11/11/2010

After a few successes and achievements you’d think I’d be celebrating but you’d be surprised at how different it is in reality.

I don’t feel balanced, my heart, head, and emotions conflict with each other because they all want different things, they all want to say things in different ways, and they all have different thresholds of tolerance.

This trinity of thought, feeling, and expression needs to brought into alignment.

Somehow I need to strike a balance, an agreement between all three.

The solution is to reassess to progress.

Sorta like acclimatising, I really need to take time out from everything.

I really need to contemplate, meditate, to formulate a plan of action.

A lot has happened, so much has happened.

I find myself giving myself pep talks all the time, similar to stay busy, focus on your goals and aspirations.

The pursuit of my goals and aspirations is a very lonely process because you retire inwards to be pensive, look outwards for signs of inspiration before diving into yourself to find an avenue to funnel your creativity through.

I feel exile is quite necessary because I really need to think, I need to find my direction again, I don’t like feeling lost.

Maybe its because for eight months out of my life I didn’t feel like the loner I was so used to being.

I’ve always become accustomed to retreating and retiring inwards rather than living life outwards, apart of the crowd, fitting in.

For eight months someone spoke the same language.

The life of a creative thinker is lonely because as an artist I often view the world through art and see life as an illusion.

The idea of time is an illusion, what we see, feel, language, signs, symbols, are all illusions.

What if I were to say the sky is not blue on a clear summers day, it is scarlet.

Every one would think I’ve lost my mind.

I’d have an army of people trying to contest my view with all their science and preconceived ideas trying to tell me what is, what isn’t, what it should be, why it should be.

They’ll try to shut down my point of view with their pre established habitual ideas, tryna force me round to their way of thinking, their ways of interpretation, constant comparisons of polarities and levels of whatever.

All of which result in suppression of my creative activity, making me scared to do anything outside of what the masses deem to be acceptable.

The only thing arising out of suppression is rebellion because what you ultimately try to force inside a big chest deep in the depths of the subconscious, will slowly seep ideas.

Ideas which escape and plant the seeds of inspiration in the conscious mind and allow you to progress.

I think I’ve suppressed everything creatively for so long that my chest of secrets has burst open.

I care not for the views of others nor the rules of convention, I spare nothing in the path of being artistic.

There comes a time when you realise everything has been an illusion, a mirage of sorts.

Rather than see what you really see, you become caught up in the smoke and mirrors, wandering.

To wander is not a bad thing as its a learning curve which inspires you to question these conventional illusions through unconventional art.

Upon observation I’ve realised that many people develop a dependency on people and possessions.

I myself am far from innocent concerning this but I’ve realised that as you gradually allow yourself to unravel through artistic means, it forces you to become one with yourself as you question all these things.

Why do you have a dependency on that particular brand, that particular possession, that particular person?

The way they make you feel right?

The way you get butterflies and tingle when you see the new collection at your favourite store, put on those shoes, see and speak to that person right?

Its an addiction.

You’re in love.

No matter how you try to break it down its relative.

Love is the biggest illusion of them all, not a negative in any shape or form but its always so easy to lose yourself in all its fruits which then become its trappings.

The way you feel, what you tolerate at the low points because you feel so good when you’re at the high points, the endless spirals of what you want it to be and believe, making a mountain out of something that never existed.

You become addicted.

Addicted to the thrills.

Addicted to the spoils of war.

Addicted to the fruits of emotion.

Addicted to the highs.

Accepting the lows.

Smoke and Mirrors.

Illusions.

Hurt.

Hurting.

Pain.

Broken records skipping over the same lines.

Freeze.

Defrost.

Detachment.

Pushing.

Pulling.

Self Preservation.

Broken dreams and self esteem.

A tarnished heart and spirit.

As much of a success the heights of love were, you still end up regretting the hurt and pain inflicted upon yourself and the other.

The emotion consumes you whilst the pheonix of resentment rises and burns everything within its path.

All bridges are lost.

All ties severed.

All letters turnt to ash.

Your words no longer mean nothing.

The diary you spent writing all that time ago has nothing left to it.

The only bits that survive are the memories, but even so the memories of the good times have become over cast by the clouds of darkness, which led to the final curtain being drawn.

It all becomes an illusion, which sits in the memories you’d rather not remember until you end up burying and forgetting.

I guess life goes on.

I guess its time to leave the departure lounge and board the plane.

I guess its time to bid farewell to the island and document my time spent through a string of odes, which politely capture all moments.

I’m going into self imposed exile.

I need to readjust.

I’ve sent a few messages.

I hope you understand.

Saturday, 16th May 2020, 0202

Dark faces

invisible in most places

They’re blinded to our plight

Everyday of my life is a fight

No matter how much I want to

I can’t be blind
I’m often in spaces where there are too few dark faces

Being myself unapologetically

Is caricature-ised depending on what stereotypes had arrived before my time
I’m black and I do code switch

I speak vernacular and there’s nothing ghetto about it

There’s also nothing threatening about gesticulated emphasis
I love jerk chicken and my Jamaican heritage

But why do I feel I should tone down or hide it

To assimilate into these spaces?
Why is my passion mistaken for aggression?

Why do these spaces not understand my existence?

Are they intimidated hence the misinterpretation?
All is not normal in my world

My black sense is tingling

Someone said something fishy

Their bants were rather risky

Unaware of the lines crossed… possibly

No excuses

The black experience is littered with such things
We’re educated to shrug it off

Being invisible is expected

Being overlooked and muted in other spaces is something we’ve come to live with

There’s an underlying sense that we should be grateful for being able to access the spaces

That less than a lifetime ago we weren’t allowed in
Centuries of exploitation, subordination and captivity

No wonder there’s no one in the structure of society who represents and fights to protect me.
No one in politics, finance, legal or medically

Puts their lives on the line so I can have a voice in the dominant space of society.
Everyone who stood up against injustice in all of black history

Backdrop being the spaces of western society

Was either killed by the ruling regime

discredited, imprisoned

Or destabilised by people who look just like me

Who were funded by the ruling authority as they were a threat to the power structure of dominant regime.
It’s time for me to stand tall, take accountability and be vocal so we aren’t muted or invisible

In the spaces populated by the dominant factions of society.

Cogitation Pt.2 available as eBook and Audio

I’ve got a healthy obsession for change.

It’s all I can think about.

It’s building my rocket ship to takeoff.

It’s exercising patience to have enough fuel to complete the journey.

It’s mapping a route through asteroid belts and allowing the gravitational pull between the planet and the moon to propel the trip.

Speed isn’t the issue, it’s focus, determination and dedication to see it through to the end.

It’s balancing all the resources to cover the trip and keep us alive once we arrive and sow our seeds to reap the benefits of the first harvest.

It’s a punt into the unknown, it’s a bet on our future, it’s not so much about colonisation but discovery, it’s wondering what life is like outside.

This healthy obsession of mine is what happens when you’ve run out of tolerance for everything around you; the noises, the voices, the personalities, the conflicts, the forever retreating into the confines of your padded cell to shut yourself off from all the distortion, getting caught in a sinking sandpit of toxicity.

It’s my last ditch attempt at sanity and having peace of mind.

I want to leave, I have to leave, I’ve outgrown what life is here.

I’ve outgrown the conflicts, the battles, remaining impartial in such a toxic environment, living in a shack on the no mans land between three fronts.

I’ve endured much.

I may not say it but on the inside I’m deteriorating.

I’ve reached the point where I can no longer retreat inwards, I’ve completely shutdown to the point where I can no longer muster or string together a sentence.

I’m done.

I need to get out of this sunken place as I’m no longer comfortable here.

Home is no longer where my heart is, my heart and mind seek inner peace elsewhere; a quieter and peaceful place, far away from all I’ve ever known.

I guess my healthy obsession is about finding a new place to call home, which I can comfortably call my own.

A place where I can be myself, sow my seeds and reap the rewards of my hard work.

On an expedition of inner peace and self discovery you don’t tend to miss the old you, environment or what once was.

Nostalgia neither comforts or consoles but plays a part in your own demise as you feel comfortable to the point where you can box yourself in behind the illusion of high walls constructed by your hyperreal memories which select which bits they choose to play back to you and the bits that didn’t reach the edit are too hurtful to relive.

They weren’t really your mates, they didn’t have your best interests at heart, they didn’t even consider you when they acted, it was all done for self through counterfeit motives so don’t even feel bad for disappearing, just do you and do what’s best for you.

Pour your energy and resources into your relationship, future life and stay adulting.

All set to go?

Yes.

Destination locked, loaded and focused?

Yes.

Alright let’s do this, time to take off.

Apple Music | Spotify | Tidal

I tried to tell you about it from the jump. I gave you hints that were littered throughout the content, hidden behind the allegory and metaphors but as always you opted to remain on the surface rather than dig a little deeper.

I’m not trying to push you off the ledge into the depths of the Mariana Trench or into The Devils Tunnel in the nether regions of Siberia, I’m just trying to give you a heads up.

This thing that we find ourselves apart of is an illusion.

We aren’t anything but a number, a piece of data, a username, IP address, a portal locked on, soldered and logged into a matrix where we exchange one of the most precious gifts; our time and energy, for a pittance.

We’ve been taught to believe that we should be grateful for what we’re given but if we see our time as the most priceless and precious thing, we’d covet and protect it more than we did our money and possessions.

Time doesn’t stop, it goes as fast or as slow as you want and you have the freedom to invest your time wherever you like.

To confine yourself to one place or a repeated circumstance being stagnant should be a criminal offence.

Stay on the move.

If not the body, the soul and the consciousness.

Physically we may not always be able to go to where we want to go but deep inside the mind we can go and do whatever we wish through imagination.

We think therefore we are, we project therefore we dream, envision and accomplish whatever it is we wish.

Invest your time and energy wisely because the clock don’t stop.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

[The earth has moved 3,885km in the time you’ve read this blog.]

This isn’t some political campaign where candidates are canvassing door to door for votes, it’s just a big duel down at the ok corral where the spectators wonder who draws first.

I choose to abstain from the vote, it’s not my place to meddle in politics, neither is it within my interests to do so. As much as I try to move with diplomacy and remain impartial, I get the feeling that my decision to stay out of the parliamentary chamber makes me a target of many frustrations. This isn’t a choice between communism and capitalism, it’s my personal decision to stay as far away from it all as I possibly can.

The annoying thing is the conversation subject itself, I really don’t wish to engage in it. I’m not a UN Peacekeeper, a negotiator or mediator so stop speculating my position on matters that don’t really concern me, stop trying to get me involved, don’t push me to endorse your point of view publicly, it’s getting beyond the point of being annoying. One conversation subject, the constant projection of frustrations, has got me beyond the point of rolling my eyes so far back that I can see my brain.

I choose not to witness or negotiate treaties, I just want to be and stay happy rather than think about any of it, that’s why I don’t get involved.

Tidal | Spotify | Apple Music | Soundcloud

https://soundcloud.com/whereisko/politics-as-usual

A meme told me that it’s better to be a warrior in a garden than be a gardener in a war, and right about now I feel like I’ve been in this garden for so long that I’ve lost my skill for swashbuckling words.

No matter how hard I’ve tried these past few hours, I can’t seem to get the wrist to wield the blade with enough flexibility, I actually feel stiff. It seems that no matter how much times I lunge forward, I pull a muscle.

My blade is blunt, uninspired and rather sluggish. I have no immediate urgency to prep for battle, nowadays a blank page is pretty much just a page. Gone are the days where I’d roam the blank screen with empty lines and swashbuckle my way through my anxieties. The misadventures have taken much more of a politically aware and activist narrative, no longer are they steeped in self absorption where I cower behind the mask of allegory, dressed in black from head to toe, assassinating and capturing the head of my anxieties like a contracted ninja of my subconscious shogun.

My sword ain’t blunt fam, this skill is still sharp my brudda. Rather than tip toe through the shadows like a coward, I’m on the frontline, preening my flowers, nurturing my plants and removing weeds from my garden so spontaneous thoughts can sprout into nutritious vegetation and bear fruit.

So sometimes I have to remind myself that it’s better to be a warrior in a garden rather than a gardener on a battlefield because I’m happy, content and on a path to elevate, evolve and inspire. I can’t beat myself up because I’m transitioned from unfiltered reactive into considered active.

I realised that my strength resides not in outdoing anyone lyrically, being self absorbed and dressing my frustrations up in fancy metaphor and similes, I should use my powers for the greater good and become a gardener, cultivate food and flowers for thought.

I’ve just got to make sure that I train more frequently in order to balance my sword skills, and also to spend more time in the garden.

Peace.

Warrior or Gardener is featured on Cogitation

Tidal | Spotify | Apple Music

https://soundcloud.com/whereisko/warrior-or-gardener