Friday, August 29, 2008

By Kofi Fosu Forson

The Julia Child tapes are worn out and so the images are often dizzying, yet my unimaginative response reveals an abundance of teeth like Jimmy Carter in his heyday. Not so much the Jimmy Carter in suit and tie as he addressed The State but the Jimmy Carter being ridiculed in the black and white pages of daily journals; venues for immortalized heroes. Jimmy Carter, Mickey Mouse and Adidas were early influences. By rule, among my friends back home, Mickey Mouse is virgin, Jimmy Carter loved peanuts and Adidas was the choice of footwear. I wonder if Julia Child in her international stature feels content with her fame. The television is momentarily snowy. Somehow I can still see Julia's pudgy form. I don't ever want to be in the public eye sooner than expected, a caricature of all that defines me. I would like to adjust my fly and not have the whole world looking. What would seem hilarious about Julia decked in kente selling mangoes would be her ability to feed the children of Nima. Julia Child is every nourished child's grandmother, and her dresses reflect her age. Glamour has never been my claim to fame. It is more the weight my words carry. In fact, Dracula is the ultimate in G.Q., much like my friend, Roberto. We have been friends since college, and he has always been hung up on seduction, walking the halls of Rhode Island School of Design as a pseudo-vampire dressed in black. Would if I could change his name to Roberto: The Italian Vampire Balducci. He claims a grip that deadens most pale necks.


By Kofi Fosu Forson

The first time I was introduced to Gwen was on graduation day when several people gathered at Roberto's apartment. His apartment had every item that should have been in the collection of a diabolical artist, from decaying swords to corsets and veils, not to mention a collection of cigarette lighters featuring imitation guns. Gwen couldn't have been more lurid in her colors-- her gorgeous red hair bound by a caramel colored hair clip. A view from the ceiling would have made her into a ceremonious tree, given the declension of colors: a red blouse, green belt and blue shoes. It must have been an example of Roberto's imagination and the first sign of his control over Gwen. A would be psychiatrist would have chosen the charcoal grey color of winter or the professionalism of autumn colors. Despite Gwen's allure, she convinced me of her perfect addition to Roberto's renewed charm. I had my perceptions and she neither met them nor did anything to change them. The truncated relationships Roberto had been involved in reformed into a loving partnership with Gwen. That night they held hands and affectionately kissed. Roberto's role as a vampire with black lipstick supposedly came to an end. He made a vow never to return home, where his tirades started, unless his family needed him. He continues to exhibit a no-nonsense masculinity and yet finds it in himself to laugh at his imperfections and what would otherwise seem bare-boned, knuckled and fisted.

Friday, August 22, 2008

Introducing Laura Conde

Laura Conde

I asked him to stay away from me,
But he put his hand inside my blouse

If you take me to the limit,
and you assault me like a prey
And I feel that we are both,
the prey and the hunter
Then we are two monsters,
trying to find a little pleasure
It´s been suffering for so much time.

I asked him to stay away from me,
But he put his hand inside my blouse
My skin burned and I break my promise
as you avoid to smoke or drink but you fail.

Today we have fun,
And you enjoy so much watching how you excite me when you´re holding my neck so hard,
pushing my head against you,
your member in my throat.
Then everything acquires sense,
Each hit from your cock is brutal, just as life.
My mouth is full of heat and energy leaving from you,
filling every space, calming my anxiety.

I asked you to stay away from me,
But you put your hand inside my blouse
My skin burned and I break my promise
I´ll drink you and smoke you til the end.

Everything excites me.
I am my sexual toy I always dreamed.
Some graze makes my skin burning with fire
and turns me an animal.
I feel like a doll of my own,
looking for what turns me crazy and expands me, like a drug.
I have fourteen years and I secretly masturbate
Rubbing myself against each object, each edge of the bed.
Gasping, obsessed with doing it once again,
terrified about they find me.

I asked him to stay away from me,
But he put his hand inside my blouse
My skin burned and I break my promise
as you avoid to smoke or drink but you fail.

Speaks as if he knows everything
Its aggressiveness excites me,
makes my blood burn
There is no control, there is no moment
Strong and violent candy and sexy
My exotic and elegant pet
I want to smell you and touch you all I can
To enjoy
I hide your offensive to keep enjoying
We clung to the practice of the usual in order to feel normal
Where are your edges
I only want to suck your cock
I only want to feel you inside me
I only want you to finish in my mouth.

Saturday, August 16, 2008

21st Century Sex
(...As Part of Gaynor Evelyn Sweeney's BIO Commodities Project)

Kofi Fosu Forson

Sex in the 21st Century has seen a discreetness overshadowing the underbelly of what is virtual reality and the unrealness of reality, that nothingness is indeed everything. Much of this is governed by socio-politics, what one would deem a gentrification. In most societies and cities there’s been a constant charge to rid of multiculturalism, immigration and concentrated art communities. There is an upside and a downside. Remarkably society carries with it a newness expressed in money. That is the labeling of society, its economy and infrastructure. What tends to dominate society therefore is the removal of culture. The elitist as in intellect and sex, art and money have been downsized to a cultureless more power prone soceity of moneyed people.

The 1980’s bore sex as “blue”. It was the choice color given the radical and pedastrian atitude towards sex. This was actioned in what were sex shops and as was obvious in New York City, a whole concentrated area in Times Square was devoted to sexual activity. Cable television also saw the rise of pornographic channels and programming. Society had therefore been influenced without purpose by sex. That is to say it was available not as a form of consummerism, which was obvious but as a part of the norm. The result of AIDS made it all the more worse.

Then began the movement of conservatism and the Christian Right. That the cruel intentions to end free speech decades ego had grown to affect sex. It proved itself in court cases such as those that included Larry Flynt, publisher of Hustler magazine and famed photographer, Robert Mapplelthorpe. The issues at hand were morality, civility and evolution. Given the high-crime, drug and sex culture of most neighborhoods as a low economy gave way to poverty, sex as a conclusion was overpowered as vice, disease associated with illegal drugs, which raised the crime of prostitution and drug dealing.

New York City is an example of a city which used excruciating tactics to rid itself of the burgening culture of sex and drugs and in doing so art suffers. But in truth the city has taken on a level of clandestine intellectual and sexual environment.

What sex is at the moment and it’s never been better is the most admirable and pleasurable text it’s ever been in history. How is sex definable as text and how is it pleasurable? Well for example, texting, the act of using the telephone to communicate with a partner short texts has been responsible for many interludes between partners.

As text, sex communicates an idea, which is transferable through male/female gender and sexual politics. The signifiers are the circumstances with which brings both parties together. For example two women go to a dance recital. At the end of the performance they seduce a male dancer into coming home with them. They end up doing it three-way. The same can be said for a woman who draws the attention of two men at a bar. The three-way then becomes accomplished when the woman recieves the penises of both men in her anus and vagina.

The world-wide-internet has paved the way for much of this activity such as fecal exchange, mature sex between older women and younger men, Asian sadomasochism, interracial sex and extreme images of men with incredible protruding musculature and women who literrally drink sperm. Preferably, all of this is accepted as it is part of the virtual word and that to venture further requires one’s undenirable ability to extract the norm from the abnormal. Certainly there are two different worlds decided in the real and the virtual. Entry into virtual reality is an encouragement of life as an existence marked by fear, intelligence, sexual desire… To be human, one has to be subhuman or superhuman. By knowing this the compromise is made.

As in the temporal and spiritual, a decided emotional quality is given to texts exchanged between partners. Two emails were exchanged by two partners. Somehow they both felt an incredible amount of sexual desire in reading the email. Temporally, a second defines the edit in each exchange. Communication hasn’t been this prolific and almost accurate. Understandably a lot is lost in the determination and understanding and interpreting of most text virtually.

The humanistic variables which bring two people together is defined indeed by BIOScience. The deconstruction of this notion would only encourage what we now know as the “alien,” the foreign identity made up of one’s genetic structure, fears and desires. The human is but an intellectual animal. He knows only what he has imbibed. This marks a hybrid identity, temporality and spatiality and the physical culture that brings about torture and education, self or academic. Understanding the human as unique is in accordance with the individual and the person.

The genetic order and disorder of a person is masked by an illusion of fear and light within the cyber environment. It is embraced or disregarded by the spirituality within text. In the seeking of information, the individual embraces ideas that are comporable to his identity. This can be decided in a photograph, amongst other recognition of self. The response within each exchange has more to do with contentment and self-admiration. Once understood, it is more normal to accept the flow of communication. The human notion of love is the torch one uses to lead him/herself through the stream of the unknown. To fall in love would then be the mirroring of another through familiar sentiments such as an intense reaction, physical or emtional.

Love, sex and reproduction is ultimately an urge in every human. The call for this is comfort, family element and the initial drive to procreate. There has been a difference in the family structure over the years. Men and women opt for a life singularly distant from the nuclear family. The nothingness factor enables people to be adventurous.

To deconstruct the body is a venture undertaken by the individual at times psychological and spiritual. BIOScience brings it to a whole new front adeptly pinpointing the structure of the human which determines the biological rammifications by which the individual conducts and serves as person. Much of this fails to affect the human in cyber relations because once again the human is an intellectual animal. Some fair better as animals and others as human.

For the deconstruction of humans through BIOScience to be relative in virtual reality, it would have to be redeemed as a co-editorial experiment. Virtual reality and the biology of the individual are at odds as it is not the human that ventures into cyberspace. It is the conscience.

In cyberspace, the human is a livewire, exposed and underexposed.

Wednesday, August 06, 2008



Kakamotobi brought fear into my childhood. Sounds of their drums could be heard from afar during the month of December. It was a festive month, a time for celebrating. In a town called Osu, the Kakamotobi masqueraded on stilts, wearing dazzling outfits. They came to entertain. Instead of sharing in the joy, we were afraid. I lived in the Airport Residential Flats with my family and like the other neighborhood boys and girls, I hid whenever “Kakamotobi scares you but it doesn’t catch you” was uttered. I knelt in front of my window, two flights above and watched them dance in an area surrounded by hedges and trees. The colors of their costumes were so bright. It disturbed me to see the intricate designs and shapes painted on their masks and bodies. The reality of it all; the rhythms, men and women dancing, made me tremble. This was our Carnival, Rio and Fat Tuesday all in one. These men, dressed in a glory of colors imitating Ananse folklore and even, surrealistically, the white man, appeared to be characters out of a nightmare. Their faces were obscured by huge masks. To see a charismatic figure twenty feet tall with a mask simulating the face of a white person and speaking Ga was enough to send a shock up my spine. It did. From shimmery to flash, their clothing formed an assemblage of go-go colors, red, blue, yellow, green to gold. Not one but five: each shook in a separate fever, twisting his knees, shaking his hips, gyrating under some spell. Together, they were forbearers of what the New Year promised, their celebration bringing the past year to an excruciating halt. Slowly they would come and when drums became loud enough, we would scatter.

(Authored by Kofi Fosu Forson)

Tuesday, August 05, 2008

Dear Mr. Kink,

For once, I would appreciate your machismo if it were exemplified in a room with heavy luminance, painting adorning walls with monochromatic figures and black roses scattered all over, perhaps a portrait of Jesus disguised as the devil. I know of your one and very publicized phobia. My mother's snapshot is usually face down when I remove my trousers to display my throbbing goat. Would you be willing to undress your women instead of your one-night-stand approach to sex? I like sadism, but not as an entity. I wish you would change your ways. Gwen Applebaum is your ultimate victim. I'm not a priest and I hate to slip into a pair of God-shoes to advise you on what to do once you've entered the hour that spells "F.U.C.K. F.E.S.T."

You fail to see your partner's cry for affection: an ingratiating moment when you could perfect your tongue-kissing. I don't trust you engage in cunnilingus even though I favor the practice as a better way to draw blood if the woman has arrived at a period of such display.

You call yourself a sex symbol. It adds more truth to my perception of sex symbols as misleading. But the need to fantasize is welcomed. I dream of a falling movie star with one last wish-- Marilyn. 'Nuff said.

The word pimp

(Excerpt from GORILLA HEAD )