I went down into the maze, through the corridors of attachment, detachment and devotions to the men in my orbit, and ended up head first in hell.

And then, I was in heaven.

You see, I became a mother.

Jump Cut to December 2018———

It was the Standard Hotel. Le Bain. My best gal pal turning 30, penthouse suite with a jacuzzi tub, drove up from Baltimore earlier, guud time. All the party favors, all the shine, all the vibes. —I’ll save the details of the actual birthday party night for a collective recount, because I risk a reduction of events.  (lit)

I was so lit that, I’m pretty sure I was asleep on the couch when Lou woke me up to put my shoes on so we could go upstairs and go dancing. I remember feeling lucidly present but with hazy peripheries. Blame the champagne, the coke, the weed, the hour, the day, the man, just don’t blame me.

( ‘Swooz’.) 

I remember just dancing so much that night. At some point, a man whispers in my ear “It’s too late for you to be this coordinated”. I remember thinking, “yo, this man corny, it’s definitely ‘too early“, it was like 3 am. I look over in his direction & noticed that he was corny. A small man, bald man. Thick in the arms, broad chest, little hoop earrings, wide pupils. Trying. Not my type I mused, and I moved on through the crowd in search of nothing but picking up everything.

At some point, I was spotted.

Like a wolf through the forest of uncertainty that is your darkly lit nightclub, he—a man that will prove to assist in changing all our fates— walks right up to me and starts dancing with me.

6 ft + god-body reimagined stardust, Harlems Nightingale, Afro-Caribbean steezy mega-watt smile—I never was so confused. Do I run? Or do I stay to be bitten?

I like the thrill of the chase, you know. The impeding danger.

A gently warmed cast iron girth mound, mould my mouth, delicate heat took me over. My next memory is making out with him in the stairwell, promises to connect and link, and my homegirl on my arm telling me it was time to go...

Elastic Time. Travel to 2017-Present Day

I don't say too much about this HIM. It’s a delicate ‘entanglement’ you see. But I will say, I think that he is one of the greatest artist of our time. I hesitate to talk about HIM for many reasons, and one that I will admit to is: a fear of reductionist musing that may lead to an incorrect assumption. This is my duty as a self-proclaimed writer; carefully constructing words so that I may paint pictures in your head. Similar to the way that he paints on any canvas. 

He is one of those intense types, Capricious-work-over-everything, but so beautiful, so brilliant, dreamy, steamy. I am prone to wild passions and I flitted from one to the next, until I ran head first into HIM, again. 

I was in my element that night, tho. I had been DJ’ing for the past year, successfully, and landed another event in Baltimore that placed us back in physical proximity. My set was coming to a close, I was thankful and ready for the next phase, which was cueing for OddMOJO. I had given up on looking at the crowd for cues, opting to feel the room instead. And just when I wanted to test if my sensors were accurate, I look up from the screen and look directly into his face. He was standing in what felt like the middle of the room, directly in front of me, looking at me with a intent to destroy. Or was it to love? 

Where do we draw the line in knowing that, when we ‘destroy’ each other this has the effect of showing us something about ourselves. About each other? A rebirth of perspective, if you will.

And if we’re all asking for ascension, then true clarity must come at the cost of us having some scope of discernment: To know when you’ve arrived or when you’re still traveling.