I love you because you make me suffer. What would I do without your bruises that color me black and blue like police sirens illuminating the troubled corners of my life that keep me grounded and lacking an escape. Your toxic fumes are like lilac perfume, intoxicating mesmerizing and disguised in a costume. Your love is like a fire that consumes, decomposing my troubled past like corpses that have never been exhumed. I love the penicillin apologies that make the pain go away, numb like anesthesia it gives me a blackout and I forget everything and return to your warm embrace. You are the route to my soul, the navigation that leads to all, a single glance in winter and I can never forget your face. Cold and distant your demeanor, loud and bashful, you defeat her. I love you because you make me suffer. Your love to my heart is like burning Sulphur, excruciating and burdensome but worthwhile and satisfying because it makes me feel. I can’t live without you, you are my Achilles heel.
I could get my way with liquor and poor judgment, sure she’s hot and my chances with her are slim but what if I disguised the date as an undertaking of two colleagues getting together after work for another project, a side hustle, an opportunity to generate something, make it worthwhile for her, concoct something that will pique her interest. What exactly? I am not sure, I am not exactly a ladies man and their interests are foreign to me. I hypothesize a free meal will interest her, it’s biological, we all get hungry. Maybe I play the long game, buy her lunch on occasion, make her comfortable around me and associate food with me. A little operant conditioning never hurt anybody and I wouldn’t have to sustain it, it’s only until I get my way. You know what they say, food is the way to a girls heart. Or is it vice versa? Well, who cares? If I move just right I can get her to dinner. I am a decent guy, then maybe we talking and exchanging interests. Maybe we get to our common interests and discuss our future. With liquor and bad judgment we laughing and touchy touchy, maybe it leads to a kiss, who knows? The end result could be coitus.
They say you don’t know what you have gone till it’s gone, it’s true she’s gone. I was too slow chasing dreams and immortality. And now our future is dead, buried under my voices of rue. Come back, back, back. We were almost something special and magical like the pyramids of Egypt. But you could still mummify us and bring us back to life like Isis. The queen of my heart. The story behind my art.
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.
In my analysis of love; Love is not gratifying desire, love is not sex. Love is a perfect seduction process conducted by the unconscious or sometimes conscious. It requires time, patience and plenty of mirroring. It is effort, real effort and requires you to be at the peril of the beloved sometimes simply because it builds and consumes energy generated by the other. Love is give and take, but mostly to give because it amplifies the soul of the other, elevating both of you to realms unimaginable. Beauty leads us along like a ladder towards the promise land- the soul. Love is a longing for perfection. Love is a demon, it consumes and demands more and more. Love is a longing for truth. Love is the longing for wisdom, knowledge and beauty- eternal beauty. Love is the longing of the perfection of the soul. Love is timeless- immortal- eternal; no lover believes in time. Love is to get a friend a book because a book is a combination of spirit and matter, information which is matter when consumed becomes Spirit to the mind. Love is to mutually share music or other things that constitute as art. Love is to share passions. Love is helping your beloved towards his or her journey of self-actualization. Love is being with someone who will never give up on you. Love is your bestfriend. Love is your family. Love along with art are the only things that make life worthwhile, because like we established life is tragic and full of heartaches and the only thing we have to look forward to is boredom, suffering and death. In my conclusion if you want “Love”, don’t be a fool. Delay gratification and expedience, go long on the exponential chart- in other words take your time, never rush anything.
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.
Words are my superpower, I can write about anything and I’ll get an applause. I can write about dicks, pussy, murder, hate, Hitler, Putin, racism, slavery, love, sex, human nature, philosophy, psychology, self-actualization, business, finance, War, football and the Halocaust. Words are my superpower, I am superman with this shit, I overpower Kyrptonite with this shit. Superhuman strength that I carry the world in my pocket with this shit. I have become too good, dope like Marijuana baking words so high they hover over people’s consciousness. I dominate the poetry game, kill the Rap game and lecture story all the same. I am comedic and witty but also serious and intellectual. I am animalistic and beastly winning on my own like it’s not consentual. Words are my superpower, I have achieved mastery with this shit. Sure I could get even better but I am pretty fucken great with this shit. I am a content God, the best of the best like La Finalissima, no one is on my level like the laws of gravity don’t apply to me. Words are my superpower, I am number one, I am the winner. Yea, I said it, I am the shit like bowel movements after dinner. Winning like a fix, on your lips like a kiss, manhandling the wordle game like it were insane. Keep in your lane, I don’t care about your name, you all ridiculous to me, you’re all lame. Words are my superpower, I am Messi with this shit. What do you want an International trophy? I’ll get you Copa America with this shit. Words are my superpower, I took my time for all of this shit, labored for all this shit, sacrificed like Jesus for all of this shit and even if you crossed me I’ll come out tops cause I am a God of this shit. Acknowledge me now, save face, pretend you knew it from the start cause I am about spoil the ending I am the greatest of all time.
My son got born earlier in the morning and I am ecstatic. He is a gift from my ancestors and the Universe. I treasure him. He is my gold in a world that’s been digitized; valuable, tangible, priceless. It’s like falling in love for the first time, I am in la, la, land, heaven, a place of pure bliss devoid of the construct of time. I’ve never felt love quite like this, it’s like I am floating on butterflies through the clouds of the light blue sky. He makes me believe in miracles. There is a God, – he is proof, a blessing. I am thankful and grateful for this opportunity. I will teach him everything I know with an open heart and a lot of love. I will guide him. Help strengthen him to make sure he is the great man destiny intended. I’ll teach him about business and wealth creation. I was lucky I was broke and built an empire out of nothing. Being broke is experiencing your own mortality, it is being vulnerable and helpless to effect change or influence outside stimuli, that’s why I worked so hard to be rich, to have the illusion of immortality, to be invincible. You’ll be invincible from the start, girls are going to be sending you pictures captioned “you could tear this up”- I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. I’ll teach him about the importance of having an inner scorecard and not one based on external factors. Don’t claim to be anyone you’re not. Love yourself unconditionally. Respect everyone and beware of placing too much value on material things because they end up owning you, depriving you of your peace and happiness. When you say you are going to do something, do it, no excuses, be a man of your word my son. I’ll teach him about girls and women. True, they are an enigma and I don’t know much about their motivations and thought patterns. They are truly a strange species, unpredictable, highly volitile, sometimes unstable, frightening and devastating like a natural disaster. They are difficult to assess and understand, maybe they really are from Venus and us from Mars, it would certainly explain why it’s inhospitable for man; too much chaos presided, women can’t co-exist with one another and I don’t mean to boast but man is returning to Mars. Mars is a great place filled giant screens that showcase football and other sports daily, the home of Elon Musk, Richard Branson and Jeff Bezos, a place of sport cars and super sleek, fast Teslas, pool tables, infinite alcohol and drugs, no tough decisions, no responsibilities and no circumstances. A place of Goodfellas like Scorsese and De Niro but no death, just collaboration, a brotherhood and positive energy.
But in planet Earth, women are useful as you will soon experience. For one they register and process large quantities of data faster and more efficiently. This is important in the matters of life and death, you need a strong counsel. The trick is just to love and accept them as they are, don’t try to understand them or assert your will on them, understand that disaster might strike at anytime and accept reality for what it is – I think that’s what God intended. Just love them because even with all their uncertainties, they are the most valuable species in the whole Universe, they make life worthwhile, they are the nurturers of life. I’ll give you all the information I’ve attained from my interactions with them. I suggest you seek consultation from other wise men who will also share their experiences and knowledge, this will give you a more wholistic picture. I can’t guarantee concise data regarding women my son, no man can, we are from Mars and they are from Venus.
Of course, there’s this issue of the Oedipus Complex. I suspect there will be some hostility between me and you. You want to possess your mother (my woman) and you are rightly entitled to her. I won’t oppose you son, for the first few months, she is all yours. I will refrain from all acts of jealousy. I know you will appreciate those tits more than anything in the world. Your father is a genius, a visionary and I chose those tits for you. I qualified and discarded a lot of applicants for you to have those perfect tits. That’s my early gift to you because I love you so much. Enjoy them, take your time, don’t rush to get old, drive slow and enjoy the scenery and sensations. Those are our tits, my son, at least for now.
I want to love you and treat you well. I want to build a home with you and start a family. I want to kiss all your troubles away and watch them dissipate like entropy. I want to be with you for a lifetime. I love you, you are my soul mate and in my heart I know I’ll never find better. You are my special gem, my Queen. You are my heart, the pulse of life that’s keeps me moving. You are my future, everything I yearn to be. You are my heaven, a place of bliss where everything makes sense. I love you. I know I am not perfect, I know I am heavily flawed but that’s why I need you, to make me better, to take care of me. I feel like Jerry Maguire, “you complete me”. You make me want to be a better person. You make me feel like I can fly. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I would go through hell to see you happy. I love you, let’s stay together.
When you have the one you love in your arms. Is there anything better? Like “look at what I’ve got.” Thank you God for this gift. I’ve been looking for her all my life. I love you so much. Please be with me a lifetime. Love is good when it’s just shared by two people. No one needs to know. No social media. No one needs to approve. No expectations from the outside world. Just us and our mutual understanding. Look what I’ve got in my arms.
antakalipa 