Mama forced me to go the church the way the Caucasians forced The Holy Bible on the slaves. I don’t trust anything that came from Caucasians. They steal manuscripts daily at publishing houses and trap the real author into a contract with a GAG ORDER while the public buys ghostwritten shit.

But not me. I OWN all my publishing. ALL OF IT.

Two publishing houses came at me with a $1.5 million dollar offer with GAG ORDER INITIATIVE. When I rejected it they said $2 MILL. REJECTED IT! Both had GAG ORDER initiations.

I signed FUCK OFF on the 1.5 MILL signature line (my black stamp. Bye, John Handcock, not yours!) and over the conference
phone I said “SUCK MY ASS AND WISH FOR DEEZ NUTS!”

After listening to the Burberry-suit-wearing Caucasian attempt to buy The King of Erotica and put Caucasians on the cover, I was disenchanted. I'd rather be broke and release any book I wanted ,then belong to a well edited and censored publishing company getting their rules from ghosts.

What if they did that with the Bible?

Stolen manuscripts?

I dreamed this. Next they were going to tell me that Shakespeare wrote a book in the Bible.

Well, did he?

The image approaching me heard and vividly saw all of this. Felt my pain. Understood where I was coming from,
but still wished to get closer to me.

But I wanted It to STAY BACK. NO
TRESSPASSING. KEEP AWAY. ACHTUNG, BABY!

“You knew the day would come for this, Pharoah.”

The bag of contradictions slowly and meticulously spoke to me, giving my own individual self a sense of fear and resilience.

Which one, who knew but I did know that I
looked him deep in his eyes as the glow of my laptop screen illuminated my face. I gave quite the sly smirk.

But he wasn’t enlightened. Contradictions from my own life swirl my body like laser beams. I mentally duck and dodge them with my eternal Holy Ghost.

I closed my eyes and told myself that I
have the full Armor of God. May no Weapon formed against me prosper.

I love God with all my heart and soul after
surviving the things that I have and NOBODY gonna tell me God ain’t real because he is the Truth that awakens
us from social hibernation set on idle in the form of popular entertainment.

I hate watching TV. American Idol? Chile, please. I didn’t watch that rigged show! And I’m always writing, researching and reading.

No time for the radio with programs and set lists.

I have my iPod, jamming to Jimmy and Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation 1814.
Now It approached me in a nightmare passing off as my wildest dreams and knowing how to make them come
true...

Laser beams swirl, ultra-sensitive to movement, objects and glitches that causes unseen levels to shift. That
flat line on heavily monitored meters suddenly get a CD RAM pulse on the EKG squiggly line and they were thrown off
by the sudden symbol.

I knew that would happen if I moved about earth and life without the full armor of God.

Dear Past,

As a kid I laughed in church, thought people that caught the Holy ghost were actors and when they spoke in tongues Chile please ok…

Cut. Take 2. And ACTION! Yet when I arrived at home, my ex step daddy covered my mouth and slowly, gradually slid his dick deeply inside my salivated walls, and against his pelvis was the Ultimate Sin.

So from the tender age of six, to the very moment I type this…I didn’t love myself. I HATED HATED HATED MYSELF!

Now, presently, I absolutely adored me, myself and I. I loved everything about me, unconditionally.

I was ashamed of myself before I even turned eight years old. Laugh in church at the church folk. Judging people through the ignorance of my age.

Questioned their faith and loyalty when I wasn’t good, for I was a sinner, even when I drew my very first breath outside of Mama’s bloody womb.

Yet I cried and called on God when the violator screwed me into a nut with
his rod still inside me. And people wanna talk about me because I’m bisexual?

Tell me would you trust a muthafuckah after going through that horrifying
experience?

Try FOUR YEARS of it.