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Thursday, 5 June 2014

#UNCENSORED: YOU ARE THE MUSIC YOU CHOOSE: Why Toni Braxton, Heather Headley, etc. are bad for you




By CaCaDoo DeviantArt



There is something incredibly powerful about music. To say music is spiritual is stating the obvious. I have come to believe, truly believe, that music is a magic humanity was taught by the great God, to enable us tap into her power whenever we felt the need to get close to her. But with music, as is with everything powerful, it can be used for good or for bad. 

Your music-scape, so to speak, defines the experiences you attract to yourself, both good and bad. The magic of music works this way: The selection of tone, rhythm, lyrics, beat of the piece create an atmosphere your brain (both conscious and subconscious areas) taps into. The atmosphere at first lasts for just in that moment. But constancy, repetition of that kind of music creates this very tangible atmosphere, a presence in your life. It becomes what your mind begins to draw from to formulate and form thoughts in your mind that are similar to the mood and thoughts of the music piece. When thoughts become dominant they manifest in your actions. Your choices and your choices of experience begin to be defined by the constant state of your mind, which is currently being dictated to by the music-sphere you created around yourself. You draw to yourself what is constantly in your mind. 

So imagine a young susceptible girl of 13 years old whose musicsphere was heartbreak love songs. I listened to all versions of Karyn White, Heather Headley, Toni Braxton, - and these were quite  depressing women most of the time. A lot of the time, the music-sphere they began to create in my subconscious drummed in the message that my love relationships would always be fraught with heartbreak, betrayal and disappointment. Long before I began my very first love relationship, I’d subconsciously created a script for myself, drawn from the invisible scripts of my music-sphere, and whoever I was yet to have love relationships already had the role they were going to play without even having the freedom to choose. In retrospect, I realised I attracted to me all the heartbreak scripts in the universe without ever knowing that I attracted them to myself.


So this was the script: I was the good, very loving girl who fell in love with an incredibly remarkable man. But he would not love me the same. His feelings would always be up for question. He would cheat and cheat and come running back to me each time. And I would always accept him back because I loved him with all the truth and completeness of unconditional love. But it would break me. I would be depressed. And would remain in this state of depression for the rest of my life under the umbrella of a synthetic hope that he would realize one day that ‘I was the woman he truly loved’. 

You see what I did there? All from the music sphere I had created for myself? I was the creator, writer and director, and I cheated myself out of any of the good roles. I made myself the doormat. I won’t lie, there was this guilty pleasure in being the wronged but honourable one. And guess what? That’s how much of my love life played out. Word for word. I blamed the guys, I was in a constant state of depression for much of my teenage years and it continued because, hey, that was what I told the universe I wanted without realizing it! I went through relationship after relationship with 98% of the guys treating me like the doormat. Many times, in retrospect, they probably didn’t even mean to! I gave them their roles before they even had the chance to decide for themselves. And I went through the motions of the 'honourable wronged one' faithfully. 

I did this till I sunk so deep in my depression, I stopped caring about the script anymore. And of course, the human spirit always finds a way to defend itself, recuperate so to speak. I did it in a more damaging way. I reversed the roles. And I put myself in the only power position I knew, the power position I had created according to my script: the one who did the ‘doormatting’, who had little regard, loved less, took what was wanted then vanished, and made the other feel used. So this was the role I took on for myself, playing yet another script, a script borne out of reaction, not reason. Not that anything before was reasonable. And of course, all I did being the ‘User’ was hurt others and myself.
 
[Note: all of this was probably all happening in my mind. I was probably introduced to Mr. Right over and over again but I didn’t have the capacity to see him and recognize him for what he truly was. 
And about the musicians that created this depressing music-sphere in the first place, I find that they were usually women who sang these songs and created this depressing atmosphere in their songs. Artistes like Toni Braxton, Heather Headley and songs like ‘One last cry’, ‘Unbreak my heart’, ‘How could an Angel break my heart’, ‘Ain’t it funny’, ‘Superwoman’ were a few of what dominated my music-sphere.  I only hope that the way it affected mine, they being the creators didn’t get a double dose. (Musicians draw from their own ‘atmospheres’ to create right?). A very interesting truth is that any heartbreak song I heard by a male artiste in those times had a completely reverse but fitting script: They accepted they did the cheating, they did the heartbreaking and 'doormatting', and were at the point where they realized they were wrong and truly loved the woman they had used but she had gotten fed up and left. So the crooning was a more like a moan for losing something really good they could have had. For example, Tank’s ‘Maybe I Deserve’ and She’s Gone’ by Brutha, ‘Put that Woman first’ by Jaheim.

Who teaches us to think and say these things and create these gory scripts for ourselves, already defined male and female roles even in unhappiness?]

Anyway, you might be wondering what happened to my musicsphere around the time of me playing the reverse script? Playing the unfeeling, uncaring rebel who’d ‘been through it all’, I didn’t listen to any of the music that had gotten me on this trip anyway. See, I had become a very different person from the guileless, starry-eyed teenager looking for True Love with a lot of heartbreak. I was a bruised, fallen angel of sorts, the resentful devil’s angel who had too many painful experiences to remain in that innocence. And in a reverse way, that helped in the sense that, the music that used to appeal to me didn’t anymore. 

Then slowly, ever so slowly, the musicsphere I had created for myself for years, began to fade. It began to slowly lose the power it had over my subconscious and subsequently my choices and experiences.

Then as if the blinkers had been knocked off my eyes, I began to see the ridiculousness of my life, and choices, for what it really was. The good change did not happen suddenly because I had created such a backlog of consequences but it's happening .

A script of self-empowerment instead of self-deprecation began to be formed in my subconscious. By what music would you ask? The music of life and nature. A sweet silence that hums a tune of power in your mind and you hear it only if you are willing to listen.  

Thought this was a more appropriate picture!



 This is the beginning of an #Uncensored  series I'm running, so please keep watching this space!

Wednesday, 15 May 2013

The Broken Mirror (To Teach a People to Hate themselves…)



Who are you?
I am Angel.
No, really, who are you?
I am George.
Stop playing around!
I am Hanson, Ferguson, Manson, Johnson, Ellison, I am…

Zombie. Lost in the ways of my people, my identity, my heritage
I am the soulless black-white being that haunts the screens of materialism in the face of my destruction
I am that shadow in the mirror for Self no longer exists to merit reflection
I am who I am that does not know who I am but cares not who I am for they say who I am is Shameful.

Damn I’d rather say Angel  ‘cos Adwoa Konadu Boateng is a mouthful

I am that being whose history has been exterminated, rewritten and coordinated to suit the inadequacies of my present self
CNN and BBC lay out the fragments of my present just right; a primitive tale of wars and poverty
No way I’m gonna be African now, not when these pieces are made to tell my whole story!
I am a Christian, A muslim, A Buddhist, …so long as it frees me from the jungle rituals of a Tarzanic people

I am the beautiful black girl that burns out her curls for blonde bangs
I am no longer the black washed away with this hot white bleach
I am the slave to the trinkets of my age
I am an individual that stands alone, not the US of my ancestral past
I am the successful experiment of a mind removed and replaced with a self-defeating fake
I am…
 Zombie with no soul but a self-destructive spirit

I am you and you are me
But how can me be you and you be me when you seeks only to overpower me and me seeks only to devour you?
How can Us live when exploitation is the sole element of our new programmed system?

A system which allows us to enjoy a westernized eduacation designed to drift us farther away from who we are
A system which designs me to fail from the onset because I conceive myself as the redemption of these poor people who happen to share the same skin colour as mine
A system which ensures my indoctrination, “school”,  from the malleable years of childhood to solidify into an adulthood of programmed robots
A system which assures me that it is okay to be enslaved in my mind for that is the only defeat to my inherent inferiority.

I am the product of a system that preaches to me in church to love my neighbor as myself but not when that neighbor goes to the mosque
I am the product of a system that reincarnates the greedy kings of the past who sold their own to the oppression of slave chains, only now it’s not slavery but colonialism, not colonialism but capitalism
Chale, forget the label, as long as someone is getting exploited and people are getting paid, we are right on track!
I am the product of a consumeristic system that teaches me to prize the surface, glorify the shallow, and fear the vault and enjoy the hollow
I am the product of a system that pursues profit to all the ends of the earth and the sky, and the water, then include the non-profit maker in the firing squad of global warming
I prize you for the richness of your ability to imitate carbon copies and preconditioned magazines  of what beauty’s image should look like rather than what you really look like as a human being
I am the product of a system that drives me to the despairing insanity and loneliness of self-hatred and suicide cos my hips are too big, and my tummy’s too flabby, my nose just ain’t right, like a ship lost its way and found its way to my face
I am the product of a system which thrives on hate under the guise of religious/ human duty, or simply, Shee-it, I don’t like the shape of his head.
I am you, you are me, but me cannot be you nor you me for me cannot give to you to give to me to give to them to give to us
That is barbaric, jungle-consumed, unnatural, definitely unproductive, primitive thinking.

I stare hard at my black shadow in the mirror
My heavy uncontrollable mass of curls, and my ugly flat nose
My tongue which is lost in speaking the language of my ancestors
My soul which has been wrenched from understanding Nature’s need for a unity
My mind which cannot decipher the truth who I was, for my past is hidden, who I am, for my present is told in fragments, much less where I am going
And I see, not Angel, not George, not Adwoa, nor Kweku
But a person who hates herself so deeply Self is eternally lost in the cracked shards of a broken mirror 

Wednesday, 16 January 2013

WHEN REALITY BANGS

'And I trusted you' by Bloody Mary99


“Close your eyes. Free your mind. I’m not about to whip out a ring and ask you to marry me. This is not a fairytale I’m going to pretend to create for you. It’s reality.”

Flashing lights dancing on love rainbows….shooting star streaking across the sky…no.  That was not what happened. 

I felt something hard strike my back. Felt my skin swelling in response. I bit my lip to keep from screaming.

“Keep them closed,” he said as my lids flinched to open.

I felt his fingers on my neck, fiddling with the collar of my short dress. A ripping sound and the cold air enveloping my nakedness told me he’d just ripped my dress off. I stood still. Tears running down my face. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. 

Soft feather-like kisses caressed my collarbone. His long fingers trailing a smooth path on my curves, teased my hairs to an upstanding position. I shivered. Then he took my small waist in his arms, knelt down between my legs and kissed my womb. So soft. Then hard as though his life depended on it. A hungry moan escaped my lips.

Then he bit me, in that small patch of tender skin, that cleft between thigh and punani. I shivered till the pain got unbearable and I clawed at his head and whimpered. 

“Ssshh…the pain has only began. I would break you till your tears become blood and your blood becomes tears. Till you hate me so much you become numb. Till you would no longer feel hate nor love.”

I didn’t understand. But I wanted him. So bad. And not just sexually. I wanted his body, his spirit, his mind. I wanted him to become Me for an Us to be born. So I stood there. Listening to his strange demands.

Then it began. Mind-blowing joy and pain interspersed together so wickedly I thought I was going to die. 

His lips did unfathomable things to my punani, teased my clit to release its hottest, wettest secrets, all the while his fingers slid in and out my wetness. I grabbed his locks hard, my nails digging deep into his scalp. God, it felt so good. His big hands slid to my buttocks and drew me closer to the relentless damage that was his mouth. I lifted my head up and cried out. He held me tighter, moving his teeth and tongue faster. 

I felt myself about to lose myself, slip over the edge. I whispered his name, felt my spirit about to give in, to let go into that heaven only lovers find.

Then it stopped. The pleasure. He stopped. 

He slapped my eyes shut with his big palms.

“Eyes still closed.”

I felt like crying. I was panting really hard. My chest filled with indescribable feelings. Like being stuck in an out-of-body experience, only your spirit was still halfway in the body while the other was half wrenched out, was hanging out limp and confused.

He swept me off my feet into his arms and lay me on the soft furry rug that covered the length and breadth of the room. He bent over me, rubbed his slightly open lips on mine, light feathery brushes, breathing his sweet breath into my parted lips like God did Adam. I felt new, sucking in his breath. Felt whole. This was what The Very First Kiss of Creation must have felt like. My lips yearned to taste deep, suck his in but he simply continued with the teasing brushes, nibbling my lower lip, brushing his tongue lightly on my upper lip.

Then he delved deep inside my mouth with his tongue and our tongues danced an old dance, a dance choreographed from the beginning of time. He put my arms around his neck and my legs automatically wrapped themselves around his naked lower half. He whispered in between breath pauses, “I love you.” My heart melted. I pulled him closer, warmth spreading across my thighs as I felt his hard membrane on my inner thigh.

He let go of me gently and for the briefest of seconds. I couldn’t help but moan long into the rug when I felt the feather he began to tickle my nipples with. Round and round he went, setting my senses on fire. The warm wetness of his mouth warmed the other nipple while the other was made painfully hard by the feather. I thought I would lose it till he slipped the feather down my belly to the very heart of me. 

“You love it?” 

I nodded, grabbing his arm hard. The tip of the feather teasing my very tip. If my clit could talk, it would scream all manner of obscenities. I couldn’t lie still. My body shook as though I was possessed. I had been possessed. By him.

Then he slid his long, hard member inside me. I groaned so long he kissed me deep to stifle it. My legs pulled him deep, my hands wrapping themselves about his smooth, hard back and holding him tight. Our bodies became one, making outlawed rhythms in unison. One. Oneness. Universal. He had my head in his hands, holding me close, so close. He whispered how beautiful I was, how much he loved me…

“You feel this?” he panted, “we are one.”

Then the fluttering beginnings of an out-of-body experience began again. I welcomed it with so much pleasure. This time, this one time, it was going to be real, powerful.  “I found it, I’ve finally found it…” kept ringing through my over-sensitized mind. I loved him. I loved every bit of him. He completed me. He was me. This fiery feeling of love in body and soul and spirit brought tears to my eyes.

“It’s alright baby,” he whispered when he tasted the salt of my tears. “Just hold me. Love me. I would complete you.”

My legs held tighter as he pumped slowly, his waist dancing rhythms into my innermost core. Then his rhythm quickened and my pulse quickened to match it.

“It’s time,” he said. 

I kissed him hard. Then it came. The Moment. That moment when body exploded to stars…angels reached out for my fingertips. I smiled, preparing to let myself go in the holy arms he had shepherded me to. I sighed.

Then it stopped. He stopped. Pulled out of me so fast it was almost painful. My eyes helplessly snapped open. My body did not, could not understand this wickedly abrupt change. It convulsed and curled up, torn between pleasure and pain. I shook uncontrollably in this pain-pleasure as though I was being exorcised, only in this case, the demon was entering me not leaving me. He watched me quietly, calmly, his face hauntingly expressionless. The pain became so unbearable I let out a huge sob, a cry that came from the very depths of me.

He watched me groveling at his feet. His face, so cold and removed, made me weep harder. The pain was unbearable. I did not understand. He dressed up silently, my eyes watching him painfully.
He moved with even steps toward the door. My heart was in my mouth, too frozen in shock and agony to call out to him, he who had become the very core of my being.

“I never want to see you again,” he whispered, and stepped out into the night.

Death for me was not a phenomenon that ended after that day. Hate’s passion ceased to be as invigorating so could no longer be a comfort. Love? She was murdered the day he killed me. I tore her heart out with my teeth. I’ve been a killer on the prowl since.

Friday, 21 December 2012

Unstructured Thoughts: The Love Moment



Never written a tale of love...where forever and the present intercourse together in eternity.

 I feel it's something I've got to feel for forever before I write about it? But the problem is I feel that only in moments. That love feeling of eternity and powerful endlessness in that warm, very warm mushy feeling that makes your chest feel like a calm blue sea; powerful, capable of anything and wonderful...the best of God's creations. Love. I feel it in moments.


So I'm hesitant to write about it because they say it's forever. But I feel it in moments but it's still awesome! I breathe very deep in its scented whiff. Even more so 'cos I know its going to end, in the next second. I hold tighter, kiss harder, talk deeper, stare harder and imprint the Moment in Forever.

 In Moments.


When it's about to happen, it doesn't warn you. It's not exactly slow nor sudden. It eases into The Love Moment. But you've got to recognize it. You would be too busy blinded by the lust or blinded by the popular explanation of how love happens. Or caught by the intoxicating feeling of the honeymoon phase of meeting a person for the first time. You don't have to look too hard. Just ease onto it, soak in whatever is around you, be grateful for what is happening at the moment. Because it passes.


When it ends, I used to reel from the suddenness; wonder about the speed of change that can happen in a person. It was too hard, too sudden to understand. So I got bitter, lashed out, generalized. But I came to understand. We are Humans. There really wasn't any 'unique' 'special' 'different' 'knight in shining armour' human.Might as well look for air in physical form. I came to understand the Moment power of love, and accept it. I wish fervently for it when its over, of course. Noone wants a good thing to end. But I place more importance on being able to catch The Love Moment than wishing it lasted forever.

And the great thing about the Love Moment is that it can happen with anyone.  And I believe it's ultimately because of God who resides in each and every one of us, God being Love and Love being God. So you can catch that moment with anyone, connect with anyone for that moment on that lofty plane which is heaven. Our very own heaven on earth for the briefest, sweetest of seconds, minutes, hours, days, a week or whenever it decides to end. 

You've just got recognize it when it comes. And accept its end.

Tuesday, 11 December 2012

The Jesus Fallacy






Jesus I stand opposite You
By You, near You, a hope to be You
Staring into your eyes which for some reason are still blue
Looking up to your haloed head which for some reason is still crowned by silky blonde hair
Jesus I stand opposite You
But my eyes are blind to You
All I see are the distortions of You

Jesus I stand opposite You, staring at your white hands outstretched to me
That’s how they painted them, always outstretched
I stare hard at those white fingers promising me Salvation
Extrication redemption liberation emancipation for all that I am and could be
Jesus I stand opposite You But I’m afraid of it
I’m afraid of You
And all that You promise I could do

For you see, Sweet Jesus, my mind is a maze of impossibilities
I don’t understand myself enough to trust myself
A piss painting, a collection of mud footprints all over my canvas
Sweet Jesus, this I understand
But you see, You I cannot understand
Jesus I stand opposite You
But I don’t understand You


Jesus Sweet Jesus your image scares me
You say You Love me and you’re my light
That warm refuge I can come to when all around me is coloured
With despair, repair my errs when all I dare lays me bare
And destitute, and scarred, a flailing body in a dead field
 I turn to You and You look…cold

No. Fiery hot. Whispering to me in a strange tongue
Your lips hiss threats of hell, an eternity of flames burning my hairs, my skin…
Leaving me to the mercies of an evil beast…as punishment…for my sins
A sentence of eternal damnation as punishment  
For the child You loved so much You bled for, was whipped for
Spat upon for, took nails in Your palms for, flesh torn apart for
Then died for…
Jesus, Sweet Jesus, I stand opposite You
But I don’t understand You
I don’t understand Your Love

Maybe I…maybe I got You all wrong
Maybe They painted You wrong
Maybe I was told the wrong tales growing up
Given the wrong interpretations, mixed with fabrications
To suit the intentions of people so selfish they would warp a child’s mind
Till that child becomes an adult whose thoughts aren’t really her thoughts ‘cos those thoughts are the thoughts of someone else who wants those thoughts to control her
Break her
Confuse her
Then kill her

Jesus Sweet Jesus, I stand opposite You
By You, near You, a hope to be You
But I don’t see You.