Salutations to you Flowers (even those of you who think you’re too masc. to be ‘flowers’. There ARE male flowers too you know, and they’re equally as beautiful and delicate. There’s a deeper meaning to this.)
But anyway I won’t even introduce you to my partner in this dynamic-gangsta-shit-three part series, packed with exciting and fresh content for your eyes to feast on and your minds to work on, as his entire being will speak for itself. Trusss.
Love and Light
Part 1 of 3:
There is a ghost in L town. She wears New Balances, thrifted denim and her grandma’s hand me downs very casually. Ghost has the mouth of a potty, the aggressiveness of Mr Brand and the existential “I don’t care” attitude that every indigo need carry when living in the tightly spaced walls of a (sometimes) backward city like Lusaka.
Ghost, has a friend. Her friend, like her – me, does not walk with grace. He walks with his blackness always on full and “the fuck you, I’m gnarly” attitude most late 90s children that were built on Biggie and Nirvana, have.
Attitudes like that become default mentalities when you don’t fit the norm of a city like Lusaka. Throughout high school, I was bullied for being different while simultaneously being taught that difference was what the world loved. As such, I believed I was loved by the world but not it’s people.
They said the world loved me but little did I know, it was the pulling of my throat that they meant. A consequential battle of self came with this. A concerning, muttering silence. Disgrace, lace, fragmented nothings.
It is no wonder loving myself proved so hard. They kept pulling at it; slowly decreasing the space of my air box. Myself, I lost. The world, I lost.
Comfort though, comfort. It’s what they gave me. My body stabilized after months of pulling. Comfort, is what they gave me.
A deluded mind is what they gave me. What a deceiving, preaching, pulling bastard the educational system is. Pulling, pulling, pulling. It’s no wonder, loving myself proved so hard.
And then I met ghost.
Summer 2010, I think. BBM, I presume. Random conversation about Kanye West’s My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, I believe. That’s how I met ghost. We were still going through our awkward puberty stages and never did connect though.
And then 2012 happened.
Ghost had moved country’s for school and was slowly developing into a fine, crystallized purple coloured stone. Instagram, I think. And then Tumblr, I presume. A random social media gathering followed, I believe. We were finally approaching the awkward self worth stages of puberty and boy, did we connect.
Energies man. Energies. Ghost’s energy bumped off her like rays and sunbeams. It was like finding surprise money in a pocket. She was my surprise, she was life. And she still is; more than ever actually.
Narrative by Kenzo Onwuka of www.blackprophecies.com
Photographs by Mutumbi Lungu