WRITING 2

I have had many people slide into my DM to ask me what the process is like, what influences me to just write, to just put the words in my menial vocabulary in order and tell a story. Sometimes the stories are fiction, sometimes they are reality sometimes they are a mashup of everything; dreams, hallucinations imagination, goals, fantasies, experiences and everything in between. I enjoy talking to people about art, literature and the undying love for words.

When I just started writing for the blog I wrote a certain piece and sent it to one of my closest friends; this friend of mine is a bull dog. She is those friends who will tell you when you are acting a fool, when you are doing something detrimental to your reputation or your life. She doesn’t spare feelings or esteem and in that moment when she tells you the truth, it stings and you pretty much hate her and think of where to bury her body. But she is who she is and her opinions and thoughts are invaluable. So I sent her that piece, she read it and I waited for her reply.

“Post it. You are very brave. It takes courage to tell some stories. Post.” Those where her words.

So I posted. And I have just been posting since. My issue today is the retards that say things like “Still writing those sex stories eh?” with a glint in their eye and a wide grin. The kind of grin that they give perverts or something, these people are myopic and it irritates me. The blog features diverse angles on other things, not just sex, how these people see only the sex notes shows that they are the perverts and not me. And the people that whine about the extreme nature that the blog sometimes has, I don’t impose their thumbs to keep scrolling down neither do I focus their retinas to take in my words, this blog has a target audience which is likeminded people of no matter what age in our demography. If you are under age or you feel like the blog is a pollutant, please scroll away or better yet, use that same hand that helped you press enter to press back. . And my least favourite are the people who send me unwelcomed messages thinking we can “get together”. If I wanted a relationship I’d have opened a profile on a dating website instead of a blog. If I wanted sex I would have gotten married or something, there are other ways of getting these things. No nigga, talent is not sexually transmitted and just because my art is sexual at times does not mean I will be sexual with you anytime, or EVER, put your penis back in your trousers, stop jerking off and feel some shame, this is just art.

Art. Its definition will always be debatable. Its dictionary definition does it no justice. Who has the right to toss away anything and say it isn’t art? I could draw a big circle on a large red canvas and name it after myself. Trust, someone out there will look at my circle and feel moved, so moved that they call my circle art. Life is artist. The way people solve conflict, the way people smile and the things they smile at, the way a guitarist strums his chords, the way the wheel barrow pushers take rhythmic steps as they push a heavy load. Life is so artistic. It is up to you to pick from a world full of influence what to tap into and in tune with your self. Bear in mind I said YOUR SELF. Your very essence, your very being.

I have chosen words as my art. Not because I don’t appreciate music, drama, paintings, sculpture and pottery but because words found me. I don’t talk much but when I write it comes so natural to me. The world disappears and the words just flow out of me, stories creating and completing themselves.

So, somebody else said something like how do people in your life feel about your blog?

My fellow writers love it and encourage my crassness. My brothers laugh at me all the time, I have never pretended to be anybody else so they are not shocked by my words, this isn’t like the pope twerking this is just me being me. My friends read, laugh, read keep quiet, read and reflect. I have made friends through the blog, I don’t like to mention names when I blog, you know yourselves, you guys are awesome plus 100. And don’t worry, somebody loves this blogger. Somebody has been wise, patient, and chilled enough to accept my incessant storytelling. He is chilled enough to accept my need to write and tell my truths even when it is uncomfortable and to ask me the uncomfortable questions when necessary. He has an epic sense of humour and is amazing enough to just relax, know his place and let me be as outspoken, brave and fearless as I need to be, and that encourages me.

When I started this note I meant to rant about the people who don’t understand the blog, who don’t understand the artists. But I have changed my mind. Instead I will appreciate the people that do. Artists of all kinds are born with the need to tell their truths by creating them. This is something they live with, a burden they carry and something they die with. These truths they tell give laughter, joy, healing, company to the lonely and they just tap into humanity.  So now I am thanking God for those that love the artists. You are strong, brave and wonderful, you help artists live the stories that they tell. Thanks to the people who love the poets, photographers, painters, writers, actors, musicians, rappers, novelists, journalists and the amateur bloggers like me. Thank you for loving artists who create art in order to love themselves.

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