Smoking Section

We’re moving

If you’re reading this, I’m probably already gone…

To a new domain.

screenshot-by-nimbus

 

thatcrackedblack grew into hookahsandhoes and most of you read through all of my bullshit.  You watched me grow [I don’t know if I really did, I’d like to think so though] and many of you grew  with me.

You’ll never know how much I appreciate it, and you.

With that out of the way, a while ago someone approached me to turn this tiny little space of mine into a Big Bad Website. I  of course thought it was a sick joke, I can’t say I was really thinking about taking the leap, but someone close to me encouraged the union and so it was done.

In the past month or so we’ve worked hard to bring you hookahsxhoes.com.

I hope you come with me on this journey, I promise I’ll still be filthy and introspective and shit.

It’s been lovely so far.

Absolutely amazing.

And I hope it continues to be so.

Thank you for the love.

Thank you for your time.

Thank you.

In Hindsight

Sometimes I find myself wondering if I’m a good person. I used to wonder if I was a good woman because that’s all I thought was important, as a girl: Who I was to other people and what I meant to/did for them, but then I learned that there’s more to me than my gender and what people expect of me because of it.

I am a lot of things at the same time, but above all else, at the forefront of my experience on this Earth, I am a Black female writer.

That I am, all the time.

I don’t recall a time when I wasn’t.

I used to love reading. God, how I adored books! No one ever needed to force me to read something, by the time they got around to recommending it I was probably already done. I was so into reading that I would read the labels on things in the bathroom to calm down and release when I was constipated.

They soothed me. They taught me. They raised me.

As for being a writer… I can’t say whether or not I’ve always been a writer. I have always written, but with no urgency. It was a hobby, a habit, just a thing.

It wasn’t until my early teen years that I found myself gravitating towards it as a form of expression. I had a tiny journal I used to try make my best friend a la American High School movies. I even did the whole “Dear Diary” thing and everything.

I stopped that for a while after my mother found [Well, not really.. It wasn’t hidden or anything but you know] and read it. She wasn’t too impressed with the one part where I called her a bitch for asking me to do my homework so I thought it best to keep my thoughts to myself. In my defense I was a shitty teenager [those two words together are redundant, I’ve come to learn] doing what shitty teenagers do.

But whatever.

So I stopped actually writing and went about my life: Going to school, hanging out,flashing my bra and learning how to handle alcohol. Learning the habits of legends like drinking and pondering the meaning of life and stuff.

A year later I found myself “in love” with a boy and absolutely infatuated with a bunch of others. I thought “This is my first real romantic dilemma” and documented this time in a series of cryptic poems I find myself unable to decipher now.

They’re terrible by the way, as only teenage poems can be.

Anyway, I grew, and wrote, and fucked up, and repeated that process.

I sometimes sit and think about my relationship with words and the trials we’ve faced, both at my hand and due to other people.  The many times we’ve been apart and how I always somehow end up writing, reading and loving: Immersed in them.

When I was in Grade 6 I checked this beautiful book out from the library. Something about Witchcraft in Louis the something’s court [The Affair of the Poisons, I looked it up]. It wasn’t about the content of the book, although I’ve always had a fascination with the ghoulish, I just really liked the cover. The shade of purple on it tickled me to no end.

But see, that wasn’t a good enough reason to have such a book in my parents’ house, according to them.

“You’re bringing the Devil into our house!” I recall my father bellowing. My mother was equally unimpressed, but quiet. He went on for an hour or so, contemplating sending me to church “for deliverance”, then left me to my own devices, but not before telling me that I was to stop reading anything that wasn’t on the curriculum.

It was ridiculous, but I began hiding books, lying about them being recommended to me by teachers because I was so far ahead of everyone else [I sort of was though] and the whole thing was just really dumb.

That was then.

I grew and learned what I could leave lying around and what needed to be hidden, but I don’t think I’ve really forced down and accepted that that happened. That my parents at some point tried to get me to stop reading all books for an indefinite period of time.

There’s still resentment there, no matter how many times I try to rationalize their reaction to myself.

Then I became a teenager, as I said, and stopped myself from writing. It was uncool, it was time consuming for someone who just wanted to lay about and it was too fucking honest.

I didn’t want to bother with it.

Over the next four years or so of High School I’d randomly scribble when I felt overwhelmed, of course, but it was really inconsistent and usually just trash about boys.

Who though about hobbies beyond the school curriculum then? Not I, nor my friends, we were D cups, dammit. Who the fuck cared about all that other mess? Not we.

High School ended and we straightened our backs and prepared to enter Varsity.  IGCSE certificates in hand, Bad Bitch aspirations in mind, we soldiered on.

And ran straight into brick walls, individually. Everyone ended up in their own personal Hell.

For the first time in my life I was indecisive, feeling stupid, lost and trapped. This would be when my issues with depression began, in all honesty.

They say you “find yourself” as you grow, and maybe some people do but I think a lot of us do more losing than anything else and at some point find ourselves far from anything recognizable and lacking the energy plot a way back.

In a space of three years or so I was involved in and left an abusive relationship, dropped out of school twice and drank enough vodka to shame a few old Russian alcoholics. Everything was shitty. I didn’t know if my life had meaning, no less if I wanted to go back to school, and I was hanging onto… actually, fuck if I know.. Probably more drinking, to be honest.

And that’s when I started this blog.

I was just trying to figure some shit out. I needed to talk and couldn’t find the words, nor the people to listen, so I did what came naturally.

These posts have kept me alive, sometimes literally. I have broken down while writing and after, due to certain things I simply couldn’t address, certain truths revealed.

Words have comforted and nurtured me at my lowest.

I have told many truths here and said a lot of things I cannot express sometimes because of the environment[s] I find myself in.

This place, my job, what started out as a hobby has been my life, in more ways than one.

While going through the terrible poems I used to write a few years ago [I will probably say the same thing of this post, one day] I read one that stated “I don’t know who I am, what’s going on or why I’m even alive..” A part of me hurt, to know that I used to feel that way, but a bigger part of me wanted to text the old me and tell her we turned out just fine.

That we figured it out.

No it’s not a fucking glamorous job, it’s never easy when people want to dismiss what you do as a hobby, ask anyone in the arts, but man, I love two things in my life: This here, and my brother.

Everything else is just extra.

Writing gives me peace of mind. It hurts sometimes, other times I feel like I shouldn’t even bother, to be honest, but I do it anyway.

And few things feel as good as knowing it touched somebody’s life, because I know what it’s like to not be able to articulate what I need to get out. To feel like no one relates. To be stuck, in a vacuum.

I get more support from strangers on the net than I do from many people in my life. I will probably never meet many of my readers, but I appreciate a lot of you, on all platforms.

You help me do what I do when I feel like I can’t/shouldn’t.

You help me heal, sometimes.

I have a difficult time doing what I do when I think about what those who didn’t get/chose not to create the lives they wanted have to say about it, so I rarely do, but sometimes it gets on my mind and stays there for too long, an unwanted Sunday visitor.

This has been one of those weeks.

But if I’ve learned anything it’s that you love what you love, even when it hurts and when you’re ridiculed for it. [This only applies for things that can’t speak, as far as I’m concerned.]

 

I appreciated this.

I appreciate you.

And that’s all that matters.

 

Is society really the Black girls’ ally?

“A group of young African girls going missing will not be more than a hashtag to many people because they do not feel affected. To a girl in Joburg, this injustice means nothing to her because “they aren’t here” and she cannot fathom the occurrence of such a thing, therefore she will feel no specific way about it. To a man in Gaborone, who wants to throw in his 2 cents yet lacks empathy, his biggest concern is just how to crack the right joke that will incorporate the “hot topic” yet still have his signature humour to go with it. There’s someone in Zimbabwe who’ll retweet it to a follower in Ghana who’ll Favourite it then DM the tweet to a friend in Lagos and so it goes.”

Read More

The People’s Definition of Beauty

“The Dark “Natural” Black woman has long been a fetish, even, I’m sad to say, to our own race. She’s the one who “dares” to exist as she was born in a world that encourages her to conform to Eurocentric beauty standards, and therefore, from the get go, she is viewed as a hostile/stubborn/strong individual; someone to be forced into submission through self-hatred. She is reminded of her colour, her ethnicity, every time someone mentions it and makes it seem like a handicap.

I find it interesting to note though, that people who measure beauty by aforementioned Eurocentric standards, people who look to Pop Culture to inform them what’s hot or not, still refuse to embrace Lupita as an icon. I find myself wondering whether it’s to do with the fact that embracing her beauty would have to mean actually facing the fact that through the mainstream media we have been told and shown that we’re not considered desirable, something many deny, or whether the self-hatred runs so deep that women who look like her will not be deemed worthy to such people, no matter who says so.

Many dismiss her as “average”. “I can find a woman who looks like her just walking to the store,” they say, insinuating that the average woman to them isn’t in the least bit attractive or worthy of attention, no less admiration. To understand why Lupita is not a Goddess to many, why her triumphs are insignificant, we will need to understand that the bar has been contorted to fit only a specific mould and her acceptance will see her not only altering it, but possibly maiming it and proving it redundant and unrealistic. And during this process she will obviously face resistance, as we’re currently bearing witness to.”

 

My first piece for C Hub Magazine. Read more here.

African Time: Late To Recognizing Our Greatness

“Here’s the thing, nobody wants to face the fact that we focus on everything BUT what we need to focus on.  For a long time Africa has been seen through everybody else’s eyes but our own, such that now, we find ourselves at a point where those who tell our truth, and are of our Land, are either revered or shunned.   Case in point, Chimamanda Adichie.  As celebrated as she may be worldwide now due to the spotlight being shown on her after her feature on Beyonce, a lot of the people back home view her as a stubborn woman, a sell out, one who doesn’t know her place and basically, a problem.

We need to see ourselves as we are in order to start going where we should be.

Let’s be honest with ourselves.

Africa has a long history of feeling like the ugly step sister.  Whether due to our spirit of Ubuntu that saw us sharing ourselves with those who had unsavory intentions or the aftermath of aforementioned intentions being carried out being the root cause of it, we’ve come to believe we’re weak and insignificant. We seem to be worthless to only ourselves, however, with the entire Western and Eastern world clamoring to get SOMETHING out of us, you’d think by now, we’d realize our worth.

Africa is like the pretty girl with the abusive boyfriend she keeps around because she knows no better and he says she’s worthless.  She believes everything she’s told, and disregards what she herself sees; That she is worthy, capable and deserving.”

Something I wrote for AHHB.

Shinka: How Anime’s Helping Along Evolution

The anime world is one that provides solace, entertainment, and enjoyment to millions of people around the globe.  To many, it’s a weird subculture that reveals just how committed humans can be to fictional realms and characters. What they tend to overlook however, is that like literature, sitcoms, movies, etc., it provides yet another escape from reality, if only for half an hour (the average length of most anime episodes). You get to see just about anything in anime (and hentai: anime porn), and as a person that has seen about 400 anime series/movies (I know, my life is awesome), I much prefer it to the largely depressing, discriminatory, and all around unsavory reality that we live in.

 

Shinka 1

 

Now I could go on about how amazing anime is, and how everyone on Earth should watch it, but a particular notion about anime viewers was drawn to my attention: we are hardly ever sexist, homophobic, trans-phobic, or really discriminatory at all. I say this based upon the members of the anime community that I interact with, and while I have interacted with quite a lot, I can hardly speak for every anime watcher out there. What I will say is that if you do watch heavy amounts of anime, your chances of remaining averse to people that society loves to deem “abnormal” is going to be drastically reduced.

 

Why?

 

The first word that comes to mind is ‘androgyny’. The Japanese, and by extension, anime, is very androgynous in not just their dressing, but their character aesthetic design as well, and the behaviors of said characters.

 

 Shinka 2

This is Haku. He’s a guy. He’s hot. Admit it. 

 

We become attracted to the characters we admire on television, and anime is no different in that regard. I remember the first time I saw some of my friends drooling over anime girls, I was so confused. Like, the fuck? Next thing I know I find myself in love with Haruko Haruhara from Fooly Cooly. It just kind of hits you. But I digress.

 

It’s immensely difficult to maintain sexist views when you find yourself drawn to males/females that you initially thought were the opposite gender. You start subconsciously breaking down those barriers you had put up against them. If you find yourself attracted to an anime guy that you thought looked like a girl, you’re really just one step away from being attracted to males in real life that have the same attributes. Can you really be homophobic then?

Shinka

 

What’s even more fascinating is how these characters behave. Gender roles still exist in anime, but to a far lesser degree than in other forms of entertainment. Men cook, women are frequently breadwinners (it’s REALLY interesting to note that fatherless homes are a lot more frequent in anime than motherless ones, but that’s another discussion entirely), male friends are very openly comfortable with each other… it’s really ideal. So when you watch a lot of this happen, one has to wonder why on earth we so strictly adhere to those roles in reality, when they seem so easily negligible in anime.

 

Women are stronger than men.

 

Shinka 3

 

Scenario: You’re a sixteen year old boy, living a boring life, and nothing exciting ever happens in your town

 

PLOT TWIST: a magical girl bursts through your ceiling, fighting a creature from a different dimension which she obliterates with ease, and you fall in love at first sight with this super strong girl that’s going to change your life forever and make you her bitch.

 

I just described the introductions of probably hundreds of different anime.

 

To be fair, I’m not entirely sure that the roots of female power in anime are righteously rooted. It seems to be more of a fetishizing of the powerful girl, but it’s one that has worked out positively, in my opinion. If you’re an archaic misogynist you do not have a place in anime. Female characters are just as, if not more, popular than their male counterparts. We fucking love them. They wreck shit. They make men do dumb shit for them. They become student council presidents and take control of their entire school (I’m looking at you, Kill la Kill). There is just such an overwhelming amount of anime focusing on female empowerment, from the magical girl variants to the bad ass action ones that you’re just better off learning to love them as much as you should.

 

Cross Dressing/Futanari

 

There is a ton of anime content centralizing around cross dressing and transgender characters. Unfortunately, the latter is still purely restricted to hentai, which leads me to believe there is a large amount of aforementioned fetishizing involved, but I do hope it turns out useful in destroying the very negative stigmas usually associated with trans people. I’m waiting for an anime to actually feature an openly transgender main character, so I can advertise the hell out of it.

 

Cross dressing, however, has been very frequent in anime for many years now. As if the androgynous dressing wasn’t enough already, many anime feature plots where a man/woman is in a scenario where they are either forced to dress as the opposing gender, or they simply enjoy doing so. Now in these anime the initial reaction is always one of disgust, which mirrors society quite aptly. But the beautiful thing is, that these anime use their plot devices to make the cross dresser just as accepted as any other member of the anime.

 

 Shinka 4

Ranma 1/2, one of the most popular comedy/action anime ever released, features a protagonist that changes between a male and a female.

The majority of these anime take place in school settings, where, say, a boy/girl “accidentally” gets into an all-boys/girls school, and is ergo forced to dress as a boy/girl to not get caught (it wouldn’t be anime if they did the sensible thing and just transferred schools, now would it?) They almost always play out the same way: guy/girl starts cross dressing, and is exposed to the various stigmas members of that gender face, which changes their opinion of said gender, and they slowly start enjoying the cross dressing. The climax occurs when the class/school find out about the cross dresser, and they are usually subjected to initial bullying. In the resolution though, the classmates/school members eventually realize they were all changed by the cross dresser(s), and accept that they are just as normal as anyone else.

 

I think that the effect that anime has on breaking down these discriminatory notions is much needed. The messages conveyed of acceptable differential norms are ones that needs to be widespread in our world, in our cultures, and become rooted in our humanity. We cannot continue being so wary of change and difference, and continue to subject the people that are different to negative labels.

 

I guess what I’m trying to say is, go watch some anime and become a better person.

 

-Charles

 

**Charles says “Coming up with bios is difficult” so there’s that.

Find him on Twitter or read his work here.

Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About Orgasms* (But Were Afraid To Ask)

Thought Catalog

Son:  Mommy, what’s an orgasm?
Mother:  I don’t know, dear. Ask your father.

Most of us know more about math than we know about orgasms. This is likely due to the fact our climaxes are so uniquely personal. Your orgasm is not my orgasm. Yet, we both agree, there are few bodily pleasures that give you such a rush of cascading sensations as a real live orgasm. Chocolate and cheeseburgers come close (together they’re as powerful as an orgasm, but only as a tag team.)

Despite our general agreement that orgasms are wicked fun, most of us know so very little about them. How silly is that? Imagine having a money tree in your backyard and never watering it. Hell, I’d say it’s worse than that. Orgasms beat money since your health is your true wealth.

Electric flesh-arrows … traversing the body. A rainbow of color strikes the eyelids. A…

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We continue to say No:Why Akona Ndungane’s story still matters

The We Are The World days are long gone.  We’re currently smack in the middle of a culture that sees activism and story telling stripped from main art forms: music, literature, photography, painting etc.  I wouldn’t say stories aren’t still being told, of course they are, but not as honestly as they used to be.

And I guess I understand why.

As art becomes a business, image becomes [slightly more important than?] the craft itself.

For some. 

To those who continue to give us their truth, and teach, and inspire, and strengthen: Thank you.

 

 

I was going through my music collection when I found a gem.

The POWA  Mixtape. 

 

powa

 

 

 

Born from Akona Ndungane’s chilling account of her rape ordeal, POWA saw artists such as Tumi Molekane, Reason, Zaki Ibrahim, Zubz and Tuks, just to name a few, and Akona herself, collaborating to bring a project that will leave you emotionally wrecked, to say the least.

 

 

 

 

But it’s the truth.

It’s her truth.

And it’s the truth of many young women out there.

The reality of it is, we don’t talk about these things.

Society whispers to us to maybe, just maybe try and deal with the fact that this is our reality.  Few people have the lack of empathy and ingrained misogyny in them to say “Get the fuck over it. You’re walking targets and you will be preyed upon,”  but some do nonetheless and they really just verbally express what we’re shown.

It’s why sharing your rape story gets you stigma and shame, being shunned, instead of support.

It’s why people ask you what you did to deserve it before even considering that you aren’t the problem.

It’s why, when your partner rapes you, nobody calls it what it is, in their minds you signed over your rights to your body the moment you agreed to the relationship.

It’s why I’m writing this.

Because I can’t explain why I’m constantly crying at stories that other people tell me don’t affect me.

Because I’m constantly trying to explain to my male friends that at the very least, we live life constantly vigilant, if not terrified.

Because when I log on to Twitter it’s a shock to constantly see the number of women who share their stories of abuse.  It’s a bitter pill to swallow, that we’re all THIS connected… by trauma.  That we’ve formed a sisterhood because of all the things that’ve tried to break our spirits.

I’ve been an emotional wreck.

It’s not that it took me 5 years to realize that somebody violated me, it’s that there are countless other women who can either relate or never accept it, so never will.

It’s not that I know what I know, it’s that other women don’t.

It’s that I constantly have to find a new way to use everyday objects as a person.

I got excited when I found out that KEYS can be used for self defense.

 

Fucking. Keys.

 

That excited me.

And then it hit me how tragic that is.

 

 

Akona’s story, four years after it’s first telling, fourteen years after it happened, still needs to be told.

It needs to be repeated, felt, understood,for as long as is necessary.

Until our women aren’t being hunted anymore, until our men don’t think that’s a normal part of our lives, until the destruction of our society is halted.

But this is where we’re at now.

This is our reality, now.

 

Think about that.

Really think about it.

 

*Visit ISaidNo here

 

 

Nymphomaniac I: Part 1, The Lessons and Formative Years

Nympho

“As a young nymph, it was imperative for me to get rid of my virginity,”  These are the words of Joe, the protagonist in Lars Von Trier’s oddly controversial Nymphomaniac.   

Nymphomaniac: Vol I and II tell the story of Joe, a self proclaimed nympho/sex addict.  Far from being the seedy low budget smut, one would expect it to be based on the title, it is in fact a rather honest, eye opening depiction of Life through the eyes of an insatiable woman, and the experiences one goes through.

Nymphomaniac I:Joe’s story begins.

She’s found beaten half to death close  to an alley by an elderly man, Seligman.

Already?” I think. “Shit’s gone bad for her already? Jesus, is this one of those movies that depict the downfall of promiscuous women? Cos I’m not here for that.”

She refuses medical attention and instead  goes to his apartment to lay down and have a cup of tea with milk. [No, really.]

Here, her story unfolds.

 

She is not “just another girl with daddy issues”.  On the contrary, Joe has a rather close and warm relationship with her father, they bond as he tells her stories about trees. Her mother, however, is described as “cold” and often, a “cunt” [You’ll come to find, it’s not a dirty word in the movie] .   She “discovers” her vagina when she’s 2, and as she grows with a female companion known only as B, they discover the different ways in which the female genitalia can provide and feel pleasure.

nymphomaniac-image10

“Perhaps the only difference between me and other people is that I’ve always wanted more from the sunset. More spectacular colors when the sun hits the horizon. That’s perhaps my only sin,” she muses.  Giving the impression that there is no real shame to the life that she has lived.  She is not burdened by society and religion’s  view of the “Unholy” woman.

“Are you insisting that children are sinful?” asks Seligman.  To which she responds in a childlike voice “Not children, me.” So maybe things aren’t exactly what they seem, for her.  It is not shame that cripples her internally, not at all, but she is fully aware of her own misgivings.

She grows and is drawn to her vagina.

Curious.

Understand that  when you really start taking note of your vagina and it’s workings, appearance, feelings, it’s amazing.  As a child I personally was intrigued by it.  How simply complex it was.  Why it was a secret.  So Joe’s desire to know more, and experience more regarding it resonated with me.

She loses her virginity in a rather inelegant manner, as  most of us have, methinks, but will never admit.  A young Joe considers her target sophisticated because he as a Moped and quite bluntly asks him “If I asked you to take my virginity would that be a problem?”

nymphomaniac-stacy-martin-shia-labeouf

He doesn’t turn her down, and proceeds to penetrate both her vagina and anus [NO LUBE! Christ, the savagery].  Now, I wouldn’t go so far as agreeing with Asa Akira’s sentiments that it’s really practical to just lose them both at the same time since the first time for both is always rather uncomfortable. But It would make sense to lose them.. close together.  Not on the same day though, unless if you can take both your holes being sore.

He’s clumsy, swift and really, a terrible lover.

He is Shia LaBeouf, playing Jerome.

“It hurt like hell. I swore I’d never sleep with anyone again. But of course that only lasted a short while.” Oh honey, don’t we know it?

Years later, with her friend B, again, she really cums into her own regarding her sexuality, so to speak.  Young, dizzy and eager, they go out dressed provocatively on a quest.  To fuck as many men on a train as possible, winner gets a packet of sweets. No, really.

BJ

It’s not shocking, really. Not in the least. When you’re young and sexually active, stuck in that weird place where you think you’re an adult yet still have the urge to act young and stupid, things happen.

Everything up to this point had passed without so much as an eyebrow raise from me.  But when you watch the movie, you note that Joe looks rather young.  Skinny, lanky, simply childlike.  She could be a model if she were taller.  But it’s still evident that she’s a girl. This however, doesn’t hinder the men she manages to “seduce”.  Men twice her age still  fuck her, and this is not an issue for them, in the least.

The fact is a girl who thinks she can act like a woman will be treated as such by those who know better.

“I discovered my power as a woman and used it  to my advantage without any concern for anyone else.”  It’s funny that she would have guilt over this, yet understandable.  Society doesn’t condition us to do so and therefore doesn’t condone it. With that in mind, whether we know it or not, many of us internalize society’s perceptions and opinions and use them to gauge whether or not we are “good” people.

This is a recurring theme  throughout her telling of her story and the subsequent conversations with Seligman.

Joe

Is she a good person? 

What IS a good person? 

She’s adamant that she’s a horrible being, but he constantly has a counter argument that suggests that possibly, she is too harsh on herself.  They represent both sides of the conversation when it usually comes to issues dealing with promiscuity, and life really.

Are you bad? Or simply a person who’s reacted to circumstances as your Spirit saw fit?

B and Joe start a club: “The Little Flock”.   A group of sexually emancipated/promiscuous girls who’re seemingly, anti love.

The Little Flock

“It was rebellious,” she says. “We were committed to combating the love fixated society”.

But B lets the girls down when she falls in love. It’s a betrayal to the Flock. A betrayal to the inner vixen who vows never to experience true intimacy.

This is the first time that affection, love, attachment taints sex for her.

“You think you know everything about sex.

The secret ingredient to sex, is love.” says B.

“For me love was just lust, with jealousy added,” muses an older Joe.

And this is all before Varsity.

It’s amazing the lessons one learns when they jump headfirst into “maturity” and “adulthood”, blindly.  Having personally lost my virginity at 12, I completely related to Joe’s experiences.  By the time you get to Varsity, you’re weirdly both naive and relatively mature.  I loved how the story was told in a purely matter of fact manner.

She was not a “victim”.

She had no “daddy issues”.

She chose to do as she pleased with her body and faced the consequences and lessons as they played out.

There was no shame to being promiscuous, she simply was.

 

*This is the first in a series of posts to follow.

**Also, something I noted. B and Joe’s initials together is : BJ. Ha.

 

 

If we’re being honest: I want to be a half naked, hairy recluse

Like many of you, I feel cheated.

Deceived.

Robbed.

Bamboozled.

Misled.

 

When I was young I couldn’t wait to grow up.  When I was 8 I wanted to be 18 so I could finally change my name to Alicia [After Alicia Silverstone, I’d been watching Excess Baggage on repeat], bleach my skin and move to New York.  Where I was going to get the money wasn’t a problem, my father said we were rich [More disappointment would come in the future regarding this].  Becoming White wasn’t going to be an issue either, I was already light skinned. I could dye my hair blonde and get blue contact lenses.

In my young mind, it was all very plausible.

 

Image

 

But this is not a post about how The White Man influenced my self image, this is a post on the other lie I was fed: That you gain control of your Life when you get older.

I’m so disgusted, I’m hacked.

To think that I’ve waited all these years, only to have society continue to dictate to me what I should be and how I should act.

To think, I grew up for this.

1. I did not grow up to wear pants.

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I remind myself of this every time I look at the damn constrictors. I don’t like them.  Pants were created by The Man to keep us miserable. I also blame you society, for being unsafe, also hindering me from wearing an oversized t shirt to the tuckshop for a cigarette.

Can you imagine what a leisurely stroll that would be?

But no, I have to wear pants and ruin the whole thing.

2. I also did not grow up to shave. 

As I was engaging in this extreme sport [It really is, one wrong move and whoops! No clitoris] I wondered why.  Fine, at the end of the day, it really is my decision to, seeing as I am the only one who ever sees my Portal To Excellence anyway, but it got me thinking. Right now, we’re at a point in society where hair on a woman’s body is considered unfeminine.

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I consider the times when I let my pubes grow out my own internal rebellious act. A big “Fuck you!” to The Man.

In an ideal world though, I would let it grow out a bit longer, I won’t lie. And I know you might wanna pin this on me being lazy [TRUE!] But really, it’s a hassle.

I often wonder if the silky smooth [Yes, TV ads have brainwashed me] feeling I get is worth it.

 

3. I definitely did not grow up to have to interact with people.Image

I really did not.

When I was young I wanted to be famous. Not for the money, not really. But because I wanted two things:

1.To have people mourn me how I’ll mourn Oprah.

2. I wanted to be as far away from commoners as possible. And by commoners I mean most people who aren’t me.

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But NO!

You grow up and there’re family members you have to maintain relationships with, bosses [In my case, editors, but whatever] you have to constantly communicate with, new lovers, plenty of acquaintances, and just a shitload of human beings.

 

It is hell.

Sometimes I just turn off the network on my phone and  sit under a table because HUMANS, EVERYWHERE!

 

I feel so defeated.  Today, I have done things that go against who I want[ed] to be [circa 12 years old].

But I guess this makes me an adult, my ability to prosper [Kind of] in an environment that occasionally threatens to crush my [irrational] dreams.

 

*PS This post kind of has nothing to do with the fact that I recently watched The Hobbit 2.

I think.