and family like a piano and reside in my subconscious mind like a repressed memory. I want a femme fatale who is narcissistic and gains from other people’s misfortunes. A girl who is promicuous and dirty like linen on the washing line. One who uses her sexuality to make me yield. I want a liar who will make me suffer. I want a flirt who will fill my gastank with jealously and thoughts of suicide. I want a femme fatale to seduce me and play to my repressed desires. I want her to study and reflect my frailties like a mirror. I want her to stalk and devour me like a predictor. I want her undivided attention. I want her craftsmanship. I want her talents, her expectise. I want her body and the way her clothes always accentuate her features; I am talking legs, thighs, ass and boobs. I want her sweet talk and low pitched voice. I want her suggestive eyes that imply nothing. I want her short skirts and red lip stick. I want her poisoned red apple covered in cyanide. I want her detached demeanor. I want deceit. Oh, please tell me another lie. I want a bruised ego and a tumorous existence. I want to be one of her victims. I want a femme fatale who will tease me and string me along like Pinocchio, one who will make me feel like a real boy. I want a femme fatale to play with my emotions like a toy. A woman who is cold and distant. I want a femme fatale to lure me into traps like a spider with its webs. Like a snake in the grass. A woman who will destroy my life and all the progress I have made. A woman who is materialistic and doesn’t care about me. I need a femme fatale to use me and dispose of me like garbage in a dumping site. I need a femme fatale to use me for sex and all her deep-rooted insecurities and issues. I want Satan in her red bottom heels and Louis Vuitton handbag. I want Satan with all her glory and greatness. I want her to torment me, haunt me, possess me, punish and decapitate my prospects. I want a femme fatale with her make-up and kayfabe. I want her drama and co-ordinated chaos. A woman who is an egotistical narcissistic, a woman whose ambition is to destroy me.
I am convinced that there is nothing better than a Xhosa woman. They rank at the pinnacle when it comes to the women of the world. Of course, this is only my experience, my map of reality. Xhosa women have that something extra, that something special. Apologies that I don’t have the vocabulary to describe them but how do you describe someone like Arjen Robben operating on the right flank? I know I am drifting towards soccer but please bear with me, I am making a point. Do you have the superlatives to describe the brilliance of Arjen Robben? Someone who dominated football with his trademark finish. You know it’s coming, you know his going to cut in from the right and curl the ball with his left foot. You have seen it a million times, you have analyzed it with attention and great detail, you know it’s coming and yet there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. How do you describe that phenomenon? What do you say? I think Xhosa women are like that. You can’t describe them. All you can say is “that’s something special”. I have been in love with Xhosa women all my life. They are my cheat code. They make me weak on my knees. Plus they have a Miss Universe, how do you beat that? It’s impossible! Zozi Tunzi is a standard, a real thing of beauty, she’s something special. I have at least 2 Xhosa women in my top 5. I remember I used to have a crush on Zolani from “Freshly Ground”, remember those guys, remember Zolani? Ah, she was something special! Congratulations to the whole group for making authentic beautiful music music, I am still a fan. Imagine Eastern Cape, a place where they are made. Isn’t that place heaven? I think the Xhosa tribe have a good energy. As a people they are progressive and they have vision. They are an intelligent people. I mean how do you beat Nelson Mandela and Trevor Noah? That’s huge! Xhosa people are our best. This comes from a subjective reality and analysis. This is bias commentary, this comes from my love for Xhosa women. Xhosa women are rooted in my past. My first kiss was with a Xhosa girl. I fell in love for the first time with a Xhosa girl. I imagine my future life with a Xhosa woman. I want to be Proust and recapture lost time. I want to be self-indulgent and reminisce about the past. Also, I am done reading “In search of lost time”. I did it with a year to spare. Thank you for the lessons Proust, you taught me so much about life. I can’t believe how I enjoyed reading your book but I digress. This is my conversation with the Universe. I also hope to attract a good quality Xhosa woman, so to the Universe do your thing man.
I love the Facebook tradeoff, sure it’s exploitative but it gives you a choice. Choices are good because we are all in charge of our lives. Like I stated in the past Facebook has a wonderful business model, I envy Zuckerberg and the team that started it all. I like the tradeoff like “give us all your data, we want to know what makes you tick, we want to know your location, we want to know your favorite food, your favorite movies, books hobbies, we want to know what makes you laugh, what outrages you, we want all your memories and pictures, we want to know your virtual communities, we want to know your dreams and hopes, we want to know EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU and in exchange for all your data, we will show you pictures of your crush. Fair trade don’t you think? What would I do without Facebook? These guys are life-savers! I recently saw a picture of my crush and I lost my mind! Damn! She’s still the hottest thing under the sun. My Xhosa Queen, the woman of my dreams. So it seems like I am still a customer Facebook, you can have all my data! “Fell in love through photographs, I don’t even know your name, wonder if you follow back, I hope to see you one day, I won’t show my nigga now, I’ll keep this one for myself, love today has gone digital and it’s messing with my health.” Oh Cole my nigger! But maybe that song is misleading, I didn’t fall in love with my Xhosa Queen through photographs. I was mesmerized by her beauty every day. And she used to send me pictures, pictures that made my mind moonwalk. I can’t put into words how her energy made me feel. She was truly something special. I was in love with her, she was awesome and had everything in the world that I wanted. She was perfect. What a compliment the concept of love is. When you are in love with someone, you are observant and focused on that person and in time you get to know everything about that particular person. You get to know the walk, how she stands, how she sits, her body posture, the back of her head, her voice and her laugh. All this becomes second nature to you. You are intrigued by her and want to know everything about her. You can’t wait to see her and when you don’t the day is automatically wasted. I felt a void in me when I didn’t see her. It was a physical void that could not be filled. My energy was down and my spirits could not be lifted. For the day, I would be like a phone on flight mode, utterly useless. Like the Goddess she was, she had the power to make my day. She constructed my ideal of reality. Her presence and energy nourished my soul. Seeing her motivated me, because if a woman can’t motivate you, what can? Maybe I should start from the beginning. This is the story of the first Xhosa girl in my top 5.
She was one of the girls I have ever fallen in love with. I had known her since our teenage years. I waited after High School to ask her out. I expressed my undying for her. To help me with my course, I had chocolate, I had learned how to design logos and I designed one in a form of her name, it was so dope and I wrote her poetry. I fitted all the content (the logo and poetry) on one A4 paper and I laminated the paper, in my mind to make it last forever. Damn! The whole lamination process was expensive! It cost my R20! But it was fine, I had a vision and I needed to do everything in my power to get this girl. She was too important to me. The chocolate cost me R15 and transportation costs would be around R40 roundtrip. This was good. I was motivated. We met up and we had a good time. We had a good conversation and I went on the offensive. She listened to my story and gave me an audience. We hugged and we parted ways. I remember feeling good about myself. The metamorphosis was complete, I transformed into a butterfly that day. Finally, I did it! I was relieved. I was proud, now I can die in peace. It was a very good day. However, I was too overzealous and persistent. We were not on the same wavelength. Poor girl, I was relentless, it was embarrassing. I was unfair and selfish. I was too expedient. I wanted her right now! But she handled everything like an expert, a pro, she is so good, she is too intelligent. I am talking about Emotional Intelligence and the ability to regulate other people’s emotion. To control the situation and steer it in the direction that was best for the both of us. Wow, I was impressed, she was awe-inspiring. What a woman! I understood that time was my best shot. I needed to be patient. I needed to respect her. I needed to be more sensible. I needed to be her friend. I needed to be a human being. And so I started playing the long game, it was my only chance, I couldn’t risk pushing her away, she is important, her spirit motivates me somehow, I can’t explain it, she’s just something special. I was willing to do anything, she was worth it. I believed I worked harder than anyone, I believed I was more patient than anyone, I believed with time I would have a chance. And I did, it took a couple of years but the game plan was a success. She started giving me her time and we would meet and have awesome, awesome conversations. She told me about her life, her family, her hopes and dreams and I was in heaven. To the Universe thank you for giving me time with her, I am appreciative and grateful. She was worth the time, the years, the effort, she was worth everything, My Xhosa Queen.
antakalipa 