Narcissism

It's a beautiful thing to cut loose, the gravity that pulls you into every universe' center.

To see & truly see. I mean, see beyond me. To see that when I enter another's space, they are the center of their universe, & I too must honor that.

The world's got more to gain from losing oneself in union; from looking through universal perspectives.
Not me, but us. Nor home, but country.

Not only am I my brothers' keeper, I wash my brothers' feet. Not because I have little esteem for self..
Au contraire..
As a result of the love I have come to encounter through the self.

Woman

Always, this worship over loving a woman. Rarely a word on how to make him smile, that man on the corner. 

Are we made equal? And if we are, where's the equality in all the drama over this woman's existence? 

A strong woman; A sexy woman; Treat her like a queen; She's a down-ass chick.

Just how many labels do we give in praise of our men for every ten thousand labels of blessings we shower upon our women? My guess is, it's a one-size fits all kind of deal.  

We seem to be churning out men who are mostly trying to be like the next man. Or is it the men who have exchanged their wider periphery for a staple identity? The gentleman.   

One may want to argue who has it worse this present day- the woman or the gentleman?

I see only where humanity has had the potential for creativity and has opted out. 

We do not have to label ourselves and prop our entire existence in a box beneath the Christmas tree. Making of ourselves a gift to fit one occasion, we forget that we are indeed larger than life itself! 

While the modern woman struggles against the one-size fits all identity, it would appear to me, the men are settling into it for themselves. 

Now, if we had a scenario of a world that churned out more Mother Teresa's and Princess Diana's through the ages, a world with more female archetypes that served as role models. 

If the women of the world saw just a handful more of larger than life characters on the world stage, as the men steadily do, what would the female demographic look like?

I mean, as it were, women are left to their antiques, left to design the characters of their choosing. 

Now, pop culture and the media seem to be lagging behind in this arena.

They either do not know what women want, or they are deliberately working to stifle the soaring image of a modern day woman.

How similar is her semblance to the women who tended to their homes and lands and kingdoms while their husbands and kings went to war? How similar is her semblance to the women even before then?

It may serve us well to refer to our history, as we decide the destiny, as well as the emergence of the modern day woman. 

It may serve us just as well, to remember that ultimately, we are of a species of homosapiens, and while neither science nor the evolution of ages come with an instruction manual, societal rules are a gift of creativity.

We hold the liberty to choose who we become, independent of any and all labels, proceeding from lady to gentleman. 

The man may seem to be at his pinnacle, the man may seem to be found, fitting himself into a structure of manhood yet resisting his pure identity as soul. 

When you look in the mirror, do you see what you have been told to see?

Have you been told that you're black? Have you been told that you're of the upper class and can't look back?

What have you been told? 

That you are a man. That you are to decide the direction to which the ship sails. That you are an uncle, a brother, a father, a soldier, and a gentleman. These labels, when you look in the mirror, and you hear a voice that isn't yours tell you your name; Do they cause you a mixed feeling of pride and pressure? Do they cause you to feel such a burden, beneath which you have lost touch to your dreams, to your voice, to your identity and pleasures?

A woman might hold her head up high and say she has fought to be where she is today. Let her do her bold peacock dance- she is after all a beauty to behold.

All the world wants to tame her; all the world fights to discover her, to name her.

But how so do we forget our men? 

CATTLE CONSCIENCE | PT. 2

The life of a Builder, Builder of visions, is sensitive to time. It must honor process like the life cycle of a butterfly. Each stage bears fruit, each stage hones and owns it's scenery: its all nameless, all jargon, it all just is. Stages are a mystery to some and life's simplicity to others, for in union, all life becomes a moment's notice. The process, with a little patience at each stage is the work of a fine architect. And with the work of a fine architect, the builder knows if he likes the garden or just the zoo. That's Life's simplicity- knowing all we have chosen to see is all in the heart. All I'm really saying is let's take a walk together, as many of us as we can muster. For there's a scenery out there that won't be missed. A world out there that should not be missed. A scene for the million, maybe billion sceneries that our eyes have created within themselves. There's a world out there that refuses to be dismissed, neglected, forgotten. A world that can be changed in a moment's notice, if you just walked and talked about the world's imaginings and those of your heart. Take a glance, let's create a new vision from old eyes. With commanding speech, a builder's scenery in a moment's notice. Let's walk and talk while the earth sits still at our feet, recording stories of what the world really needs. You're attached to this rat race I see. But the wind blows and the cock crows, it's morning, wow, it's morning..beckoning! You're yawning. Awake now to the sound of your name as one distant truth to all the world's needs. Take a walk with us. If you have to lose yourself to find yourself, do that, we are all waiting to call you nameless, waiting to become your myriad namesakes.

A Few Notes..

ON PRINCIPLE, BY DESIGN


The LANGUAGE, MATHEMATICS
you think if we all spoke mathematics instead of french, we would all be rich? in what language does this world make sense? so many professions, now we lose sight where the money is. so many cultures, now we lose sight where the language of compassion is. what currency can we speak? my people are suffering!


A concept is the most intelligent way to distill one's resources- to create quality raw material with minimal effort. A process- tried and tested- is a deliberate creation of excellence.

LEFT BRAINER, RIGHT BRAINER | Word Calculator
'Emperical Study' to the Left Brain is The 'Observation of Dynamics' to The Right Brain. & 'Sequencing' to the Left Brainer is 'Prioritization' to The Right Brainer. Same Results, Different angles and feelings.

i love how we go full-circle in life. sometimes in a space of days... life's such a curriculum of learning.. i pray for a good attitude.


THE COLOR OF LOVE
You know what I love? I LOVE to make Your most beautiful qualities stand out- like a GIFT, wrapped! Call me the Color Alchemist. Make me blush too


Name Your Pain. Clarity serves a purpose. Ownership wins so I own all of me, Flaws and All. And then, I'm FREE.



DUTY & ROLE-PLAYING | Tell Me Your Name

The Angel Who Forgets Her Name forgets Her Chosen Form Of Worship- Her Duty.

Are You The Forgotten Angel or The Angel who Has Forgotten?

My Power is in the latter. Ownership is my sincerest form of Worship. Flaws and All. Power and Responsibility.

"Remarkable Me."



LOVE
Always felt obliged to share whatever wisdom I tune into with those I care about. I realize now that my presence is the best wisdom and wisdom enough.


I WANT MY POWER
Confusion and Desperation are two sides of the same coin. The true value of that coin is our desire to take Deliberate Action.


I AM PETTY, PETTY & PROUD
You want Me to say Thank You to YOU, because You told ME THANK YOU? I don't get it, I just lost track of where The VALUE was created!
When you show me where the value is, you SHOW me the MONEY. When you hide your appreciation of value, we LOSE MONEY, we lose SIGHT of the CREATION!
It's the simple Things in Life we forget.
Simple Things are all there is on a list of my favorite things..
Thank You


Appreciation is impact. Appreciation is Value Creation. In every process, show Appreciation and create Progress.


When I finally device an instrument for measuring Love, i'll be The Greatest Mathematician who ever Lived. Finally, Leonardo Da Vinci And Me can bring Love back to Life, by Defining its Purest Hue! In Ultimate perfect fashion..


A moment of discretion is my precision par excellence. My Devotion, My inspiration is in staying 1 with the Universe.


When I die, please bury me beside Lazarus, he is my hero, he gave into death knowing Jesus will come.


Ever wanna match the stones with the stars?


Off Light, Make Night See Road. (in Nigerian Pidgen English)

MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE

Pray I that you remember your old friend, Sweet Water. In Honor of Love's Glory, you have been the most ordinary story of my encounter with life. On this earthly plane, I say, My friend, I never found a form more passionately ordinary. Not in, not by any of this world's errors have you been made so plain to see. You're visible simply in the perfection of your untribal devotion. Not even the galaxies wish to lose sight of the rivers.
Water! Look, I sea Water! 
In every moment that I have looked into a glass mirror, I've sought out other clues; they tell me of some vague truths rooted in my vanity. But my friend, you? When my shadow hovers over you, you place my woes right beneath my feet. Halting, stampeding upon the errors of my ways. I find beauty's truth when I see water. Water, my friend, my soldier. I wear you like a dress, I become you, even while I taste you. Your magic, it's silly! Ordinary waters, streams of water.. pray I that I am anointed with thirst.
An ordinary treasure chest for my soul. 
You offer me the world as if it were mine. 
This ordinary love: it's refined, polished, purely finished. 

HER RECORD BEST

Wait, Wait, Wait a little, let the moon get dressed. 

Allow her, her sweet, noble lady time. 

She's shy, easily hidden behind clouds. 

If I took my seat beside her, her beauty would glorify my flaws. 

The opulence of her gracefulness, like beggars riding horses of free wishes. 

Found her on her usual scene, serving me poetic justice. 

She orchestrates the mood of the night, unrehearsed. 

So sweet what tales her light brings; History's own, history's very own concubine.  

My destiny it must be to touch her beauty; 

Indeed, I'll leave it all behind to explore great skies. 

Wait a little let our noble lady get dressed. 

I find a hobby in making guesses at her record best. 

I never give it my best, truly. 

Always standing in awe, amazed, devastated by her essence, 

The brilliance and quality of her presence. 

Her record best is a tale of the chicken and the egg; I can never decide

She has me dazed and hypnotized. 

She's shy, noble, just doing her duty. 

Honorary in the heart of history. 

LOVE & WAR

They say it is incredible, an incredible dream: a world in right order, flourishing in peace. 
Who sold them these unnatural dreams? Dreams of vengeance and war. 
I can't find space in this mind of mine, space for the generosity of love- it's all too vast to fill my mind. Nobody loves, Nobody cares. I've got worries and major fears.
There is an appointed time and place to recognize you and your beauty, young brother, but right now what's yours must become mine. I cannot forsake my eternal greed for your momentary need. Let us not squander our limited resources trusting one another's agenda. If I were you, I would never do that. 
I am one man with all the world's needs; one man with one man's greed, for a slipping eternity that speeds up my heart beat. 
I suffocate in my nightmares in deep sleep: blood, tears, hunger- sorrow's brothers. Tomorrow is just another tomorrow, with a rising sun, and day dreams of demise and hunger, tears and blood. I've got worries and major fears. 
As if by reflex, my eyes have been made to see the morning sun and swiftly wage wars. Waging wars is a habit, a habit of the human race. 
I wouldn't pretend that love has never imposed its power on me. For decades, I've born witness to little children play Jesus for easter celebrations. Other days, the sound of solemn plays as kids escape into a world where they become the  doctor and the fireman, soldier, and the banker.  
How do they, once characters of life's comic relief, grow up angry and antsy?
Disengaged, disconnected, disappearing within a mass of selfish desires, that quick crash down on a world and its very newborns.
Pearls. We're each Lost at sea with a plethora of pretty little pearls on strings of solemn despair. Love would make for a much better string if you ask me.
Love, a most superior raw material.