THE DAYS THE PRESIDENT RESIGNED

14 February 2018

11:00pm (roughly)

I had woken up with a renewed vigor on Valentine’s Day. A struggling but threatening-to-bloom-situationship can do that. I guess. More so, a kindling spiritual moment, requiring mutual reciprocal exploration, can set dead things alit. The ‘thing’ was something entirely different. If I am to be brazenly honest. The romantic in me hoped to share a Valentine’s made potentially historic if JZ resigned. Wow, things would really be looking up. Again. For a change. Spiritual+bromance+resignation= “Yeah, things gonna be jus’ fine!”

By 18:00pm all seemed lost. After nail-bitingly awful days life seemed set to play out it’s ‘Tom&Jerry’ saga to the max. JZ seemed set to stay.

Eventually I chose to go to ‘Shakers, Maboneng’. Avoiding the horror of an emotionally flaccid Valentine, 10 days away from a ‘BOOM’ closing down my hopes of being entirely responsible for myself & shutting down business, and the dread of having to attend another online/march/politically motivated moment on the same flipping subject, a ‘supposedly human JZ’, Shakers seemed a better option. It turned out gloriously. Comedy night. Sexually charged….it was V-day afterall. Filthy. Rude. And outright entertaining!

If you want a live stream post to catch a glimpse, just click on the link.

COMEDY:SHAKERS, MABONENG

Maboneng is this Art culture/entrepreneur district in Johannesburg. Super cool. If I had the money and the client base I would open a seriously kick-ass ‘Boho-chic multi-racial Hair/Lounge/Bar/Arty thing. Oh and how! As is ‘Arion’ form I kinda lit the dance floor with some others. I thoroughly enjoy watching the ‘Amajive’ or ‘Pantsula’ dance moves. The night the president resigned I was letting it all hang out. Safely. I had had enough. I blew out much stale steam. I don’t afford myself much risky fun because I have a pitch fork staring at me. Finance/Relapse/Failure pricks at my jugular. But in my ‘letting off/down/out steam’ I was brought blissfully unaware through the moment it happened. The resignation speech. In the Taxify I realized the ‘resignation’ news and my Valentine had been, in the end, one of my favorite. My dream of an Africa free from megalomaniac greed was a step closer. I struggled to sleep from sheer excitement and the dead fish next to me could care less. Slapping on some anti-itch cream, taking antihistamines and a proud SA air-punch I eventually nodded off.

15 February

MY ACTUAL VALENTINE

I flew off to do my favorite politically minded client at 7am. The rain came down in buckets and the morning flared with JZ ripoffs. I knew that the rain would be a deterrent to business. ‘Stand-by’, sounded great and I am grateful I did. That moment when the floor of vulnerability opens and the ‘situationship’ begins to take shape. That is the cherry that landed. The day was spent chatting for hours. Cooking together was effortless. ‘Being’ totally cool. It takes a lot of courage to engage a mixed-race intimate relationship. I seriously am a bit of a social ‘awkward’. If I am not behind my chair I don’t really know how to be around people well. I either blurb something chronic or sit mum looking a real invalid. Unless there is a dance floor. Great music too. Naturally.

The mix below, ‘DJ Stevie B’, on Mixcloud is a great ‘leisurely Sunday drive’ vibe.

DJ STEVIE B: DREAMING OF NEXT SUMMER

By the end of the 15th it truly seemed that a spring in my step and the SA step seemed lilting it’s way gleefully.

HOW FLEETING MOMENTS PASS.

The premier of ‘Black Panther’ set the electricity in the air with the same propensity as ‘that’ rugby World Cup. Needless to say my last minute dash for hopeful tickets were trashed. I even tried pulling a ‘fast one’ at a ‘Strictly Reserved’ viewing. I had to try. My love interest’s disappointment was hard to accept. Besides, I needed something interesting to write about for my Sunday: Sweet & Sexy piece. ‘Black Panther’ is it. Looking at the predominantly black VIP list, 14 million Rand Rolls Royce, high-end fashion & style to match, the penny dropped. I am a white person living in Africa. It should be the most normal thing to see more black skin than white. {If any of you stunning ladies at the ‘VIP CHECK IN’ read this, you guys were amazing.} I pulled the race card. Lol. The ‘Black Panther’ movie is such politically charged activism. My half-arsed stunt didn’t work. Thankfully! I was totally under-dressed. I liked seeing the narrative. The fashion interpretations of a ‘Black Panther’ premier. I got to see the movie on Saturday afternoon. I loved the undercurrent ‘Pro-Black’ messaging throughout the movie. It was sexy. I cannot say that it was the best delivered Superhero film though. I loved the message of emancipation. Loved the anti-colonialism. Loved the propaganda that the white man is the disease and the black man the savior. Historical supremacy would certainly point to us whiteys being a callous bunch.

SUNDAY: SWEET & SEXY: ‘BLACK PANTHER’

How gorgeous is this Afro-centric style!

The thing that brings my blog together is the events after the movie and the parallels it potentially echoes in the current South African landscape.

THE PARALLEL

In a turnaround turn of events it is Saturday night and I am alone. A family emergency has suddenly popped up for my ‘other’. There is no way to prove the case either way. Time will reveal the truth. It always does. The politically charged movie, SA and our new President, myself have this concept in common. ‘The Reverse Back-Handed Play’. You think the play is what is being fed to you. In fact the game is actually some where else. The play is to distract, to bewilder and set in motion the actual play.

WHAT AM I GETTING AT?

As my ‘situationship’ put a family affair that really should have been the actual people’s involvement own mess to fix, especially considering they are both adult men; I learnt a valuable lesson. No matter how kind I am in helping another their personal priorities will always over rule the need for reciprocal kindness. In President Ramaphosa’s speech where he quoted Bra Hugh’s words of not turning our backs on any human, my immediate thoughts were plagued by ‘what if’s’. If Ramaphosa wasn’t pushing a Pro-Black agenda he might have quoted the words of other heroes like Ghandi & Mother Theresa as well. My next thought was: “Does that mean that the biased BBBEE practice will be brought to an end along with land reappropriation being an inevitable way to go. God; if I had land to give I would have given it in a show of leadership and respect for a ‘as-of-yet-undone-historical-injustice’. In the ‘Black Panther’ movie the ‘shots taken’ at a perceived ‘white colonizer disease’ openly suggests the continuation of a society that judges by generalizations.

THE POTENTIAL PLAY:

Integrated society with the revenge agenda of making the Imperialist pay for its vast crimes.

As essential as it is for Imperial and Supremacist society to acknowledge its many failed promises, my fear is that ‘Pro-Black’ is simply an exchange of power. As Oprah stated: “A new day is on the horizon,” surely the litmus test is whether that dawning horizon is emancipated in forgiveness or a repetition of historical hate crimes. Hate crimes are usually filled with enraged and unresolved bitterness brought on by equally enraged and bitter people with power to inflict control on others. The foundation remains the same: HATE DESTROYS.

In this Cliff Central podcast/blog, a pearl of wisdom to putting hatred behind us is called upon.

GARETH CLIFF: NEW BEGINNINGS

Time will tell whether my mixed-race situationship, Ramaphosa’s Presidency and ANC, and the tradition steeped culture of Africa will prove disingenuous or otherwise. My hope lies in the closing scenes of ‘Black Panther’. The cousin of T’Challa tries to overthrow Wakanda. Goodness prevails in the heart of the young king and defeats the unresolved historical hatred in his cousin. The glorious sunset of Wakanda is revealed to Erik Killmonger (cousin) and the offer of life declined. The kindness of offering life is quickly slanted as the movie closes with an empowerment program slanted at a disadvantaged black community. Rightly so. But not all other race groups subscribe to privilege, so I found the absence of another person of colour in the end scenes a little slanted.

‘Stimela’, Hugh Masakela is the perfect heart-wrenching reality check for the history of greed driven egomaniacal supremacy. Please watch the You-Tube video below before reading on.

STIMELA: HUGH MASAKELA

HOWEVER…

As I walked out of ‘Black Panther’ I realised that as free as I am in my love of people equally outside of race, gender, religion, (except Satanism), class and education is as imprisoned as I by a societal nature that leaves me in the unique position of being a rebel. Most people will gravitate back to their own tribes before placing individual kindness in its rightful place. Afterall ‘Blood is thicker than water’. Then I hope that the fact that all our blood is red will be the deciding factor. It is for me!

KINDNESS BEFORE SOCIETY.

As I count the days that will decide whether I too need to resign myself to the fact that I will not be able to explore my freedoms as a self-employed entity and face potential homelessness, I hope that this new season in my situationship withstands the difficulty of getting to know eachother. So too do I hope that SA can and will prosper beyond the borders of historical wounds that perpetuate hate. Even more so if Ramaphosa really means equal and fair opportunity for all South Africans or if it is just another agenda hiding speech where colour is again a deciding factor. Have we not had enough of the skin colour thing. Aaaaaargh I have.

CHOOSE ❤️

Stay your amazing self!

#❤️🇿🇦🌈

✌🏽

•AJB•

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LOG-EYED

Sunday, 14:22

Since taking a frustrated leave of absence from attending or serving in church late last year, things have been so-so. I have said it before, one more time for good measure. Spirituality and I are an inseparable paradigm. I run from it sometimes but invariably the pull to realign myself with something profound draws me back in untold mystical ways.

Recently the nag to flip through my faith book, the need to pray, and attend church found me 5 rows from the front. Center. Stage left. It was kind of surreal. Words that plagued my thoughts all week kept popping up in the songs, sermon and news broadcasts. The most overwhelming of the lot, the statement, “No-one should be discarded or written off as helpless.” This valid but seemingly ordinary statement comes on the back of a random quiz I took on Facebook the day before. The results, correctly, showed that my success blocking negative talk centered around my sense of unworthiness. I was stunned that the quiz nailed my default setting exactly. Even more alarming is the same above statement following a discussion in the salon about my faulty faith practice. I have, once again, gotten stuck on trying to be better for my Higher Power instead of allowing myself to simply receive grace, love and blessings because I am loved. None of us can be perfect. It is in our imperfections that we can find the ability to love other imperfect people like ourselves. Those that have read my blog, ‘Mighty You’, will understand the difficulty for me to receive help, compliments or goodness. Like many of us, I am living wounded. Wounds that often cloud my abilities to create a life that my talents certainly warrant. Never mind the mere fact that I am alive. Simply alive.

It is with this single authority that I want to write this blog. Or rather feel instructed to write this blog. That authority is this, ‘At 43 lots of stuff has happened. Some my fault. Some not. But from the perspective of living hurt and fighting to overcome I can say I am as authoritative as the next. Even in my failings.’ Afterall I am, like you, still here.

The heated race factions, avoidance political landscape, corruption, seemingly endless lists of poor leaders and deplorable self-greed has South Africa and our globe in a kind of deadlock situation. Doomed if we do and doomed if we don’t!

What I mean is this:

With every side arguing it’s rights as more important than others, we all seem to have forgotten for a moment, as I have lately, that the log in our eyes must be addressed before the splinters in others can be removed.

SO HOW?

Rather than pretending that things are not out of kilter and growing that yucky guilty feeling inside, perhaps the answer is to accept that each of us is to blame, directly or indirectly. Let’s all be honest our nations are tense. We need to know eachother better. Don’t you think? In the Gentleman’s Gazette article, ’53 Questions to Get to Know Someone’, by Sven Raphael Schneider interesting and useful insights are shared if we follow through with our claims of being an inclusive society, legitimately.

Click the link below.

HOW TO GET TO KNOW SOMEONE

SO WHAT IS INCLUSIVE?

By sheer definition the implication of inclusivity suggests that compromise may be a necessary and a valuable tool to reach a more inclusive, equal opportunities and more civilized and just society. This is not to say that we put up with second-best but that we first learn to love and let HIGHER POWER be HIGHER POWER.

SO THE BIG QUESTION IS, ‘WHY DON’T WE WANT TO INTEGRATE, COMPROMISE AND RE-EVALUATE OUR THINKING, COMFORT ZONE AND PREJUDICES?

I found this above quote and I think it speaks volumes to myself and the world we all are living in. This present moment. Crazy. Hectic. Frustrated. Right?

Laying in bed this arvie, I wondered to myself, how could I a simple citizen on this planet try make a difference in the my life and the lives of many others. The 12 Steps of Recovery seems like a great place to start. I have seen incredible changes in my own life through the 12 Step Program. Although I am far away from being, 💯%, my authentic self, as most of us are, I certainly am not who I was 6 years ago. I love the fact that I have had the freedom to experience the consequences of my choices. No human, government or religion has been able to stop me from facing the results of my choices. I am learning on the job, like all of us.

A QUICK STORY:

I was asked to write an essay in rehab describing whom I thought God was. Instead of writing the answers I knew were expected of me, God is Just, God is I Am, etc, I wrote it from the point of view that many would write. God is dictatorial, contradictory and cruel, etc. Yes, you guessed it. I got rapped on the knuckles, and instructed to look through my faith book to all the places my HIGHER POWER described themself. I didn’t get so far. Actually my whole perception about myself changed from the 5th word in the Bible. Created. Weird right? Let me explain. Up until that moment, 37, I had been living under the guilt of being gay and creative. Years of bullying, violence and abuse had me feeling ashamed about being creative. The crazy part is that everything I am is creative. So I was living a kind of psychological hell because the very thing I am is the very thing I hated. It somehow meant that I was sub-human because I am a creative guy. This translated into my sexual-preference. For years I was a flapper, sister, queen whatever you want to call it. I tried to hide the hatred of my creative being by overdoing my identity as a gay guy. Anyhow. 37, rewriting an essay, stumbling onto the first 5 words in the Bible, things began to change. I am still gay but my identity has less do with my orientation but rather myself as myself. Creative.

“(IN THE BEGINNING) [GOD] {CREATED}….

What I realized, at 37, is that only 2 things exist outside of creativity…..Time (in the beginning) & …… God. I realized that everything else after that is creative. The way we make money, make money. The explanations of scientific reason. The way we breathe, think, move…and love. In that moment I started to learn to love and accept that not only did I deserve to be alive, because I am alive, but that it is ok to be creative and love it.

6 YEARS ON:

My relapses are getting further and further apart and less damaging, I am calling my own shots, learning to be responsible for myself, even though I am on the verge of losing everything. I wouldn’t give this last year back for all the money in the world. I have learnt to endure for longer and fight harder for myself. This is pretty miraculous for a guy who until only 6 years ago thought that his best offering to the world was in a coffin. 6 feet under. I have a blog, as an untrained writer, that is read somewhere across the globe daily and I am still here fighting to grow as a human, to love better and do my bit to leave our world better than much of the love I received. Do I fail? Uhm, are you reading this?

All I do know are these 2 things:

Spiritual matters are real!

The 12 Step Recovery Program is worth our world taking a shot with because it is both universally applicable and personal in it’s philosophy. It may very well be the only tool that transcends our thinking, brings us back to human and creates a methodology to heal ours ourselves and others around us!

STEP 1 STARTS WITH ADMIT.

So I will go first and trust that many more will follow suit. I have already started by stating my character defect on Facebook.

See for yourself.

MY POST

I AM A RECOVERING HUMAN & SELF HATER.

For years I have hidden behind inferiority, believing that others were better than me. As of this moment I am asking my HIGHER POWER to help me to change that in me and to do it miraculously. I need a miracle because I am tired of living in the world that reaffirms my negative belief of humans and myself. We are not only capable of hate. In fact most of what we have these days started with an idea to make things better. Yes, like me, things get a bit twisted but we can change it.

ALL I ASK THAT YOU HELP ME MAKE THIS BLOG GO VIRAL INTERNATIONALLY BY SHARING IT. HOPEFULLY WE CAN PRAGMATICALLY BEGIN TO HEAL THE HATRED WE FACE EVERYDAY. IT STARTS WITH EACH OF US ADMITTING!

I guess if it is true that ‘I need to be the change in the world I want to see, it begins with me.’ So I guess that from now on like the particular sentence in a random sermon, 5 rows back, center, stage left: “No one should be discarded or written off as helpless,” rings true for me and I know rings true for most us.

We all know what rejection feels like. IT DAMN WELL HURTS LIKE A ……..! I am believing that a miracle will turn my little rent-a-chair business, broken reputation, self-loathing and human despising will change.

Click the link below to be reminded of another call to fight for life.

WE ARE THE WORLD

CHOOSE ❤️

Stay your amazing self!

✌🏽

•AJB•

Rivonia Revelation

A low slung but consuming headache over 3 weeks has intensified concluding with me sitting in the Edenvale Hospital. Crazed thoughts drift. “Allergies.” “Tumor.” “Cancer.” Every dull light and slight noise screeches in the echo of my skull. The pink dots all over my lily-white ass skin don’t exactly cut a seductive picture either. Oh god the itch. The banging in my head. The ‘everything’ is just too much. Even for myself the dramatic is beyond ‘melo’ But here I sit hoping. Drawn dark curtains, comforter and warm sugary oats a far cry more welcoming that the sterile smells of over polished linoleum floors. Floors that bounce the fluorescents straight into the sharp crevices of the pounding and itching. Aaaaaaargh!

This week has seen the incessant arguing still unresolved. Arguments that I still cannot fathom whether they are over highlighted by my inability to see things clearly through the consuming physical distractions. The question still hanging as to whether all my social-media should be deleted. My empath is distraught by the levels of pure horror called humanity. Like seriously what the heck is wrong with us. Hatred, decadence, cruelty, egoism, unwavering self-righteousness, unwilling deafness, and petty self-glory culminating in a broth of absolute Stephen King mastery. Yet kindness prevails through it all as Johannesburg citizens and private enterprise cart gallons of water to desperate Cape Town.

Like a deliberate mic drop this blog swiftly hits the the floor exploding full throttle into the title, ‘Rivonia Revelation’.

Sitting on my patio the other day I pondered the statement that the way to hell is a highway yet the path to heaven a narrow foot path. Taking religiosity out of the equation and loosely referring to hell as destruction and heaven as enlightenment; why such stark varying comparisons. Narrowly escaping the illusion of muchness, I guess, contentment lies within a tiny sphere of just enough to pass through life equipped to live with minimal pulls towards false grandeur. Afterall they say, ‘All that glitters isn’t gold.’ I guess from a distance a flickering furnace might warm the cockles of one but close enough be fried.

I remember the biggest frustration about rehab was the privilege of choice and freedom taken from me. Rightly so as I had become a hazard to myself. Excruciatingly frustrating nonetheless. My ego wanted recovery on my terms. Oh gosh I threw every plausible, justifiable and humanitarian excuse I could think of at my helpers. The truth was that my pampered and addicted ego wanted comfort. My ego, as it still does, does not suffer well. I wanted the ‘world’ to know that I was fabulous but huuuuuney I was a toxic. I needed to be popped into the yellow box inscribed with red, ‘Hazardous’. I didn’t want anyone to know that I hated myself. I didn’t want anyone to know that I felt betrayed by life and myself. I didn’t want anyone to know that death seemed a better option than the ‘Picasso Face’ staring back at me. The very mirror I was polishing in morning duties I didn’t want to do. I wanted my pile of ego blinded anger rather than the labour of discovering the truth about myself that kept me a prisoner to my lies. I thought my nice car, nice home, nice job rubbing shoulders with the whose who was better than facing my truth. A truth which everyday I pay the price to rectify. A truth so beautiful that I see past every propped up designer frilled sequined what-what. I can’t help myself. Every bling I wonder who are we trying to impress and why?If the story behind it one stained by integrity or lack thereof. I don’t know why I feel this way but I am addicted to real. I crave authentic over plush. Even in relationships I value truth as hard as it is over lies. Somehow a lie eats at me and makes me quite insane. A truth I am fighting tooth and nail for. Honesty. Not the kind of debated honesty that is rife with egoistic battle. A truth that when you experience it, as hectic as it is, it somehow releases all the shadows that cling to us like cotton balls in velcro.

Over the years as I have and continuously learn to let go of ego I find a greater joy exists within me. The freedom to choose rather than to follow blindly. Blinded by the fury of glittered masses with hidden secrets and insatiable appetites for indulgence. It is as if I get a taste of something higher than me when I share my little with an other in need. Seeing the need of the hundreds around me, at the hospital, patiently waiting their turn to have medical treatment I am brought into an uncomfortable reality. A reality where human stripped away from behind social media facades and ‘fake it till you make it’ pretense is where the mic hits the tar exploding into full colour realism. Where who we are is the same as they are. Each a story. Each a life striving to survive beyond an ailment. Each a hope of a brighter tomorrow. The arrogant whitey hiding that they are on equal footing as the maid. The concerned maid wondering how her kids got to school as she got here before 6 to get done in time to wash the clothes. By hand. The fearful foreigner wondering if they will be rejected. The elderly, hipsters, nicely dressed, the made up, the couldn’t care less and myself huddled together following a process of wait, pay, wait, get called, wait and hope nothing more serious will follow. Hoping that today will bring resolution so that a life free from this warming but cold reality can be avoided and forgotten for a while. Where ego can stroke our self-glorification and blind us from the fact that we are the same. Frail humans.

SO WHY IS THIS HIGHWAY CALLED EGO SO CONGESTED?

Is it possible that our need for purpose is being used against us by the very same species as ourselves that manipulatively sprinkle sparkles of illusion over our authentic selves? Are our lusts for validation bridled to magnified truths twisted just enough to lead us from the hard underfoot ground to the self-heated, lush, luxury and almost self-driven vehicles filled with fat propped up, injected faces and plastic loaded bodies blissfully unaware that greatness lies in the freedom of choice and not in the low hum of speedometers heading to a chaos covered in bejeweled horror?

As a stylist I often have to swallow the bitter pill of: ” It is the clients choice at the end of the day,” and as a guy desperately trying to do my job honestly to have to sometimes settle for doing something that, although, not life-threatening, still a lesser truth, is tough to do if putting food in my belly is the bottom line. Sometimes I wish I had the courage to starve to death than be forced to survive on a lesser satisfaction. I guess it is like taking a pill to stay alive but one which burns all the way down.

SO WHY DO WE RECKLESSLY FORCE EACHOTHER TO SWALLOW THAT BITTER PILL ONLY TO FALL PRIVY TO EYES THAT SEE OUR GLITTER BUT NOT OUR HEARTS?

The evidence is so overwhelming. Each of us craves this illusive love. Today as I sit in my queue I see it in every set of eyes begging for their personal ordeal to be over. My head pounds as the lights seem to cut like a knife. But yet the prisoner in orange and chain seems more valuable than my hurt. Somehow the beating heart whispering words in a language I don’t understand, so alive. I am content in my pain and itch. I cry as I read the story of the Pastor that got shot and didn’t make it. A whispered rumor is that a colleague hired a hit man so that his own coffers could be loaded. Money honey! Is this where we are at? Money more than life? Are our hearts so dead to the glorious lives we are given? Are we so stained by every luxury that we fail to see the heart that fought bravely to live but didn’t. God I weep, unashamedly.

I LOOK AROUND AND WONDER WHY WE HATE EACHOTHER SO.

For what?

When the mic hits the floor and the rubber burns on the tar we are left with the same result…. you, them, us, I and everyone else are here together. Not one made as better. Not one made as plush. It is our fear of being discovered that we are not really who we display ourselves to be that keeps our ego fed. Our ego hates being aware of the fact that at the end of the day when all is said and done…… we all are the same. Frail humans craving love, hiding behind our plush ‘fake it till you make it’ bravado’s. Trying to be brave in the fact that we are living disappointed. All of us. But we need to find the foot path of wonder and lose the highway of bewildered.

As I sit angered by the one I love, for leaving me to go through this alone, I smile and remember love hurts. I am not the only one. In fact none of us are. My fear dissipates. Joy sits with me in my pain that smiles at those who valiantly serve us today. Who knows what they are going through? Love hurts so beautifully kind.

Click ⬇️

NAZARETH: LOVE HURTS

CHOOSE ❤️

Stay your amazing self!

✌🏽

•AJB•

URBANE HUMANE

Sandown,Johannesburg

Basking in the sun, pool and company the title of today’s blog struck, “Urbane Humane”. Well sort of anyway. After researching synonyms for sophisticated I stumbled onto the dapper word, ‘urbane’. To give you an inside glimpse of just how shallow I can be, my original title: ‘Sophisticated Dreams’ didn’t fit neatly into a single line, which I wanted, so out with that, in traipsed urbane. Eventually, ‘Urbane Humane’ emerged.

But before I go on, this following Mixcloud Mix has me going all giddy from pure delight. I strongly suggest that you, the reader, click on it and let it create the exact right feeling for this blog.

Click ⬇️

DEEP EMOTIONAL VOCAL #6

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An angle that caught my eye. I love the continuity of colour and the echo in the patterns)

What, amusingly, stuck me about the definition of sophisticated was 'involving a great deal of worldly experience'. Immediately the analyst in my head was, "Wow, how is that for paradoxical?" Such a broad term that certainly conjures up memories of 'worldly' which in my failed moral compass I would hardly call sophisticated behavior. You know what I mean right? The other revelation of this definition begs a question, "If one leads an impoverished life and 'worldly' experience is low, does it mean one cannot be refined/sophisticated?" See what I am saying? This neatly brings me to my title, 'URBANE HUMANE'. Although urbane is steeped in the masculine, sophisticated society has evolved to the point of extending the right to identify oneself by ones own choosing. If you want to be silver-platinum, be one. The truth is, anyone can be platinum but the tone, style, styling and expression of that style must be, individually, designed. I don't want to go into that 'worldly' topic suffice as to say; if it is our right to choose does it mean that it is the right choice to choose?

As an example:

Is it cool to chop a tree down to manufacture matches? The very thing that can destroy many trees, a lit match, and potentially destroy the oxygen/carbon dioxide converters that give us air to breathe?

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(Pic I took that, almost pervertedly, makes the eye beg to see beyond the trail of light….such a tease)

On that note; the EFF/H&M debacle gave my friend/ neighbor and I some great juice to use regarding the racist/not racist debates that filled social media in ZA for days on end. Let me not get into the unsophistication of much of those days….lol. For a truly ZA take on a world crises regarding the question of what is or is not racist click on the link below.

SWEET SUNDAY PERVE

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💋💋💋💋💋

Haibo, and now?

Although a side-angle the quote above nails it eloquently, excuse the pun. In short, the urbane description of a guy who got laid, put into a delightful play on words and metaphor, paints the exact picture of this blog.

So what is an 'URBANE HUMANE?'

In South Africa the war of free-education is a heated topic. The wealthy feel that they shouldn't subsidize the poor, the poor feel they have the right to education, the government is yet to come up with a great strategy to sort the question, and the sophisticated arguments continue. But what if we zoom out and think about a urbane humane system of 'how to?'.

So banks profit largely out of student loans. Right? So what if we cut the bank out? What if we approach corporate society to cough up some funds, or get Swiss banks to hand over hidden Apartheid Arms money towards the cause of building basic but free universities that live -stream lectures from varsities that are funded by more private entities. This way educational standards can be raised as all get access to the same standard of information. Obviously translated into all official languages. By potentially offering jobs to pensioners, or youth needing jobs, who I am sure will love the engagement, we can uplift the living standards of impoverished peeps…. why not? We then insist on a system where successful graduates have the responsibility of having 1% of their incomes separated from state taxes, that are exclusively used to sustain free tertiary institutions. A system like this takes us neatly into an urbane tribal system. The elders lend wisdom and experience to a younger working generation who pave the way for those they give birth too. This way accountability, purpose, validation of humans is effectively implemented in a responsible manner in which no one person feels negated as not worthy. Certainly as time goes on and then live-stream can be replaced by actual people creating more jobs as populations swell, hopefully the funds are used wisely and grow in careful investments so that the divide between private educator salaries and government educator salaries be brought closer to validate the life changing roles of the teacher. This system can ultimately give an urbane society the 'feel good' jolt it needs to bring people together for the cause of living for something beyond ourselves…. the next generation. Also by having vested interest and human ego being what it is, a balancing of all points of view will be attained because we all like dat: 'You want my money honey, you treat me nice, real nice….lol'

On the subject of the way we treat others, Melusi Tshabalala, a guy you should follow on FB, shared a story of how a childhood memory spoke him out of running. Melusi is hysterical and educational as he is teaching his followers African languages through his witty humour. With permission, I am sharing a part of his story that I relate to so much.

"And then there was Zulu church, ezayoni. It ruined my youth. Half the neighbourhood were Godless heathens and the kids would stand on the side of the road, waiting for us to go to church. As soon as we came out of the yard, they'd start singing: "Isonto lama zayoni, yisonto lamagwala. Wake wayibonaphi indoda esonta iphethe induku. Ishaye is-come around, uguqe ngamadolo…" Then I'd start crying and my mom would klaap me for paying attention to heathens and I'd cry some more. Now it's a mess. My green uniforn is wet, with tears, I'm dragging my staff, my face is covered in tears, snort and vaseline. Isphandla (Zulu Rolex) is making me itch ngapha."

As a kid, I had similar experiences regarding itchy stuff and preened for the world to behold in my Sunday best. The point of sharing this story is simply that when we look beyond the borders of our self-made understandings, suburbs, countries and hang-ups we discover that humane is found in every urbane setting.

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(Pic of the iconic Ponte building, JHB, ZA, from the backseat of the Taxify cab on our way to Shakers in Maboneng.)

For a while I have been on a mission to experience how others in ZA live, play and get on in life. The idea was sparked by a guy who, rightly, said that unless I had lived in a shack, limited sanitation, no electricity and walked or caught a minibus taxi as a means of transport, I could not truly understand the disparity between elitism and survival. Profoundly put into context it is both raw and startling. So back to the story of urbane humane integration.

Weeks ago JJ had told me about Shakers. I have been dying to get away from a slippery ‘mostly white stomping ground’ for a while. As an addict in recovery I came across a concept. It went along the lines of this…. for every 1 bad memory, one needs to replace it with 10 different good memories. The idea is to stop our brains from holding onto the largely ‘bad’ memories (our brains latch onto negatives better than positives, apparently), which are strong. We need to reinforce +’s by creating more numbers of fun things to remember. Because most areas in the northern suburbs of JHB are strong memories of many poor choices, to avoid the barrage of thoughts/triggers that follow I am searching for new places to experience myself as a sober human. It is timed well. As I explore my cleaner self, integrate myself into a multiracial social structure and share my journey, publicly for various reasons, I find myself being in a unique global movement of inclusivity.

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(Shakers, Maboneng)

Shakers is a gender mixed, race mixed, and sexual preference mixed venue. With fresh meat one can choose your ‘inyama’ and have it cooked on the spot, VIP area, chill out lounges and African-centered music the cultural experience is delightful. I spent hours taking in the hairstyles, trends, and various dress styles of people. The thing that stood out most for me in this predominantly black patron establishment was the sheer camaraderie between various people. Something I often missed in my predominantly white patron venues. I felt like a kid in a candy shop. The textiles, attitudes, tastes, and expressions of these urbane humans is a pure delight to the eye in a world saturated by conformity.

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(Racing past an extraordinary colored building and colorful cement pillars, has created this excited and intriguing pic)

SO WHAT DO THESE VARIOUS STREAMS OF THOUGHT TEACH US ABOUT BEING AN URBANE HUMANE?

The answer is really simple, clear and cliched. The world does not revolve around us, individually. We are all totally necessary in this world, thus our mindsets need to change from being: MY WORLD to OUR WORLD. It is in this moment where we think plural, we open ourselves to the possibilities of a life beyond understanding. Beyond understanding because each of us do not live in each others heads. So by dropping the protection mechanism of MY to the inclusive OUR, we open the door to a world our brain cannot imagine.

The brain can only have a memory of what has been put into it. So if we dunno, we simply dunno until we do.

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(ending this blog with this pic is such a great shot of an urbane humane experience, transcribed into art, made functional in a situation that creates many uncomfortable urbane humane moments for all of us)

CHOOSE ❤️

Stay your amazing self!

✌🏽

•AJB•

Deionised

As solutions can have a non-zero electrical charge called ions, I too have been in limbo for a while. After a much anionic (negative charge) slump it feels good to be doing cationic (positive charge) things. In this creative way of using science and its terminology I am grinning all silly like. What I am getting to is that I walked today and forced myself to tackle the laundry at home, concluding the day at an NA meeting. It was a rather strange observation for me about myself, being in the group. I have changed!

Let me explain.

One of my personal frustrations with groups is well….other people are in it. And I simply have to consider another’s experience and interpretation of things as they must mine as personal. Herein lies the frustration…..lol….my ‘Mr Fixit’ kicks in so valiantly. I opened up about my needing to be in a group of like-minded people as I was finding it depressing doing recovery alone. I need social interaction that is non threatening. Loneliness can push a person to the brink of relapse. After-all a big part of my being is a people’s person.

Sharing was cool.

What was interesting about my being there was that I have changed so much over the last year. The usual feelings of being intimidated and insecure were hardly traceable. Gladly the topic of the negative voice in ones mind and people-pleasing came up. I shared how over the last year my pendulum has swung from extreme loneliness to people-pleasing by such degrees that some times I felt like a prisoner in my own home because I would put up with behavior that negated me and my space. What I am saying, in short, is that I over-compensated my feelings of loneliness by putting up with another’s disrespectful behavior just so that I had company.

Dumb right?

When put into words it is; when one is caught up in it it is less obvious and if it is such, even less the inclination to change it. Most of us don’t want to bust ourselves and to top it with admitting our inability to course correct….lol….right? I would be frustrated and be angry at the world at large because I didn’t get the ‘love’ I craved. Well sugarplum, I made it easy to be disrespected because I didn’t know what I wanted in the damn first place darlin’! I guess in each of us this tug of war between being authentic vs accepted pulls on our heart strings. As much as I have done 80% of the right things over the last year it has meant that as I built up my ability to stand on my own two feet, and trust me I have done well, and not depend on others to be my co-dependent crutch I have been lonely. It is the natural order of things. Many a professional athlete might tell the same story of sacrifice for the sake of goals.

Often people will say to me that I shouldn’t isolate myself from the world who may not have the life crushing issues of addiction as I do. They are correct. Where the danger comes in is that a drunk friend soon forgets that another cannot drink and the pressure to have a, “just one shot….look how small this glass is….come on….just one….stop being a ball-breaker,” and the resolution to be strong is attacked until all resistance crumbles. Years gone by many the resistance oft has dissipated on the way home and via where no-one is watching, behind drawn curtains and locked doors.

Pride can be a good thing in public as it can be the mast by which pretension hides a wavering mind.

It felt good yesterday to be able to drop my guard and speak freely; be freely and not be carrying the baggage named ‘not-good-enough’. Wow I have changed a shit load this year. Incredible!

With my independence hanging on by an absolute thread, my hope in my Higher Power, my little action plan in place and my slow but steadfast stepping in the right directions I am reminded, unfortunately, that ‘Rome isn’t built in a day’. Unless of course someone dies and one inherits a fortune or a lucky Lotto has ones name on it. For the rest of us we each need to do what we can and must. The rest will be. To those that lent a financial hand in a time when I struggled to even get out of bed… THANK YOU!

Click ⬇️

STEPS TOWARD SUCCESS

As I gear my own mindset towards doing and being better than 2017 remembering that my life, their lives, your life is a personal journey that will take us to death to fight for.

I wish you a fabulous year ahead with sensational victories. God knows I need more good news than last year.

So if like me one feels somewhat ionic (non-zero charge) then that is a wonderful place to start. It takes just a teeny-weeny bit of cationic action to raise the energy levels to game ready.

On your marks!

Get set!

Go!

CHOOSE ❤️

Stay your amazing self!

✌🏽

•AJB•

A bit of Turkey stuffing

A bit of funky on Mixcloud quips this tongue-in-cheek blog with just the right flavour. Enjoy!

Click ⬇️

DJ DIMSA- LIVING LOUNGE

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Catching a bit of vitamin d baking my stuffing and stuffing the stuff that stuffs up the stuff…..lol….at least mentally anyway)

With Christmas and New Year kitsch behind us, the messages, guilt, and phony platitudes spewed beyond ad nauseam gone; reflux tastes better. Before you get all uppity about my opening remarks and whatever else will follow know I also succumbed to sending messages. God I hate it. I tried my best to say something quirky and sincere but because it is so commercialized that what is a daily, normal sincerity for many smacks of bullshit because of the number of randoms, completely misplaced. Saying, being, doing nice things should not be forced upon anyone because of a season but should be a natural order of how we live! No, I don't have a heart of stone but the gallant of the holiday season is so trite that I cannot bear it. Perhaps one day, God willing and best he does, I might be able, when money is a minor consideration, to do a true anonymous random act of kindness that means something to someone. I am so grateful for the help I got over the festive season as I really needed it and the minimal fuss was truly gifted. I cannot say thank you enough. Gosh, I really wish that I had had strength to endure the year a bit more than I did, the start of 2018 might not have reached it's inevitable sprint. Alas I just couldn't. Too much, too little and just too too. From my faith perspective I simply cannot buy into the absolute horror of a season dedicated to the birth of my said faith group and the pomp at which we unashamedly tint the tinsel to match. I just can't. I have worked fastidiously at avoiding this season as I cannot bear the falsities and worst yet the manner in which yearly applaud given for a job well done. It has to be my absolute worst character defect…. I don't brown-nose well. It makes me feel like a whore and if I want to feel that way, well hun there are far more satisfying methods that can be deployed. With this having being said, a wry smile turns to the glint in my eye as I hear the thoughts rush past my lips: "Wonder who is going to be offended by this piece of my mind now?" "Speak your truth," they say, "Be yourself." What an absolute crock of blah blah blah. Lately every time I open my mouth, try discuss things that really matter to me somebody somewhere is offended. I just can't take the paradoxical irony. Us people tend to like the truth as long as is it not our own. Right?

(A personal prayer….Dear God I beg you, please can I make enough money this year to go somewhere on holiday for the entire festive season that I don't have to face any of it. Where true, genuine and human connection is untainted by overrated & overpriced marketing induced seasonal psychosis….. please.)

Now that I have regurgitated that out of my system after a long season political niceties I can breathe again.

I am not a miserable kinda guy at all. In fact I am so up, usually, that I am too much for people. Fact! But this year end trivia gives me a hernia, constipation and dizzy spells all at once. Sadly I missed a really fabulous Christmas lunch invite due to stuff…damn it! Stuuuuuuuuuuuuufffff?!?!

I just cannot understand how people think it is is cool to rip people off, con them, lie, cheat and or steal throughout the year and then think a bit of gift wrap will hide the atrocities of what us humans are being. But in the face of being the second day of 2018 by 35 minutes, let me not get started on humanity……lol. Myself included, just in-case you are flippantly muttering, "who does this bitch think it is….lol?"

What I really want to get to is the gift that would have truly made my day, season and perhaps a couple of years. Beyond the stuffing stuff!

The movie, 'Home Again', with Reece Witherspoon really revved up my motor. It happens in the end, around the dinner table and the movie concludes with a satisfying gulp of romanticism. It leaves me with the thought, "When will I get to a point with others, where beyond the stuff happens?" You know what I mean right? That place of you are you, I am I and together the we is a special place without the stuff stuffing us up individually!

I would like a season where the sex, the power struggles, the fake politeness, the can't stand eachother, and the spite is worked through enough to get to where the amusing appreciation without expectations of another lay. You know the stuff that gets in the way before genuine and authentic mayhem lay and awaits the brave who venture beyond the humanity we all fall privy to? Yes, that place. Each relationship of whatever kind has this stuff. Perhaps my idealistic persona has kicked in but I want this place where 'it-is-what-it-is' is a harmonious flow of human interaction that respects the 'it-is' instinctively. I know it exists as I have that kind of relationship with my Higher Power and have kissed this nirvana with a few humans in my 43 years on this planet. I know that I am loved flaws and all. And my understanding of these relationships is that there is a connection. And connectivity is what we all crave, I think? I mean why else sugarplums would the world of cyber connectivity be such a competitive and multi-billion income industry? But is cyber connectivity any actual connection at all? Mmmmmmmm?

So having cleared the verbal/mental phlegm clogger out of my brain, I don walking shoes deciding that this blog will fall where it will and those that take offense must simply do so! I mean let's get offended by world hunger for crying out loud.

So end this mind clearing blog I sincerely do wish; for you and myself:

Your truth whatever it may be, may you get beyond the stuff that holds you back. May your relationships be richer and colourful; your experiences more deeply satisfying. May kindness pave your way and joy drive you as the sun, moon and stars kiss your eyes looking forward to the blessing of life in hands/heart and mind. May 2018 find wisdom in action as purpose unfolds clearly with minimal doubt.

Be blessed and the blessing.

Happy New Year!

CHOOSE ❤️

Stay your amazing self!

✌🏽

•AJB•

INCALCULABLE

Setting the record straight is rough and tough simultaneously. Inspiring me to write this blog, ‘A Christmas Cruise’, the standout lesson is about having fun whilst betting on oneself. Being me, argumentative, I find myself both perplexed and frustrated simultaneously. Although I know that schmaltzy Hollywood stories are not real life but the tug for it to be so is real enough that I just cry. Now before you roll your eyes in your head at me let me at least try clarify. Living an online life has afforded me the ability to be exposed, thus a great amount of critical examination from people at large is inevitable. It helps push me to keep getting up when everything in me just wants a break from it all. The crossover is the hard part. Going from online to actually engaging others in the flesh all my inadequacies flair up. It is for this that more often than not I retreat. My Christmas invitations were passed up by a catastrophic event where I ended up being saddled with an utter stranger. What should have been an easy thing to fix turned out to be a two day stint of me playing host. The crazy thing is that I couldn’t stand this person’s guts. I am not being judgmental. Because of an unfortunate crises I was put into the position to nurture this person while alternative arrangements, slow to be made, eventually got done. The constant demand to be catered to drove me insane. But a wonderful spotlight has been shone and like an actor on center stage I am compelled to ask myself why I find it so hard to gamble on me. I know this seems quite hypocritical as I run my own little business but the truth is that I do what I do for others and secondary is myself. This explains why I get so exhausted trying to keep people happy that eventually I feel depleted and angry simultaneously.

Simultaneously? So much of my life is contradiction. Not deliberately, naturally. I hate that I love others more than me. I feel bad when I laugh at the innocent expense of another. I enjoy my own space but hate being lonely. I thrive on attention but crave anonymity. The lists go on. Work this one out, I like surprises but want to know they are coming. Either I am a totally dependable or completely elusive. All these contradictions run through me and I don’t know from moment to moment which side of the coin will kick in.

So my indirect Christmas gift has turned out to be a great one. I need to change some things.

As I look back on 2017 I am grateful that I survived, barely but survived. I moved homes and started my rent-a-chair, lost my car, lost a relationship and a best friend, lost friends to suicide, got bitten by a spider that ended up with me needing physiotherapy as I pulled muscles in my back, relapsed, got scammed, got robbed, moved my working space and got my heart stomped on again. A work colleague said, “Shit, you are like a magnet.” It has bugged me the whole day. Clients have said I need to become selfish or self-full and perhaps a little mean. I need to start having some fun whilst betting on myself. My kindness is costing me more than I should be willing to share…. I am coming up short.

AND COMING UP SHORT CREATES PRESSURES THAT RECOVERING ADDICTS, LIKE MYSELF, NEED TO AVOID AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE.

Let me explain the incalculable cost of calculable choices.

Although sometimes devastating, as people can actually die in relapse, relapse is not the end of the world. I am not condoning relapse. I am saying that picking oneself up and facing the music is even more important than beating oneself up for letting ones sobriety slide. The consequence is that one loses cred and trust is hard to earn back again. Financially, the strain means making tough choices to survive which in turn creates pressure. A recovering addict needs to observe good health, good relationships, good lifestyle choices, good rest. But I have done ok and I am proud that I survived.

Claiming my independence by taking responsibility for myself through my rent-a-chair business has been tough. But I am getting better at it and I am proud of that. I am becoming conscious of money. Or lack thereof. The part that needs to change, and this is where others come in and I have no control over, is I need to get busier and fast. Scratching a very basic living is both emotionally draining and exhausting. So please book. I really am damn good at what I do.

My kindness to a fault sees me sacrificing things to help others and although a great characteristic it is easily taken advantage of. My faith teaches me to share freely but my humanity needs a bit of comfort. People like Mother Thereza are huge inspirations for me. Somewhere in the middle, I guess, lies an acceptable solution. I need to find the middle.

This last year has been an excellent year of overcoming obstacles. No matter what others might say or assume, I am darn proud of myself. So I have gotten to thinking about what lies ahead. I need to have fun whilst betting on me. In other words I need to socialize on platforms that are non-threatening and safe. Herein lies the the incalculable cost of calculable choices.

As an example: to join a running club I need good running shoes, the fees to pay the club, races, extra uber fare and all extras that go along with that. So this is the current situation, that will pass, I simply don’t have the resources to do more than I am at the present moment. When will it change? I wish I knew. All I do know is that my contradictions flip-flop from extremities because I need to have fun so when I can’t and have to stay home to pay bills the ‘too much free time’ pushes my frustrations to levels of despair. The cycle is both amusing and disconcerting.

The relevance of having resources to spare goes like such.

Grappling, lifelong, with being a bear (I have body hair) vs being smooth as I am lean in shape is still unanswered. To my contradictory mind, in order to remain natural I need muscle as a counterbalance to the burliness of being hairy….kinda like a Viking. To get a body is going to take money and by the simple fact that I have a high-metabolism lots of money to see the ‘body’ project through to completion. This applies to shaving my balding hair off too. I know that it is funny but, to my mind, lean and hairy are not a great visual combination. I got an offer for ‘fun’ again today. Although the invitation was tempting when I answered that I want to have a day of being more than a piece of meat to be relieved on the conversation came to an abrupt halt. Sad…. the online chat was rather nice for change.

To join an art class or to study new things…. and so the eternal unresolved issues continue. It is like today; having to give up meeting someone for a coffee. The uber fare to meet at the halfway mark + a coffee + an uber to work on Friday + pack of R27 ciggies meant staying at home was necessary as there just was not enough moola to go that far. Nevermind the fact in 2 days I am supposed to pay R16500 towards rentals. I get so annoyed when people flippantly offer solutions to the cyclical low screams of despondency that I share openly. The simple rule of thumb remains that in order to achieve anything in a society where money is the manner in which we trade…. money is necessary. Worse yet are the well-meaning but far deluded label-yielding semi-informed soothsayers who believe that yesteryear is an identity from which to suck a commentary from. Worse yet when they haggle a discount for a null-and-void exchange of potential business. But it is enough already.

Sitting in my bed wishing that I was at work making money to pay the bills that never stop I am enjoying the peace but a piece needs to be made. It is a strange time of year and things are slow. It is my favorite time in Johannesburg as the roads are less congested, people slightly more relaxed and I feel like I am in a village environment again. You know what I mean, right? That sense that life happens organically and not forced. God knows that Johannesburg is aggressive; and how?

I have been asked of late, “How are you feeling these days?” “Mmmmmmm,” I respond because feeling is not as important as the fact that action needs to happen and action is in limbo. Even the response to giving everything up to potentially become a Buddhist full time is a slow process and yet unanswered idea. You see spirituality is the be all and end all thing for me. When my spirit is broken my reality is incalculable. Why on earth am I like this and why I chose to live this life is another contradiction yet remaining to be seen. It is a bizarre thing knowing that ones value is so much more than the circumstantial results of that chosen life. Holding ones head up, online,in real life or in ones own private thoughts is a forgone action that must be lived if living is a must.

So what am I saying?

JUST SHOOSH IT.

Get your butts into my chair, let me use my 23 years and award-winning experience to use my instinctive love language being ‘acts of service’ to create looks for you as an individual, just suck it up and pay the price in all regards and trust the fact that I do what I do because I genuinely want the world to be in awe of of your hair and know that the most cost-effective and personalized considerations are accounted for. And for goodness sake stop asking the world around you to approve your hair because they are neither you or I. The constant harassment to do something that often is emotionally based as opposed to REAL YOU based is sucking the very lifeblood out of something that should be a simple experience of expressing yourself. God knows we don’t need anymore sheep in the world that make individuals like myself such a scarce commodity that we seem crazy when in fact the crazy lies in thinking that others live in you; so can choose your authentic you. And DO NOT bring your friend/hubby or child to sit in on a consultation. The alternative is that the contradictory rebel in me kicks in and I simply want to head to the hills as far from the onslaught of bullying into professional subservience that gets my back up and creativity at a low. Some people, like myself, are desperately trying to hold onto a ‘win-win’ life philosophy because no one human is more important than any other. That philosophy is applicable to whether one is a creationist, evolutionist, atheist, or whatever other ‘ist’ man-made concept label we identify ourselves to. You see in my mind care has less to do with words as much as they have to do with how we action ourselves. My instinctive reaction to a world obsessed with thinking they have the answers to everything is to withdraw from it as a sign of non-participation. I don’t want to play when the game is loaded with antiquated rules that marginalize other humans, like ourselves, by categorized and inflated levels of status that is applauded by materialistic viewpoints as opposed to a global love perspective. Everybody in the world has the equal right to strive for their dreams. I am sick to death of being judged for being GWM, a recovering addict, a creative, a faith believer, humanitarian and a guy who just wants a simple life filled with wonderful memories more than trying to fit the defunct cookie cutter mould that I have never fit into. Let me be the teacher/ student. Let me be expressive. Let me be intellectual. Let me be humanitarian. Let me be. I don’t go around judging you for being conformist. It kills me and frustrates the hell out of me, but at the end of the day your consequences will yours alone to face…. not your friends, not your children, not your hubby/ wife and not your whoever else…. yours alone. We each only have this life to live. The next is the next. It is unknown. The past is gone. Now is now.

With my art works on sale perhaps 2018 might start in a pleasant way as opposed to the continuation of being a guy trying find a way to reach for his dreams because he believes in himself. He believes even when simultaneous contradiction is an incalculable cost to calculable choices that seem set to flavour 2018.

So to conclude this vulnerable blog I leave this thought…

You say: “It is my hair, my life, my choice.”

I say: ” You are right…. are they?”

The they’s are just you’s saying/doing/ being the same thing. Why would what they think be more important than what you think?

CHOOSE ❤️

Stay your amazing self!

✌🏽

•AJB•