Issue

30.

Man oh man, 30 years navigating this crazy, amazing, unpredictable, electric, and loving life of mine. I spent the last few weeks in an anxious web because this day is supposed to be one of those days that you do the most for but instead I ended up going to work and that’s truly ok with me because I feel peace in my heart above all. I don’t really know what this was supposed to look like for me, celebrating a “golden” birthday in an extravagant way or planning for it or anything because everything in my life has always been based on a feeling. I wouldn’t know how to happily pre-plan a celebration because I can’t know how i will feel that day. And that’s sort of how I’ve learned to take control of my life, day by day. Moment by moment. A lot of the naivety of my 20s was thinking that I had to take on everything at once. Anticipating an array of alternate futures to the many layers of who I am, and bumping my head over hypotheticals when all that I’m called to do is be present. The other day someone told me that your 30’s are the best years because you magically start to give less fucks. I think that was a sigh of relief because of all the fucks I’ve given throughout nearly a third of my lifetime. How much I gave a fuck about my passions, my work, my family, where I’ll end up, who I’ll become, and about love —- All About Love.

I’ve fought so many internal wars over love and its tendency to mirror back to me turbulent lessons through the people I’ve chosen to love. I think in gradually learning to surrender the fight I’m beginning to allow for love to move through me, transform me, continue to nurture every stranger I meet in some way, and forgive myself for sometimes choosing desire masked as love over what I know to be righteous. When I was 28, I remember telling myself often that I finally felt like a grown woman, and it wasn’t because of any physical changes but because I finally felt a wisdom and validity of what I know. What I know now is that I will always be ok because God said so. I know the answers I seek live in my womb (intuition). I know that changes, losses, and new beginnings are only as hard as the grip you’re holding on with. I know that letting go only seems like a lifetime of pain until you finally do it and figure out you’re actually thriving. I know who my true friends are, and who they were even if we didn’t make it to today. I know that being human is a delicate thing and we have to understand that within this big life every little sub-life we share with a person is only about meeting where each other is currently at, and not who we were or will be. I know that we must give grace for the tools we lack and embrace the ones we’ll acquire.

I know a lot of things but to be honest the most important one is - I know I require long midday naps for optimal happiness…

A word of advice for anyone approaching their solar return:

Just go with what you know, and if you don’t know, don’t worry because worry is a waste of imagination.

Cheers.

Reflecting on ACCENTS

When asked what this project was about people assumed that I was starting some singing career, or making beats. No one really knew what to expect. However, the aim was to use analog mediums as a tool to give people who typically have others trying to tell their stories for them a place to tell it on their own. To explore Blackness within the nuance of regions, highlighting cultural identity through our accents, slang, and colloquialisms. No interviews, just open conversations where the subjects were allowed to speak whatever way they naturally communicate without the pressure of feeling the need to code-switch or make sense of things. 

I take the same approach with how I do photography. In a world where things are overproduced this was the perfect opportunity to show how the ordinary can actually be sublime. The implication of candid photography is that we must take an experience as it comes, much the same as the varying ways of being and speaking are displayed on the record. As the entire project sonically and visually came together the realization that most people had the same topics to address led me to the realization that despite different regions, cultures and ACCENTS, we might understand each other more than we think. 

Over the years I have described ACCENTS in countless ways because it had to stay alive within me and through me to exist today. Much like the birth of a child, once it was out in the world I was simply relieved and ready to rest. That was until I considered all that I wanted to do with this baby and all that I wanted it to be, the places I wanted to take it, and how I wanted ACCENTS - unlike some of my other work - to have a long lifespan in order to reach as many people as I originally intended it to. I fought really hard to make it happen, pushed past being misunderstood, multiple transitions with working relationships that left me feeling like I would never finish, self doubt, pushback from gatekeepers in my community - the list goes on.

I found a solution to every issue because it was critical for me to create something that the people I’ve met through my journey heard and saw themselves in. But when you are up against the pace of social media paired with the pretentiousness of peers who pose as “for the community” it can be a very steep hill to climb. At a certain point I got tired of explaining the concept because it was past what people wanted to imagine, but at the same time I needed a lot of those same people to say yes. Thus, I did not stop until the answer was yes, and what I made was a result of that relentlessness. I can honestly say that no one really understood what I was doing until ACCENTS was fully erected and moving forward I will have to keep fighting to make it happen in other places I’d like it to exist - but I’m ok with that. It is because of this process that I am becoming so much more comfortable with my evolution as a visionary and understanding that sometimes that means it cannot matter what others can comprehend because people will always be late.

bells hooks passed away this week and somewhere between not knowing what to say and knowing that she stood for Black women writing regardless of mood, context, and circumstance I found some energy to get my thoughts out anyway.

Rest in Power bell hooks.


- Nameless

Love Looks Like…

The year 2020 has been one of many thoughts, triumphs, failures and lessons. Witnessing a collective shift in spiritual consciousness as it regards the laws of abundance made me curious about how I view my abundant rights with material things and how that differs when it comes to intangibles - specifically love. The need to bring myself out of anxiety perpetuated by heartache made me question why I feel that love is lacking in my life if there is no romantic love present, especially when there are so many different forms of love as well as so many physical manifestations of them actively happening right now.

Discussions with friends from other countries brought to light how Western civilization depicts love in comparison to other parts of the world. With romantic love being the thing to aspire to, especially projected onto American women since birth these depictions have created an illusion that if romance is not present, life is void of love. As my belief in my right to abundance grew I started to worry less about essential material things i.e. money, housing, clothes, food etc. I feel comfortable knowing that I have everything I need at all times and even the things I may be missing are on it’s way to me through the power of manifestation and my divine abundant right. Yet, when it comes to love I still find myself practicing habits and using language that acutely contradict the belief in my own abundance.

One cliché phrase that has become alarming is “the love of my life.” The idea that there is only one love of my entire life has subconsciously created an attachment to the fear of finding that love and losing it. This kind of attachment is what keeps people in relationships that do not serve them. As I work through my own lessons and try to hold myself accountable I maintain that love is just as abundant as materials and money are. It doesn’t begin or end with one individual. Losing “the love of your life” is a fear narrative and letting go of that illusion invites love to be with you eternally in all ways. Love is infinite. 

During times when I felt loveless I never stopped to look at the ways love has always been present around me. Some things can only be realized in hindsight. I see old memories of love very clearly now.

Love Looks Like:

Angels

Russ Hamilton shooting the late J. Scott

Art

Redondo house

Brotherhood

Owner of Pakkard Studio Rick Dove (Right) and his best friend Tristan (Left)

Community

An opening night at Pakkard Studio with friends from Japan and Downtown LA

Faith

Virgin Mary beaded curtain at my abuela’s house in Harlem

Fatherhood

Kacey Greene holding Logan Greene

Motherhood

Mother and daughter enjoying The Roots Picnic

Music

DJ Environments

Platonic Friendship

Isis & Morian

Self Care

Self (this was actually 2018 not ‘98 lol

Sisterhood

Homegirls nurturing each other

Wisdom

My abuela

Youth

New York’s children still play in fire hydrant water

*Originally published on Its-In-Scope*

A Girl and Her Snake Dreams

Science has widely acknowledged the five senses as the basis for human function, but as a Dominican child I learned at an early age of what my mother called her “6th sense”. What I now know as clairvoyance through dreams is the abundant sense my mother was gifted with that I realized as a teenager, had also been passed down to me.

Our heritage has always been at the forefront of conversation in our household. Growing up in Los Angeles with a New Yorker as a mother, she was relentless with making sure that although the Dominican population and representation in LA was almost nonexistent, her children would know where they came from. However, being a first generation American some of her teachings were enmeshed with Black American culture, thus straying from Afro-Latin tradition. That being said, the most conflicting part of my upbringing was religion. I can see my young holding my mothers hand as we walked the pews of City of Refuge Christian church confused because at home we identified as Catholic. I even attended Catholic school until third grade. As I began to ask questions I understood that for mom, spirituality isn’t rooted in religion as much as it is in knowing God. “You can find God anywhere,” she would remind us. As an adult I’ve adopted this concept more readily as a result of her teachings. 

I can’t say the transition from confused adolescent looking for God to sound spiritual adult was as easy as it reads. I would often find myself in dark mental places experiencing internal conflict, not yet understanding that this was all a result of not serving my higher self - where God within me resides. Certain conversations that turned to arguments with my mother vividly frame the ways in which I was lost and afraid of the gifts that I was being given. I wanted so badly to “not put my energy into that” but the dreams kept coming and the woman forming within me kept raging. I would notice certain rituals that I glazed over as a child - Florida water here, a bowl of water and a white candle there. I became curious and less stubborn about the seemingly dark practices that  I started to talk about the dreams instead of fighting about what I didn’t want to believe. I wanted to understand why this was happening to me and why I was afraid. 

I can recall my earliest clairvoyant dream at five years old. it came to me during a traumatic transitional time for my mother and I - the snake symbol that I once thought a nightmare later revealed itself to be a recurring guide to warn me when I was in bad company, or was approaching a turbulent period of change. So it started at five and then life was a blur and then at seventeen the dreams became frequent. I dreamt of other things too, but I can only vividly recall each of the ever elusive snake dreams. I knew there had to be a reason for this I just wasn’t sure when it would all make sense.

That day arrived sooner than I anticipated in 2020. Healing mother wounds opened the door for my ancestors to speak to me in ways that I couldn’t have been ready for in the past. It began with the black snake that crossed my path while I was doing yoga in March. Then followed a series of unforeseen painful events which challenged my womanhood that lead me to look for answers. One search revealed that mine my grandmother and great grandmothers name coincidentally echo the names of a group of saints and deities in the 21 Divisions - a Voodoo practice derived from Haiti that is practiced in Dominican Republic.

My name is Annessa, named after my great grandmother Anna. The voudo spirit Anaïsa Pye often depicted in part with St. Anne is a beloved sprit that works with a snake charming Loa by the name Philomena Lubana. Anaïsa sends Lubana to guide and vet her decendents through snake appearances in dreams, or visits on land as a mute woman or a snake itself. Anaïsa is the daughter of Ezili Dantour - which i correlated with my late grandmothers name Elsa. Both are variations of the name Erzulie, the name for the raging yet loving feminine spirit said to guide single mothers since the Haitian revolution in 1791. This entire time I was unsure of why snakes never left me, after all I don’t even really like snakes like most normal people. But although religions have historically depicted snakes as a symbol of evil, I now see that they serve me they as a symbol of light, of change and transition guides in the dream realm and on earth. My very own name I once thought a mere coincidence was actually assigned to me by my ancestors St. Anne, Anaïsa Pyé, Philomena Lubana and Ezili Dantour.

A friend recently reminded me of the humility in always being a student. When it comes to spiritual teachings, witnessing chaotic cult followings of self-proclaimed healers, witches, and spiritual guides has been alarming. The surplus of misinformation combined with a mass desperation to cling to something outside of self has lead so many young people down a path of dangerous spiritual practices. As a student of God, I don’t claim to know everything, but what I am sure of is that any shared information as it regards the divine must come from humble energy. Even as an expert, a spiritual teacher must always lead with heart over ego. For those who seek guidance, every path is uniquely ordered for the individual. A strong intuition is vital in deciding what is meant for you and only you.

*Originally published on Its-In-Scope*

Surrender.

“Moons of Our Complexions”- watercolor study

“Moons of Our Complexions”- watercolor study

I cried this morning. And though these times have sprung a myriad of emotions, heartache, grief and nameless feels that could very well be the reason for tears, this cry was different. As if all of the concepts I’ve held on to as my personal truths are being challenged to transform and transcend. Many of my fixed sentiments about our world right now are scattered among notes, journals, tweets, texts, dreams so even in trying to compose a summary of what this experience has been from my point of view, the path may be convoluted. However, I’ve been moved to try to make sense of a senseless time and in doing so, I hope to lend comfort to anyone who receives it in knowing that you are not alone.

With gratitude, I can honestly say that I have no fear of any current events as it concerns policy or society. So much of what is taking place was already written or so far out of our control that harboring added stress only worsens us as individuals, which contributes to our demise as a whole. While honoring the absence of fear, understanding that fear and awareness are not synonymous is key as we continue to navigate this plane. I am a firm believer that heightened awareness actually reduces fear, thus reducing stress. By becoming aware of exactly what it is that we are afraid of, we are less likely to be mislead by smoke and mirrors.

If we use the current pandemic as an example, many takes that are influencing our fears as a collective have nothing to do with the Corona Virus itself. Instead I sense a fear of the unknown, which is truly a blanket for the way many of us have processed this sensation all of our lives. We are afraid for our loved ones, the time we must spend apart from them, the promise of death, our finances, our future, the seemingly endless pause on life that we have no control over, but most of all many of us are afraid of our very own selves. The time we’re spending in isolation is forcing us to sit still and come face to face with our suppressed thoughts. When its all said and done, the politics may have a lesser impact than the adverse mental and spiritual residue we will be left with.
My personal spar with anxiety has been a thing for years now. It comes and goes like a revolving door with no sign of completely ceasing to exist. Over time I’ve learned healthy ways to cope with it that are far more momentarily beneficial than the habits of my past. But a space and time like the present are perfect incubators for the kind of psyche that perpetuates anxiety, depression, phobias, not to mention a long list of other mental illnesses. Needless to say, over the last month I’ve experienced a cycle of crippling overthought that had become paralyzing just this past week. With all of the advice that I’ve been given, some of which I’ve adhered to while the rest I left with its source, I admit that overcoming overthinking is easier said than done. I’ve only reached my epiphanies in hindsight but in the moment the light is as distant and seemingly out of reach as the first time I ever felt this way. 

Before mid-March I thought I had a grip on my own reality, and as someone who has always welcomed and in most cases preferred solitude, I would never have predicted that a stay-at-home order could cause me to spiral. When I look at the ways I embrace solitude, I am never as alone as it seems. I may take a drive, eat out by myself, or go to public gatherings without a friend beside me, but I always have the company of outer noise and comforting distractions. Although similar noise can be created within the confines of my own home, once I’ve run out of busy work, its just me and my ego facing off with each other and most of the time, I let her win. Her fight to keep things in order, to avoid pain, to know everything often makes way for multiple internal wars to commence within my brain. With my ego struggling to meet these demands, my spirit grows weary from neglecting the present moment. In the midst of this internal warfare, a word by my friend Monique Mitchell spoke to me,

“Imagine what we could grow into if we just stopped fighting our transformation. Once we allow an idea of ourselves born in the ego to disintegrate in the fire of truth, our true self arises. That part of us which is formless, infinite, unconquered. When we release the swaddling bands of our human imagination, we see fully our divinity.”

My spirit knows that currently, instead of order we have chaos, pain cannot be avoided in any lifetime, and there is no way to know the future until I arrive there. These are my present truths, all that is left is for me to surrender to my spirit and rest my ego. 

Although I am still navigating my own complete surrender, I am aware that it requires a shift in perception. I surround myself with peers, friends and family that hold each other accountable, and in doing so I like to believe that most people in my immediate community tend to their own necessary introspection. One of my peers kindly reminded me that I have the power to affect change in response to an exclamation that nothing matters except our will to be alive. Context is everything, and in a way this could be received as if I could care less about what is happening in the world but it’s actually quite the opposite. Empathy has overwhelmed me at times. I’ve always had the gift of feeling other people’s pain as if it were my own. When the gift began to feel like a hindrance, wisdom came to me in the form of discernment. The ability to decipher what is mine and what is yours. I am still open and I still feel all the same, I just know now when the put down the load that doesn’t belong to me. In that same breathe, accepting the truth about the current state of the world and moving accordingly can affect positive change. Every form of activism does not have to be a crusade. Survival is the most important thing and in recognizing that many of us are lucky enough to have our basic survival needs met, we are able to extend an olive branch to those who may not. Letting go of anything extra can be difficult, especially without a strong sense of identity. The one solid piece of advice that I would want everyone reading this to remember is your identity is who you are, not what you do. When the world stands still as it is right now you have to know yourself well enough to detach from anything materialistic. That includes your job, trade, social media fame, belongings etc. because if all else fails, the core makeup of who you are is going to carry you through, not any self-assigned occupations or personas.

Society is collectively experiencing an event that is changing the world as we know it and those changes can either bring out the best or the worst in humanity. Though we all have our own worries, keep in mind those who are grieving, birthing, homeless, in abusive homes, or lacking basic needs. Natural inclinations to do small good deeds can be revolutionary. Through small gestures, we relinquish the burden of taking on problems that are out of our control and save room to be gentle with ourselves. Tending to our minds and spirits first clears the way of fear and welcomes awareness, leaving more capacity to love each other through our darkest moments. After all, the fear of things is often worse than the thing itself.

Love,

Annessa

Nipsey Hussle: A Neighborhood Native Perspective

NipGene.jpeg

The question I keep hearing from outsiders is “why was he so important?” My initial reaction is to become defensive, but in all fairness, there are too many people in the world to expect that everyone I meet will understand the impact that Ermias “Nipsey Hussle” Asghedom had. In short, the best answer to this question is that Nipsey Hussle was a social, economic, musical, and intimate example of who a young black millennial in Los Angeles would want to become.

Nip1.jpeg



Growing up in Los Angeles, at some point we realize how gang culture and socioeconomics run parallel. The world paints this picture of gangs in red or blue going to war over colors and territory that ultimately leads to the destruction of neighborhoods and cities. While there is plenty of truth to that, originally gangs were formed to protect their hoods from infiltration, gentrification and white supremacy. Although Hussle was always transparent about his involvement in both the dark and light to being a Neighborhood 60 Crip, in his later years he urged gangs to revert back to their origins of: protecting their environment, abiding by a code of ethics, bringing money into the community, respecting elders and children — all things that mainstream media forgets to mention when they talk about gang culture.

Some would argue that for the new era, he’s the reason why Bloods and Crips have slowed down on murdering one another. He shifted this narrative by befriending and collaborating with Bloods like West Coast MCs YG, and The Game — not to mention, directing music videos in which the imagery depicts red and blue side by side.

NipYG.jpeg

“I know some Inglewood niggas showed a crip love, he was like ‘that nigga Nip kinda sick blood’ know some Eastside niggas bang my shit tough, it’s all love even to my homeboys that switched up.” His lyrics shared a message of unity between rival gangs born through their shared love of rap. It shocked the world on April 5th, 2019, when nearly every Los Angeles gang — crips, bloods, rivals from all sides — came together to form a peace treaty. Everyone expected Nipsey’s death to perpetuate more gang violence, but instead his passing was met with peace. To think that something of this magnitude could take place over one man’s death is just another testament to his greatness.

Nipsey’s rap lectures on gang ethics were never overshadowed by his message of commitment to building wealth in the Black community; through his insightful dialogue, he often found a way to streamline the two. During his time here, Hussle revolutionized the music industry by sticking to his “No Middle Man” and “Proud 2 Pay” mottos. Since 2005, he put out twelve album-quality mixtapes under his own distribution label, All Money In No Money Out, avoiding major label vultures. After an already lengthy discography, his fans begged him for an official debut album.

Finally, on February 16th, 2018 Nipsey released Victory Lap after signing a one-of-a-kind deal with Atlantic Records. He described it himself as “an unprecedented strategic partnership for our music, with a company that understands individuality, integrity and the value of service at the highest level.” Rightfully titled, Victory Lap was Nipsey Hussle’s final form. Through the sound of his evolved bravado and orchestral production, we experienced a timeless ghetto symphony. With an official album release and a Grammy nomination for best rap album, Hussle exceeded expectations. He had followed through with all of his promises to his fans and showed future artists that the music industry can only enslave you if you allow it. It was a call to action to boss up on all spectrums.

VL.jpeg

Following his own blueprint, Hussle began investing in the tech industry, opened The Marathon clothing store, Stevie’s Barbershop, Vector 90 — a STEM research center and co-working space for creatives in the inner city — and was on the brink of becoming a real estate mogul. All of these businesses earned him a Forbes article as well as political acknowledgment. However, the most notable aspect of his ownership was not his acquired wealth or accolades, but instead the fact that all of these entities were co-owned by his family, friends and peers. Needless to say, the employees were also people of the community. The Marathon Store even employed felons who faced trouble finding work and leading legitimate lives after incarceration. Based on the needs of his people, Nipsey created a business model that displayed firsthand what building laterally meant, and he did it in the heart of the Crenshaw district — a place that many feared to step foot in.

It takes a special type of business awareness to be able to empower others without enabling them. Hearing from those who had the opportunity to work with Nipsey, it was very clear that before getting into business you had to have a sense of direction and a plan. In a famed tweet he wrote, “I taught all my n*ggas how to fish. Some caught more than others, some said they rather be fed, some passed me up in the process but at the end of it all I know I ain’t hide the game from my people and I’m real for that.” This mentality of natural selection within business has been the cornerstone for many lessons and economic triumphs in the Black community of Los Angeles.

One particular triumph arrived through his younger sister, Samantha Smith, a hood sweetheart, public speaker and esthetician. Samantha practiced as a skin care professional for some time before deciding to start her own skin care business, GLO by Samantha, in 2018. While she surely read a few pages out of her brother’s book, her plan and her story are all her own. In an interview, Nipsey himself expressed how proud he was of her new endeavor and validated that there was no nepotism involved in her process. Having an icon for a brother, yet still finding it necessary to create a name for yourself speaks to the character that fills the bloodlines of the Hussle family.

NipBoogie.jpeg

While he showed love to his people by giving away free game, he also made sure that intimate love was a priority. His relationship with South Central’s princess, Lauren London, was an example of Black love that many aspired to. What made this pair special to us was their representation of an LA made union. We see the man — tall, tatted, familiar, a protector and provider — and the woman — down to earth, gorgeous, and adorned in Slauson gold with her own identity. Lauren reflects so many women from LA’s inner city and Nipsey reflects so many men. They raised a blended family and despite their busy schedules, were always seen together. From an admirer’s perspective, their relationship was a balance of realness and romance.

Although much was kept private, the couples’ public displays of affection sparked a conversation for many young men to go against what the streets may have taught them and treat their women with high regard, like Nipsey treated Lauren. Lauren reciprocated through loyalty, motherhood, words of encouragement and joy. In a recent video for GQ magazine, Lauren asked Hussle, “What is your favorite thing about me,” to which he replied “Your spirit.” Just like one of his favorite singers Sade once proclaimed, this was no ordinary love.

They say it’s impossible to have everything at once, but Ermias seemed to have it all. He figured it out despite being born into a neighborhood that mirrored a war zone. He was relatable because he was dealt the same cards a lot of us were dealt. Just like us, he faced the reality of becoming a product of his environment since birth. Instead of being victimized by a system designed to fail black men, Nipsey Hussle chose to beat the odds by way of his very own design. The neighborhood adored him, not because he was a good rapper or a rich Crip, but because he was accessible and made it his mission to share the wealth of knowledge with his people so that we can one day see a different horizon.

On March 31, 2019 we found out that it wasn’t just LA that loved him, the whole world did. With vigils and dedications held from Crenshaw and Slauson to Eritrea, a public statement of grief from the Los Angeles Police Chief, and an address from Congresswoman Karen Bass, his accomplishments will be catalogued in history books. Hussle’s mission will continue through the millions that follow his example.

Dawit Asghedom, left, father of Nipsey Hussle, and Asghedom’s cousin Aida Ghidey, center, at a memorial for Nipsey Hussle at Medhani-Alem Eritrean Orthodox Tewahdo Church in Los Angeles on Sunday. (Ana Venegas / LA Times)

Dawit Asghedom, left, father of Nipsey Hussle, and Asghedom’s cousin Aida Ghidey, center, at a memorial for Nipsey Hussle at Medhani-Alem Eritrean Orthodox Tewahdo Church in Los Angeles on Sunday. (Ana Venegas / LA Times)

Passing at the age of 33, by numerology wisdom he ascended a master teacher. The city — excuse me — the world will honor his legacy forever. That being said, the next time someone asks me why Nipsey Hussle was so important, I’ll tell them to read this…

In the name of Ermias “Nipsey Hussle” Asghedom, August 15th, 1985 — March 31st, 2019…

“The Marathon Continues.”

Nameless: Navigating Male Dominated Industries

As a female DJ, I find myself in an internal battle daily. I am a woman who stands for other women, who is respected by her very own demand, yet every night when I book a party I play 100+ songs that shit on everything I am and everything I do on a daily basis--and I sing all the lyrics and bob my head to every beat. I’m certain there are people who would call me hypocritical in a sense. While I don’t blame them, I speak for myself when I say that through understanding the positive and negative impact of hip-hop culture I’ve somehow made space to accept the fact that since I was a kid, the good, bad, and ugly of hip-hop culture has been a part of who I am. I’ve learned how to exist and assert myself in a space that sometimes forgets to love me while remaining aware to never compromise my personal values as a woman of color. Ava DuVernay once tweeted, “To be a woman who loves hip-hop at times is to be in love with your abuser. Because music was and is that. And yet the culture is ours.” At the core of my identity as a Black woman, I’ve subconsciously learned to shield myself from internalizing the ever-present misogyny that is cemented in the music I listen to and play for others. While there has been a call to action for men to mind their behaviors as a positive yield of feminism, it is naive to think that the music itself will change soon, if ever. As long as things are slow to change, I will move about my environment with a kind of discernment I hope to share with other women facing the same internal conflict.

“When in Rome do as the Romans,” they say. Today, as it refers to language we would call what the romans do “code-switching.” By definition, code-switching is "to alternate between two or more languages, or varieties of language in conversation." Until now, it never occurred to me that I also tend to code-switch in certain situations. Recently, I interviewed a rapper friend and as I played back the recording I noticed that I said the words “nigga” and “bitch” so much, it made me cringe listening to myself. Why was I doing this? Is this how I speak in professional environments on a daily basis? Do I talk to other women like this? On the 1996 track “Zealots” by The Fugees, living icon Lauryn Hill said, “& even after all my logic and my theory, I add a ‘motherfucker’ so you ignant niggas hear me…” After serious reflection and assistance from Ms. Hill, I came to the conclusion that this subconscious code-switching was a result of fear of not being heard unless I speak in a way that my male peers will understand. However, within that same recorded interview, there were moments where I spoke softly to challenge a comment or make a point. Contrary to my projections, my softness was validated just the same. It might’ve been the inherent respect of the men I was interacting with, or simply the fact that.. wait for it… it doesn’t matter! Looking back on other interactions where I was the only woman in the room, most of the time what mattered is what I brought to the table. I never had to be loud or crass in my delivery. Male dominated spaces can be intimidating for some of us. As a result we have to be mindful of when we are outwardly projecting the fear of being overlooked while fighting to make a point. We don’t have to fight. We don’t have to adapt the way we speak to fit the vibe of the room. Instead of expecting to not be heard, expect that the right person in the room will hear you in whatever delivery is authentic to your character.

Within my code switching epiphany the question of how I converse with other women presented itself as a recurring concern. Repurposed slang and cultural euphemisms say a lot about how our generation has reinterpreted old meanings, thus redirecting the energy behind certain words and phrases. When I was in high school, the most offensive word another girl could call you was “bitch”. These days, “bitch” has went from a fighting word to an endearing and friendly word. For example, “that’s a bad bitch” - code for calling a woman attractive or “Okaaay bitch!” - a form of praise. Context and voice inflection tell us which way the word was meant. More often than not, “bitch” is no longer considered offensive and derogatory. Being raised in Los Angeles, I have observed that some women even find it attractive and acceptable for their boyfriend to say “that’s my bitch” or “you’re my bitch,” in reference to them. The men and women who have adopted these phrases as terms of endearment would defend their choice by claiming they mean it with respect. But does giving new meaning to an otherwise degrading word or phrase make it right? People have argued that using the word “bitch” among friends and romantic partners only further degrades us and leaves room for men to continue to disrespect women in music and in life. However, I’d ask them what’s the difference between that and “nigga”? While some argue against the use of the word “nigga” as they would “bitch,” the double standard applies here. A woman who favors Lil Kim may argue for “My Bitch” instead of “My Queen.” While a woman who prefers MC Lyte may argue for “My King” instead of “My Nigga”. Both subjects are powerful, neither can be absolutely wrong.

Speaking of my niggas, I never want any of my personal views on empowering women to be misunderstood for bashing black men. While I aim to help myself and other women understand how to navigate through masculine industries, it would be remiss of me to neglect the issues that exist within these spaces. As previously stated by Ava DuVernay, the music itself is the love and the abuser. We listen to it, we rap it and some of us internalize it to the point where we begin to think it is okay to be treated the way we are discussed in songs. However, in my opinion, no matter how much we stan for rap music, the physical manifestation of this kind of rhetoric will always be unacceptable. I draw the line when the language manifests as a harsh reality of physical and verbal abuse. From multiple open dialogues with rappers and musicians, I’ve learned that the lyrics that are degrading to women are often times just an expression. As a creative, empathizing with the beauty of ruthless and raw language has helped broaden my perspective. This understanding is the reason why I play all of the ‘bangers’ during my sets, rap trap songs with conviction, and chalk up the demoralizing vocabulary to artistic expression, but I hope that when the time comes to draw the line, a limit exists that will urge men to defend us. The moment I feel unprotected will be the moment I stop defending your art.

In retrospect, my sole purpose through this dialogue was to shed light on the fact that there is room for my girls to thrive in “a man’s world”. So for the soft speaking homegirls, the loud homegirls, and all the homegirls in between, feel free to be exactly who you are when making yourself heard. When the hyper-masculine asshole in the boardroom tries to come for you, don’t hesitate to put your foot on his neck. As for me, I’ll be doing my best to leave any extra “niggas” and “bitches” off the record from now on.

- Nameless

*Originally published on Formygirls.co *

For more photos by Cydnei Jordan for For My Girls visit the Gallery tab

2 Cents: A Response to SYLA Journal's Installment II: The Women that Raise Us

The Women that Raise Us. The name itself is powerful. When I hear the phrase I immediately think of motherhood, sisterhood, community, and as a dual thinker - the conflict that parallels these things. Syla Journal’s second installment covers movement through motherhood’s highs and lows gracefully and graciously, much like the journey of mothers of color. The virtual gallery is a collection of carefully curated visual and written works that pay homage, raise questions and provide answers to the theme. The interpretation of this art, as well as any other, is subjective and provocative. So as follows, here are my two cents of random thoughts pertaining to my favorite pieces from Syla Journal’s Installment II: The Women That Raise Us

Excerpt from “Letters to the Women that Raised Me” by Zainab Floyd

Excerpt from “Letters to the Women that Raised Me” by Zainab Floyd


As an admirer of all art forms, a stimulating visual is always appreciated and necessary. However, as a writer, I am always floored by the images we can paint with words. Zainab Floyd’s collection “Letters To the Woman Who Raised Me” captures both. A combination of raw portraits in intimate spaces, bold text, and sensory-driven language created an experience that drove me to think of my culture. Floyd’s collection raised the question of the differences and similarities between Afro-Caribbean women and Afro-Caribbean women of Hispanic descent. We share the love of plantains, rice, beans, spirituality, ancestry yet, I find the wedge between the two has been a controversial topic among us. I try my best every day to understand where the separation stems from so that I can help close the divide between two, otherwise, similar cultures. I am certain that this problem exists among many ethnicities, but being that my experience as a vessel on this earth is Caribbean, specifically afro-latin, I say this as a challenge to break a cycle of self-hatred in Afro-Caribbean communities of all descents. We owe it to black womanhood to address the ways that we can be anti-black, even in our own black skin. In her piece, Zainab asks her mother, “Mommy how do you carry so gracefully? How do you carry your pain so silently?” I would ask any Afro-Caribbean woman that same question, regardless of their descent. The reality of this shared plight in itself is the point and the exclamation.


Excerpt from “Be Gentle, Don’t Cry” by Dakotah Aiyanna

Excerpt from “Be Gentle, Don’t Cry” by Dakotah Aiyanna

“Be Gentle, Don’t Cry” by Dakotah Aiyanna brought me to tears with one poignant line: “The woman who raised me has to be raised herself.” This poem chronicles a daughter realizing that she must learn to do a mothers’ work in order to keep a lineage of strength, despite trauma and mental health issues. At the end of the piece, it dawned on me that as we - the daughters - sift through our own childhoods in an attempt to break cycles and undo the mistakes that our mothers have made, we don’t often take time to forgive the fact that our mothers are daughters too; that a lot of us were being raised by girls who were not yet women. We see our mothers as mothers first and not as humans first, when in reality they were learning and earning their way, while simultaneously attempting to raise us. It takes a lot of time and healing to reach the kind of enlightenment that allows for forgiveness, but once I arrived here, I was able to look at my mother who was once a daughter, who lost her mother and thus her guidance at the age of eleven - then look at myself and say, “Ma, you are not perfect, but you did a damn good job.”


Excerpt from “How I Learned to Play the Crying Game” by Nia Mora

Excerpt from “How I Learned to Play the Crying Game” by Nia Mora

In a short but powerful 4 verse poem, Nia Mora captured the essence of mothers telling us how to work but not how to live, how to be tough, but not how to be soft. As a millennial, I often find myself in “Your generation” debates with older people, and while we have our flaws I firmly believe our strengths supersede them. Yes, we’ve been somewhat coddled by technology, but we’ve also made connecting with the world more accessible by it. Yes, some of us don’t “respect our elders” but we’ve learned to respect ourselves enough to not tolerate belittling or disrespect from anyone of any age. Lastly, we’ve decided collectively that we would be the ones to live out our wildest dreams. More leaders, less sheep. We will never be tied down by society’s obligations because we’ve obligated ourselves to lead fun, full lives. We are still purposeful, we just know how to work and play. With that being said, our elders have taught us, but they can also stand to learn from us. I know someone’s aunty is going to read this and question my audacity but quite frankly, I don’t care. So, to my generation: Never lose your fervor. 


Excerpt from “Rules. Mommy, Daddy: Loving, Caring” by Sabrae Danielle Smith

Excerpt from “Rules. Mommy, Daddy: Loving, Caring” by Sabrae Danielle Smith

Lately, the presence of alpha women in the places I frequent have been forthright. We are owners, bosses, rebels, scholars, artists assertively taking our place in male-dominated spaces. Through narrating her parents as characters in a short story, Sabrae Danielle Smith depicts an image of an outspoken woman and a quiet, seemingly submissive man. “Mommy used to tell Daddy, ‘Mind your business,’ when he insisted that she wear shoes outside. Mommy said, ‘You don’t have to do what men tell you to do, but be prepared for what could happen if you decide to say no.’” This line begs the question, are we putting ourselves at risk by being assertive? Indeed, we are. Every day as we make the decision to speak our minds, to defend our bodies, to simply demand respect - we risk our lives. But the freedom that comes from safeguarding our dignity, I’d say, is worth the risk.

As I wrapped up my experience with The Women that Raise Us, it occurred to me that I owe a lot to many women because mothering doesn’t end nor begin with bearing a child. I’ve been nurtured and raised upright by sisters, homegirls, tia’s, teachers and of course, mothers. For that, I thank all of the women who have ever contributed to my being. All of the women that raised me.

 

To experience the full installment visit SYLA Journal

- Nameless

P.S. S/o to Mama Nameless

P.S. S/o to Mama Nameless

Featured: Mani Coolin’

Throughout the course of life, some people, places and interests fade out while some come back and stay for good. For Los Angeles artist Mani Coolin’, music is one of those things. On January 6, 2019 I found myself at Los Globos for Coolin’s first self-headlined show, performing his most recent project Here 4 Me Only. I didn’t realize it at the time, but in hindsight this was a full circle moment. With that being said, let’s begin with a little backstory: Coolin’ and I met at Crescent Heights Elementary School in third grade. It was evident that we both had extensive knowledge in music at a very young age. At one point, we may or may not have been part of our schools talent show as a rapper and back up dancer (lmao). Since elementary school days Coolin’ has been many things, among them an athlete, a student, a hustler, a skater - but the one thing that just so happened to find him again during his trial & error, was rap.

In 2011 Mani Coolin’ stumbled upon a friends in-home studio - a work space that at the time, was unheard of. From there, rapping quickly went from something he did for fun to something that was life changing.

“I didn’t know anything back then…how shit is blue printed and mapped out, I didn’t know about mixing songs, why my songs don’t sound like shit on the radio… I had to really learn everything in a different way. That motivated me to really fall in love with the music shit.”

Moments of ignorance can either make a person want to quit or make them want to master the craft. Judging from these early moments, Mani Coolin’ definitely chose the latter. From watching his peers in the music industry, to researching and learning how to properly guerrilla market his own music, Coolin’ was doing it all. A few mixtape releases and a few years later he dropped his first official project titled Hope 4 The Youth in 2015. With cosigns from labels like Dom Kennedy’s OPM and placements on major festivals like A3C, some would say the year 2015 was Mani Coolin’s peak. But, from what I saw the other night at Los Globos, I’d say the best is yet to come.

To be frank, I’m not sure anyone knew what to expect. What I do know is when Coolin’ started his set there was a very apparent energy and attention shift that only a true performer could command. His voice was clear, his posture tall. Not to mention he was dressed head to toe in Fuck The Population (FTP) x Undefeated collaboration sweatsuit with Y-3 sneakers - a look fit for a star. All of that, combined with the fact that he actually knew how to properly hold a mic (you’d be surprised how many of your favs don’t) did it for me.

“I did a lot of shows in front of big crowds this year, really because of Niko G4. He brought me out to damn near every show he did with Dom Kennedy…that shit just made me more comfortable, I knew I could do my own shit after that…and to keep it G, I really do this rap shit. I have no shame, I get in the mirror and I rap every day as if I was performing.”

A piece of advice that all performers, musicians, rappers etc. should adhere to. It takes way more than just good music. A genuine fan base is built on captivating your audience and you never know when an opportunity will present itself,

“There’s been times I’ve pulled up to a show not expecting to perform and then Jay 305 would come in like aye let’s do ‘Freak Ho’ and - you gotta be ready.”

Just like grooming performance skills, as a truly independent artist - no label, no PR and no distribution - Mani Coolin’ and his team are far from strangers to hard work. With his own personal studio being built as well as plans to work with LA peers Kee Riches, KB Devaughn and Rucci, an outline is already set in stone for this to be a successful year, but the only way to see the growth is to witness it in person,

“However you perceive me I don’t give a fuck. You see whatever you see on the internet but you can’t tell how I really am. You gon’ have to come to a show. You gon’ have to meet me in real life.”

There’s not much else to be said. Spend the money that you would otherwise blow on something with no value and instead, support your local independent artists - starting with Mani Coolin’.


- Nameless

P.S. Here 4 Me Only is available on all platforms.

"How Did You Become a DJ?"

A question I’m asked on a daily basis. In order for me to properly answer, I would have to go back in time. Since I can remember I had my parents to thank for never censoring what music I listened to. Even if they wanted to it would have been very difficult considering the fact that our home was Apple Music personified. The walls in the living room of our Inglewood apartment were lined from floor to ceiling with CD’s & vinyl. Not to mention, anything that couldn’t fit on the shelves was conveniently filed away in suitcases underneath my parents’ bed. Needless to say, music was easily accessible to me. In the early 2000s my father worked for Def Jam Records while my mom worked for a hospital by day and moonlighted as the brains behind a family owned record label by night. As a result of this,  I used to spend a lot of time after school hiding behind desks in offices I had no business being in because my parents didn’t have a babysitter. One particular day as I sat in the corner at Def Jam quietly doing my math homework, a man walked up to me and offered his help. “My name is Luda,” he said. Shortly after my dad walks over with a photo for him to sign and as I lived and breathed that day, recording artist Ludacris offered to help eight-year-old me with my homework on the week of his third studio album release, “ Word Of Mouf“. That was my earliest hip-hop memory; a moment that I owe a lot to. I knew from then on that no matter what life path I chose, music would be involved. I refused to have it any other way. From that day forward I carried my silver Sony Discman accompanied by a double-sided CD binder and spare batteries as if they were vital organs. On my person. At all times. Point, blank, period.

Fast forward to October 2017 - not too long ago, right? Around this time there was a saturation of women DJ’s buzzing in the Los Angeles area and beyond. Before I continue, let me just say that I’d be remiss not to debunk the notion that this is a new thing. Quite frankly before there were any of us there was Jazzy Joyce, Spinderella, Vashtie Kola to name a few. However, this resurgence of the female DJ was something unseen. Thanks to the internet, the way women were claiming their titles as soundscapers with authority and access was never done before. But I digress - In October 2017 I bought a Pioneer DDJ SB2 beginner controller as a birthday present to myself. Shortly after I became the most poppin DJ ever… SIKE. Actually, the truth is I did not touch my equipment for months. Between life’s happenings, moving into a new apartment, coupled with the fact that I was hung up on not wanting to be just another girl out here DJ’ing because it was the cool thing to do, I couldn’t find the head space to start. To further add to the pessimism, I was waiting for someone to teach me what I could easily teach myself. Seeking mentorship when all I needed to do was use the resources that were right in front of me. In hindsight, my thoughts were a hindrance to myself. We can be our own worst enemies. I don’t recall the exact moment everything clicked but somewhere between an anxiety attack and stagnancy I made the decision to stop making excuses for things that I could control. I quickly enrolled in YouTube University and became a student of the craft. After a few months of practice there I was…

April 15, 2018 - First time DJ’ing for A Beautiful Life x Comfort LA Brunch

May 18, 2018 - 001: Muse Mix released on Soundcloud - 8,359 plays to date

June 2, 2018 - First time DJ’ing as “Nameless” for Washed & Restless day party

July 31, 2018 - Ace Hotel for Pakkard Studio

August 11, 2018 - Washed & Restless Pt. 2 sold out

August 25, 2018 - Principalities for Actrite LA

September 23, 2018 - Worldwide Pride for Subvrt Mag

October 28, 2018 - Clumsy Japan x Pakkard Studio Pop-up

November 5, 2018 - Complexcon for Champion x Timberland booth

November 17, 2018 - First time DJ’ing in New York for Felt Zine x Superchief Gallery

December 9, 2018 - Opened for Larry June and co. in concert

And today is January 4, 2019. In just nine months, a timeline of events transpired that  I never saw coming within the year - or ever. At one point in 2018, I remember being ready to chalk up the year as a loss because things weren’t going the way I wanted. Looking back I am in awe of what has become, but looking forward I’m ready for what has yet to become.

I’ve said all of this just to highlight the fact that each individual has the ability to shift their mentality, which will, in turn, shift their entire situation. Divorce your debilitating thoughts, adopt a self-starter mentality and be your whole self on a punk bitch.

New year. New money.

- Nameless

A Reflection

Anxiety, loose journals and an idea. Like any and everything, when its all said and done the foundation of all projects can be stripped down to the most obsolete moments. I believe the oldest poem in Nameless: A Post-Traumatic Self was written nearly two years ago, while the last addition is only about a month old. When I look back on my evolution throughout this time period the phases can't really be categorized chronologically and for good reason, that's why all dates were excluded from the publishing. In a way I think that this is a testament to the wavering process of healing. For example, the saddest times were probably transcribed in the beginning, two years ago, but about a month ago a moment of fleeting angst called for an introspective and somewhat sad piece. In that regard, the biggest thing I learned about my healing process was that there is no definitive say on when the ill feelings will fade there is simply the beginning the end and the time in between. Something eventfully painful occurs, you cry and hurt, you have days where everything feels light, maybe even elongated periods of time, weeks, months where you can breathe easy, but that's neither here nor there. A year later when you find yourself facing the same demons that you seem to have escaped, you ask yourself how is this still happening to me, you ask yourself why a million + times, but with more living you come to know that its finally over. There's no date or time stamp, no true summation but there is an end. For me the release of these thoughts and feelings into the world is exactly that. I had to find a way to express myself and since I can remember the only thing I felt exceptional at was writing. Throughout my life I always told myself that this is what I would be, but I didn't know that I would become that through the misfortune of my relationships with past lovers. I guess like most creative outlets, the cliché of tragedy before triumph definitely fits here as well.

Transitioning from scattered feelings into logistics was the most difficult part of the process. I've done many projects throughout school and been a part of many things that required organization throughout my life but none of those things were directly composed by me. None of those things were for me - in that sense I was just working and doing x,y,z to either get by or pass the time. When it became more personal is when I began to panic about my skillsets that would allow this project to come together - or lack thereof. The writing has been collected in a file on my desktop for over two years and writing for me is as fluid an act as drinking water, that was the easy part. Assembling all of these loose journals was the real challenge. With no real direction, I began to reach out to other poets and writers I looked up to. If you asked me then, I would tell you that I was searching for mentor-ship. In hindsight, I was really searching for confidence in myself. I needed someone I considered prolific to tell me I was good enough, but throughout the journey I found that the relationship between what's ready to be shared with the world and what's not quite ripe yet is solely between the artist and the work. No one can reassure you but you.

But I digress - After a few emails and google docs went unread or unresponded to I said fuck it, and started outlining ideas myself. I was very overwhelmed and working out of order until I reached out to my editor turned friend Breeana Nykole. I felt at ease from our first meeting which is definitely credited to her balanced energy. I like to call her my aunty (haha). I tend to get rowdy and overwhelmed when any little thing goes wrong, Bree's aura allows for no unnecessary disorder. There was a brief moment (that felt like forever) of turbulence that occurred when she moved from Los Angeles to North Carolina, a week of no contact - which led to no clarity for me in terms of her involvement in the project. Although there were moments where I wish I could teleport overall, Bree moving was the biggest blessing to happen to Nameless: A Post-Traumatic Self. After a week of not speaking, Bree re-emerged well rested and momentarily free from all responsibilities, leaving her more enthusiastic and involved than before, even with miles between us. I have Breeana and SYLA journal to thank for giving this zine structure, breathing life into it with the design and aesthetics, and keeping all of my loose screws together and focused on the end result.

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When asking someone to describe their personal style the answers vary, for me I take pride in always appearing comfortable no matter what the event calls for. With that comfort comes my love for dark and/or neutral colors, uniform tones that blend well with my effortlessness. I couldn't have imagined that my first personal project would involve four colors (yellow, blue, green and lavender) until styling came into question. Maya Spratling (JetpackSprat) colored my lifes work in pastels and minimalism. A person with attention to detail is something inherent and hard to come by, needless to say, its a necessary skill that is difficult to learn. A lot of time we see things often imitated but never duplicated and wonder why the imitator can't seem to get it right - this is all because of details. through Maya I learned (especially with color theory) that every little thing matters. Although my own preferences were involved in picking some of the pieces depicted, I don't think I could take credit for the seamlessness of the styling that took place throughout production. From twisting of buttons, steaming wrinkles so meticulously that it irritated me at times (LOL), to pulling of stray threads Maya made sure that everything looked as good as my writing reads, down to a simple stud earring that wouldn't have mattered to me had she not pointed it out, yet made all the difference.

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Throughout life I've always regarded very few women as friends. That can be attributed to my introvert/extrovert commonalities (s/o SZA), my childhood experiences with other girls, or my lack of trust that was embedded in me from a young age by my mother who always told me "I'd rather see you hanging with a bunch of guys than a bunch of girls because if I don't know anything, I know that your guy friends will always have your back". With a somewhat rough playschool upbringing I would say that my mom was right for the most part , I grew up getting into fights I never started, was jumped once or twice, and even threatened to be cut with a razor from girls in elementary and middle school. There was one girl at John Burroughs Middle School however, that I did not know would become one of my most loyal friends in my adult life. Denita Turner and I used to ride the school bus together, only speaking Hi-Bye in passing. It wasn't until I moved back to Los Angeles in January 2016, after graduating from college that we became inseparable friends. Since the first night we met and ate vegan Thai food while bonding over music and poetry in her car she named 'Karma' she's debunked every hangup I've had about befriending other women which has allowed me to connect with almost every woman that has aided me in producing Nameless: A Post-Traumatic Self. The list of ways in which Denita has helped me goes on for miles but in less words: I am left-handed and Denita Turner is my left hand.

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Naturally - and as aforementioned - anyone I've met through Denita has also became a friend to me. One of those people is fellow Libra and makeup artist of our era, Erin Pea. In a time when the MUA is a quintessential Instagram micro-celebrity who over-saturates pretty faces in foundation, mink eyelashes and glitter Erin harnesses and editorial gift that enables her to enhance a face all while still keeping that persons true essence. Ms. Pea is many things but I would crown her in my immediate collective as the household make-up artist for creatives. I once told her that for some reason when I scroll through social media I can immediately pinpoint her brush to a face without knowing that it’s her work. Until I worked with Erin, I personally never noticed how an artistic form that is often disregarded also has the same potential to bud a signature style as any art form does. Progressively, after a long day of shooting and makeup artistry, I also told Erin that soon we'd all be flipping through her work in Vogue Magazine. I said that amidst a series of jokes, but I was dead serious.

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I showed up late the first day of shooting. I had just experienced a very overwhelming panic attack due to an unorganized morning and everything was falling apart. When we all finally arrived at the location, I immediately began showering Ciarra Walters - A talented Los Angeles based photographer - in apologies. she didn't respond typically by saying "it's ok" or whatever else people say when they have to accept an "I'm sorry" to my surprise she told me "Just stop". Instead of being rightfully upset that I was late on a day filled with obligations, the only thing she was concerned about was sound energy going into shooting. I'm fairly new to being the subject of photoshoots so I was very nervous to begin with. I wanted to shoot digital - more room for error - she wanted to shoot 35mm film - more grain and texture. She insisted and to my relief I found that with patience, affirmative words of encouragement and a knack for color portraiture and angles, Ciarra's approach to photography will turn any novice model into a professional. So there I was, the subject of my own writing working through insecurities and self-confidence in front of a lens. Ciarra agreed to work with me last minute after my first photographer was unable to commit to the project. Looking back, there were a lot of moments that one would consider fate, if they believe in that sort of thing, but after all the mishaps occurred, having Ciarra as my golden eye was definitely the best example of destiny.

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There is no math to how friendship develops. Just different interactions, different settings and reasons. The one thing I do know as a commonality between all friendship dynamics is organic development and trust is a minimum. Rick Dove and I experienced a serendipitous interaction going from not being allowed to drink my beer on the Broadway and Olympic corner per his orders to 5am conversations over painting walls in preparation for the show. With Hiatus Kaiyote's "Molasses" playing in the background I vividly recall a conversation about potential; On a weary working morning, we came to the conclusion that there is something precious about opening the first door for a person with potential. Knowing that you yourself were once someone that was just waiting for someone to believe in you. Rick could've easily turned my release concept down, he could have easily sided with the industry ideal of only working with known creatives but instead he took a chance with me and Nameless. I haven't had a chance to discuss his views on the turnout but I hope he'll agree agree that expectations were exceeded. Furthermore, that although we started our relationship as peers, we ended as friends. Friends with Rick from Pakkard. That's a big deal.

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In retrospect, I thank all of these people greatly. They've seen me through my anxieties, fears and lowest moments throughout this journey and it all produced an exceedingly successful product. Months of work leads up to mere moments of relief once it’s all said and done and although I've had mixed feelings of sadness about the end of it all, I am happy that I did not have to relish in the process alone. Success is without a doubt sweeter when you have loved ones to share it with.

Fin.