Just cos...

These pictures were taken on my phone, almost from the same spot, but facing different directions...(dont judge me, im still a rookie). I have developed a sudden obsession for black and white photographs and I believe that the human "eye" is a wonderful instrunment...Hannah Wilke's black and white portraits have changed the way I use my "eye"...immensely.

Whatever it is that these pictures depict to you, will be a personal experience, somehow symbolizing a thematic occurence in your life, sadly, one you might not be aware of.

Every artwork, every painting...every form, is subject to contextual interpretation...something that varies across the race of "individuality"...Now I shall invest in a nice camera, and see how far i can push my depleting brain..lol

My Work

It hit me again. I stand outside my own work, beyond my own worth...a craft, an artwork that only blooms in the deepest darkest season of sorrow. It rains, the drops of water on my face, it reigns, the merging of tears with this flood. I close my eyes and see my own casket, imaginary eulogies said by my friends, foes, family, and acquaintances.

I should be crying but I can't let it go, the thought of the bitter sweet nature of this demise, separating body from spirit.. The thought of seeing my mother's face once again, the thought of hearing my father's wails! The thought that I might have caused this span to shorten, beyond it's duration. Be strong, be steadfast, be hopeful, careful and alive.

Live Afrikim! Live! Life has so much to offer they say, but afterwards? What happens to the fruits that grow from the seed offering? U give me a bite, taste life they say! Enjoy it, but don't get too comfortable! The harsh reality of death lingering hits me one more time and I flick the switch. Crawling into the darkness that has been I. The darkness that has been me.

I'm exhausted, drained...questioning every breath, probing every dawn and making no "long-term" plans. My joints hurt, knees are weak, cant stand, sit or sleep. Insomnia is my buddy and restlessness fills my body. Yet I stand firm, these shoulders hold many heads, soaked with so many's tears...still I stand, on shaking ankles, still I stand...on shaky grounds.

I turn around and dry my father's tears, I look forward and walk into my mother's awaiting embrace. Yet, it hit me, I'm only standing in the bathtub that is now filled with my own tears. I scrub, scrub, and...I realize, maybe it's time for a tear drought, maybe it's time for a rebirth, force it till u feel it buki! Smile till u mean it, because whether u like it or not, grand ma said "que sera"...whatever will be, will be...

It hurts, it burns, it aches...the worst part of it all is that i'm still fucking awake! The price I pay for being a "love child"...why punish me? Let me inflict this pain on myself...hand me a lighter, pass me a razor and watch me push the limits. How's that for a crisis?

...self induced closure, self fulfilling prophecies, subjective memory and inflicted pain...this is me, this is I, this is...my artwork, my life, my painting...my cross.

No Air

I gasp...gasp...breathe...in, out, say it with me "W-U-S-A"...turning blue, pale, dropping to the ground, tearing down the walls, scratching, kicking, help!...no air!

This exterior fools you, so you treat it like you see it. Have you no fear? No compassion? No emotions? No love? No air?!

You build me up and break me down, I let you, I watch you, I indulge you...gasping!

You throw the keys in flames! In silence I watch a montage of my life go ablaze. You won't bother explaining, why?

I switch it up. Like a new outfit, I present buki, but you strangle her. I bring afrikim, but you show no mercy.

Kim, natalie, ceci, temi...what the fuck do u want? Wigs? Heels? Shorts? Leather? What? Nothing pleases you...still I clutch to this hope of some...air! *gasp*

Can't you see? Have you no clue?! Will you just look...into these eyes and see the suffering! The suffocation! The tears!

Will you turn your back? Leave me on my knees? Carelessly sway across my pool of tears? Like wetness to your feet, are you comforted by my dilemma? Does it make you happy?...*gasp*



I let out a last sigh, shamelessly falling to your feet...your name dances off my tongue like it saved the best for last. You sneer...and walk away...yet? *gasp*

It is a humbling experience, I look back and see those who long for me, yet...I tread your grounds, walking this endless trail, thirsty, hungry...air-less!

My pulse increases. Slows down. Faster, slower, irregular...*silence*

Are you happy now? You killed me, you took my breathe away...usurping every evidence of life in me...and ride off on your high horse...I lay there, breathless...I lay there, lifeless, and for the first time, I see the beauty in these open eyes.

I trusted you to tell it to me, I wanted to see myself in you, I wanted to give it all, oh wait...I did. Now gravity calls as I sink to my demise.
No air.

Random Conversation

There is beauty in the art of sadism. We were taught that light is the opposite of darkness and good has a negative correlation to bad, but I think everything exists for a reason. The bungee jumpers and the fuckers who would dare raise a razor to an innocent child's face. The very existence of both amazes me, and even though our society forces us to be taciturn or ignorant to the beauty in those things that are stigmatized as "evil."

I acknowledge the fact that they are all able to co-exist in the same realm. How dare we label and judge others, all in the name of existentialism or shall I call it pure double standards! I have flaws, so do a lot of you. You want and ask for your loved ones and acquaintances to embrace your flaws and accept them, yet you capitalize on the shortcomings of others and blame it on some subconsciously innate experience that must have shaped their being.

It is convenient, it is pointing a finger at someone, forgetting what happens to the remaining four, it is only natural...we are only human, and we should not let our prejudice nature get the best of us...but don't take it from me, cos I just judged you.

My Cells are Stemming

Goodluck Kim, safe journey, I will keep you in my prayers…words stuck in my head like that annoying tune you cant get off your mind. This has been such a big deal for the past six months. There were times I questioned the authenticity of the procedure, there were times I told myself that I was born this way for a reason…a genuine one. I even convinced myself at some point that altering my genetic construction would mean re-writing my entire existence and its core. In July of 2008, I was made an offer that I would only be stupid to refuse…I was offered stem cell transplant on a platter of gold! For free!!!

A procedure that had its pros and cons, but after eight times in a hospital ward, those cons seemed to look less threatening. I just wanted a normal life. One where my friends didn’t have to drive me to the hospital every other month, one where all my assignments didn’t have to be so difficult to complete and my professors didn’t have to roll their eyes at my now seemingly flimsy excuses…. “yes Kim, we know…you were sick again!” Yes! Please!!! Stem my cells!!! Anything to stop this pain and shame…no more sickle cells, no more hospital beds, no more dilaudid (although I must admit, the dilaudid was heavenly, right next to crack!). I just want to be normal. The excitement I felt as I got on that plane to London was indescribable, I couldn’t wait, but I was nervous at the same time.

Three days later, the doctor called me; the procedure would be at his house, in his bedroom (out the gutter now!). As I approached the room, I began to experience a montage of flashbacks of those times that would finally be put behind me, those sleepless and pain filled nights would finally be over. I “received” my healing which came in a syringe that quite frankly could not make a toddler flinch. “Is that it?” I thought to myself! The doctor looked at me and said “congratulations, in three months or so, you will be crises free.” I pulled up my pants and went home…anticipating March!

Three months later, and I had been in the hospital twice already, my excuse? “oh, my cells are still stemming.” Fourth month, fifth month, sixth month and the hospital visits increased. With every hospital visit, it became harder to find blood donors with no antibodies…it became excruciatingly difficult to tolerate the pain and my life saw itself in a whole different light. “walai, ko ni da fun doctor yi”…my aunty said repeatedly, as if he tied me down and forcefully injected me. This was my choice, my decision…I saw an opportunity and I took the chance, but in situations like this, it is always easier to blame someone else for our surprising outcome of events.

I look around and I wonder why this “treatment” worked for the other person, the thought that perhaps this was my “destiny” drove me to that junction, where determination was all I had left; The determination to “fight” for what was left of my infirmity, resulting to “popping” prescription pills as an attempt to numb the pain while I patiently waited for the “stemming” to be completed. The doctor said “three months” and it is November...eleven months later and I choose to remain optimistic, afterall, the worst that could happen would be? Pardon my tone, forgive my syntax or my appearance of being an emotional wreck; indulge my confidence and applaud my honesty. Sickle cell is a disease that affects many “Black” people and everyday, we hope for the cure…one that works, one that eases. Till then, I explore all emotions. They say you experience five basic emotions, I still await the emotion of death…oh, you didn’t know? Death is an emotion. You don’t believe me? Slit your wrist and feel the rush…from my stemming cells.

BITCH

I hope you are not offended by the title of my blog, and if you are, fuck you too. See, I am a 20something year old Nigerian woman who takes pride in conforming to non conformism. Some of you might find my use of the word bitch offensive, and some perverts amongst you just want to masturbate to the sound of it; either way, I hope you all understand that this is not a display of sheer queerness (and I mean it literally).

The drive behind this post has nothing to do with the fact that perhaps I am struggling to shed every atom of cosmic hypocrisy in me, nor does it have anything to do with the fact that as an activist, I feel like women need to embrace the bitch in them. Rather, this blog was driven by a movie trailer I watched. The 2min 44sec movie trailer of “Heart of men” due for release sometime next week captured a montage of lewd scenes filled with sex and murder. I swear at the end of this trailer, I pulled out the biggest masturbatory equipment I had and got to work. I mean it was a well thought out display of yansh, breast and toy guns with banger as bullets…everything you need in Nollywood.

This trailer has spurred a series of backlash especially from Nigerians and Ghanaians in the United States. Fucking hypocrites, why in the world would anyone who is obviously fucking their brains out complain about a bunch of exposed ass cracks on the big screen? Utter hypocrisy at its flyest is what I call it. On the most part, the fictional nature of movies serve as a similar or over exaggerated account and reenactment of real life events, so wetin be una problem? I commend the actresses who let their guards down despite the knowledge of possible outlandish actions of their fans.

These women owned the BITCH in them, call it what you will, but whether you are offended by the pictorial depiction of African women in that movie or not, we all do these things. We all fuck and we all enjoy the pleasure of orgasms, but that is another post for another day. For now, enjoy the movie trailer below and yeah, have a nice day. :)

My name is Afrikim and I am a Bitch!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dwNhDLelwKk

Prodigal Self

Now I feel like I have to go that extra mile in order to validate myself. Earth to Afrikim! Where the fuck have you been? My recent discovery that I had been conveniently “kicked off” a blog I was “begged” to contribute to, shook every insignificant cell in my marrow. Sad thing is that it took me less than a minute to realize that I had been engrossed in some sort of imaginary world. A fucking world that I consciously did everything to prevent getting sucked into. I was that bitch who made fun of “those” people, and now I get high off the 100 new friends requests a day. Shit I never wanted to be a part of; things I openly expressed resentment towards, and a lifestyle I sneered at. I have never felt so insignificant and purposeless my entire life.

I look back and for the past few months, I yearned so much for the “life” experience that I forgot to LIVE it! What got into me? I am Afrikim and my ultimate identifier was the uniqueness in my life and everything associated with it. Now I have become “one of them.” I’m not undermining their potentials nor am I judging the lifestyle they live, but truth be told, they do what they do best, what I can never do with three wishes and a million years to spare. This is what I do best! I live my life, I challenge myself from the other side of the road, but how the fuck did I end up in a line that wrapped around the block? What trance led me here? A tailless and endless route! Why the hell did I get so consumed in the chaos of this fucking lifestyle?! I don’t want to be the next Miss X, nor do I have any interest in being the next “most talked about newbie on the block”…but I guess my quest for a different type of thrill has landed me exactly where I dread…now I am just a regular ass bitch!

No one approaches me with the pre-existing knowledge of my enigmatic nature. Nothing intriguing has come out of this for me and quite frankly, I fear re-reading this fucking piece as I am quite sure that this is by far the most juvenile of them all. I lost my essence! I lost my umph and I fucking lost myself! Now, in all fairness, I did enjoy the parties, the packaged identity accompanied by the highly premeditated swag…It was fun! No lie! The façade of being associated with “who is who”…however, that life is not for me.

I only want to be Afrikim. I only want to write. I only want to be able to drown my sorrows in a 40ounce bottle of Old English malt liquor and enjoy the whiff of my blunt wrapped home grown chronic weed in peace! I only want to be the cutter that I have always been and anticipate my next sickle cell episode while I continue to work on my “master plan.” How could I lose myself in the middle of this chaos?

I have always been my own hero, I have always been my own mentor and unfortunately, it took my teenage friend deleting me off his blog to realize this. He tried to reach out to me, typing empty dots on my screen, but I was too busy “playing” with my newly found “experiments.” The bright side of my little situation has got to be the simple fact that sometimes in life, distractions are effective tools in reverberating focus…that is my quote and that is probably the most intelligent thing I have said in the past few months, so bear with my prodigal ways and embrace my shameful return…