Thursday, December 23, 2010
And Other Reasons Why I Became Chaste
Kofi Fosu Forson
In Charles Bukowski's poem Hell Hath No Fury he is seduced by a woman in an orange Volkswagon. The woman parked in the car watches as Charles Bukowski proceeds to smash bottles of beer onto the pavement. Another woman by a window suggests Charles Bukowski go with this woman. He enters the car and they drive off.
This poem inspired a rape fantasy of mine where I am picked up by three women in a convertible. Actually they drive up alongside me exit the car and grope me on the pavement and drive off.
Circumstances surrounding my discovery of sex is quite abnormal as I was titillated by neighborhood girls some of whom went as far as to teach me how to masturbate.
Women have always held the upper hand in my sexual conscience. It progressively became a matter of intellect and sex but originally like most boys from my generation I discovered sex through sex magazines, cable television and Hollywood teen sex comedies.
My parents role my mother in particular was to chastize me. The horror of my mother surreptitiously catching me watching adult programming on cable or spending almost half an hour forcing me to admit I was hiding an adult magazine behind my back.
I used most of these centerfolds for one reason or another but I also did illustrations of them. Our house maid discovered these drawings and once again I was chastized. The regularity of this probably had to do with my father changing me as a left-handed boy to a right-handed person. Whether it has resulted in ambidexterity isn't clear but I'm sure it has affected my thinking over the years.
I was aware of nudity and adult situations in American movies like Carnal Knowledge or Pretty Maids All In A Row. I particularly watched the teen sex comedies to see flashes of nudity.
I grew to find foreign films more interesting in the way they handled adult subject matter like Bunuel, Eric Roemer or Alan Rennais. Two American directors in Woody Allen and John Cassavetes were quite brilliant on their own.
At the School of Visual Arts I was introduced to the perceptions of language in literature, music and art. I discovered Nabakov's Lolita as well as the writings of Roland Barthes.
My style of writing at this point was inspired by what I was studying as an artist and it reflected in my poems some about women but over all it gained a sense of sophistication. I took an interest in the way philosophy was used to provoke language. It became clear to me all through my collegiate studies.
This began the patnership of art and women in my life as this was the language I spoke not as a boyfriend or even lover but as an artist. I implemented what would be muses in my life to make art. This then was my interactions with women which took on the notion I had growing up as pervert.
Given the idea of gender politics the time spent with these women became not only centered on art but sex as well. The role of pervert broadened into that of seducer. I had lost my virginity earlier but I was not keen on being a boyfriend and never did have the regular life of sex and relationships. Most of these encounters were mostly friendships that led to moments in bed. They weren't fulfilling as I cherished the quiter moments intellectualizing or be it fondling.
A year long affair with a married woman satisfied any notion I had wanted for having sex, making love or being in a romantic relationship. Having flushed out the angst and desire for sex I concentrated on working with young women who provided a sense of innocence which reflected in how I dealt with the issue of sex in my poetry, photography or art.
When it became clear to me that I somehow used these muses to fulfill my sex life I became uncomfortable. My purpose was not to sleep with them it was to make art. That was the purpose but somehow with drinking with lust it was difficult to balance the share of work with getting off as it were. It became gradually intense as I would sit alone with a muse rehearsing and my intension dark and distant was to seduce her.
An actress in particular made matters worse when she seduced me. I in turn proceeded to take advantage of our time seducing her until I almost begged her we stop. It was obvious she had the heart of Lilith.
Chasity was something I have toyed with all my life. I wanted to use the availability of this actress in question to make a statement. She and I went through the process of creating a play to address her sexuality.
During rehearsals we groped and fondled and partook in sexual activity. That became the damage and curse and a way for me to address my chastity. She endured this with me up until the performance when it became clear all her lovers were against her becoming chaste.
I have been chaste for four years now having willed away the torment of internet porn, advances from women seeking me as lover and the occasional moments spent kissing.
I am healthier now as my neurosis has always been sexual. My mother's divinity, my father's political prowess and my sharp sensibility.
Celebrating the muse for me now is less addictive and controversial as it is more human and centered on art and life matters.
Sexual intercourse as a manifest either happens or it doesn't. I don't seek it. Although my body wants it. My half-hearted attempts spent talking to women isn't meant to further anything sexual. That is not my approach. My opening lines aren't indicative of an entry into their minds. In a sense it is never a pick up line.
To find a lover or a partner would be interesting but gender politics as of now is diseased. People more so seek adventures online. The local girl has never been a good or positive choice more so now than ever.
So now I exist. I exist sexually because I am a sexual being. The need to have an actual lover would not prove much other than a female with an actual physical body.
The amount of discourse on intellect and sex which I would prefer probably would be best found virtually or even if in a human female she would play that role and I would seek sex in a round-about-the-way-girl.
Photo by Minouche Labulle
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Inter Connectivity of Art
Kofi Fosu Forson
As a seven year old I stuck an Ever-Ready battery in the underwear of Regina. I was trying to get her pregnant I confessed when I was caught.
Male / Female politics has always been pronounceable in my life for as long as I can remember. Much of this was inspired by an upbringing whereby I was influenced by the female from my mother to others including neighborhood girls, extended family members, love interests and professors.
Pornography was immediate in my childhood from flirtation to sex games I played with girls. Here in New York I discovered Playboy among many other adult magazines. Cable television introduced me to pre internet porn hustlers and adult television programming.
Advertising in men's magazines pushed the edge between men and women. Much of this was featured in campaigns for cologne, underwear or just about any product. I had a particular fondness for models both male and female. They seemed like artists and celebrities in their own right. I was very much the pre poseur often mugging for the camera. At this point I had acquired my very own style acquiring the name GQ.
The 90's presented a heightened sense of fashion, drugs and sex. I took a particular interest in sadomasochism after Sharon Horodi, Israeli video artist presented me with Venus in Furs by Masoch. We had met at a Kathy Acker reading.
Design Porn was quite common in advertising campaigns. A modernist style of fashion and sex in commercials and ad campaigns inspired by Man Ray and Helmut Newton. Fetish and other sexual behavior permeated society.
It was at this point I sought after model and actresses to work with me. Donna Benfatti, a college student was my first model. I remember our session as polite and innocent. I promised not to undress her or have her pose nude. She struck poses as I drew portraits and even composed a song for her which I sang accompanied by drums. This was the first merging of my art with a model.
Heaven a neighborhood cafe was frequented by young highschool students at a point in time when the barely legal was introduced commercially. I staged a play Black Birds in Leather Pants, about two characters who dabbled in sadomasochism. Two young women I met in the cafe were my actresses.
The muse became an understanding in my art as I worked with models and actresses in my independent practice.
At The Riant Theater I was able to write and direct actors in showcases. This was my emergence as a professional writer and director.
Currently I meet with Dianne Bowen New York City artist and writer. We confer on art as well as politics of the day. It is seemingly becoming a channeling of who and what the luminaries i.e. Simone de Beauvoir, Picasso and Hemingway were to Paris in the 1940's.
The 90's was the last decade to express such an interest in language and an interplay of discourse.
Modern society is cursed by a narcissistic conscience and the alienation of self.
Dianne Bowen and I offer each other the availability of language, a mutual respect, the inter connectivity of art and continue to inspire each other as artists. Most important of all we become more human.
Without the person and his or her inner turmoil art becomes fanfare.
This is what we suffer from today.
Monday, December 20, 2010
How My Mother made me into a Thinking Person
Kofi Fosu Forson
The street philosopher proceeds with will a means of conviction. He is not afraid to speak even if what he says has no cohesion and can't be fully understood. It doen't resonate. But he is excited to express himself and in doing so he possesses an excitable demeanor. Language is at his desposal.
What continues to disappoint in this modern world of faux personalities and extra curricular activities always can be found in social networking or the activity of texting where educated people are inspired to massacre the modern language. By all means chatter do let the thinkers think please allow the semioticians moments to philosophize. It's abominable what has become of speak or the potential to communicate and express ones-self.
In the movie Love and Other Drugs a female character says to a male character at a cafe table "This is where you talk about when you graduated and what you majored in..." or something to that effect. That old adage of women study literature and men work with machines has never been more true.
Commercially men are thought to keep their emotions hidden. But in truth the street philosopher who possesses extreme machismo is first to express his emotions that a fury of ideas once set to thinking ending up in speech with passion supposes a governor from those in the corporate world. CEO's have people who think and work for them. They represent a higher status but much of the backbone is within the corporation itself.
And how wonderful was it to see Obama give a speech. That in the history of the world there has never been a man so eloquent. Presidential speeches aside I have great recollections of my mother and me at the breakfast table. Ours was special. Mine as an artist and hers as an educated woman in the corporate world, a chef and clothing specialist in fashion design brought us many topics to hammer.
Unlike the torture with which people disassemble modern language ours was constructing a dialogue by hammer I would imagine a carpenter or architect designing a room or building a table. It requires skill, attention and dedication.
My conversations with my mother at the breakfast table has helped shape me as conversationalist and thinking person.
My mother always kept me close as the eldest of her four sons. In retrospect I have fond memories of us traveling together by car or foot. Somehow it was never with my younger brothers. It seemed as if she was grooming me for some improbable future.
It never occurred to me what attraction there was between my mother and me until I got older and formed a sense of sexuality whereby she would chastize me. Or surreptitiously I see her partially naked whereby she would look like a nude from art history. When we fought as mother and son I became turned on. Our argument would bring a rise out of me until I fawned over her or as honor I would confess my love to her.
In the darkest momemts of my life she was the only person who was there. Having to survive a bout with depression she accompanied me to doctors, served as my friend and at times offered what I now know was emotional incest. She confided in me a wealth of feelings and emotions. Some strangers thought we were a married couple. My father was jealous although he benefitted when my mother came to bed relaxed and overjoyed after spending most of the evening chatting with me.
Certainly my mother has had a great influence on me. My strained relationships with women as art muses all stemmed from my mother. She Eva Forson was the original art muse.
I have exorcised our relationship which is basically now pleasantries and topical conversations. I see that when we talk she burns. I excite her. She welcomes the challange to capture who we were. Our discourses so beautiful her friends would wonder how a mother and son could have such an engaging time talking. Just talking.
Putting words together with sound. It's the simplest thing.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Kofi Fosu Forson
Tell the boys in the basement I'm marching off with you
We are going to paint pictures of people falling down
If death found us buried under the books of tomorrow
What will Tuesday bring?
These men watch with their hearts broken and in love
Desire is a word but so is contempt
Among those who bash heads in ours is ink: bloodless
Fight them off with your boxer's stance
Stand the little giant plain-Jane-chique southern blonde
Their Oscar Wilde eyes are watching
Little Red riding Hood I am here if the walls should rape
Come knock on my door Come let us walk the floor
Gathering wheat and water this early morning
How would they know if we folded unto bed
Rumours fall from these bestsellers and paperbacks
Why then should we kiss make music of this
Not when our minds draw a perfect circle
Love within these letters spill across the aisles
We collect them baskets woven with humor
Sit before me damsel wearing an autumn dress
For you with breath I carve dream mold shape
Listen as I read these words victims from my closet
They rest tip of tongue pop from lip filling the air
Return again on a night that resembles Garbo
Tortured white weather overcoming us your grace
Like Hollywood Hills during the 70's we lounge
Lost aspiring actress svengali our Polaroid faces
Pose nude for me looking at you star-lit
Lie before my couch Klimt the palest of skin
Drink me in this cranberry gin put to sin our sex
You cried for Jim was I criminal did I let you down
On the verge damage I had made what could I say
You wanted me so bad I left you burning fresh as yolk
Friday, November 19, 2010
Designer Drugs and Taxi Cabs
Kofi Fosu Forson
Call the cleft of chin a punching bag I didn't kill him but wish I had
My Marilyn you left me for a stiff he kidnapped you up the stairs a bit
Rummaging through your disco dress breathing blood on his shirt
Like detective I tripped upon our love hoping and searching thereof
You found me in a waiting room attempting to escape the loon
He stood as you stroked my tie to hell he went forever goodbye
Designer drugs and taxi cabs were the reasons why we fell in love
From stairwells to barroom stalls we found strange places to get off
Taught me how to kiss but it was the devil's tongue you dismissed
With knife in hand you prepared to take your life bid adieu: a sacrifice
Found you Dietrich as mad woman in a place with other mad woman
We smoked cigarettes in the ladies room made love in the waiting room
Thursday, November 11, 2010
From a Schizoid to a Human Artist
Kofi Fosu Forson
I've been mad in this life. Think Kirk Douglas as Van Gogh. Think the emotional playing field of Apocalypse Now. Circumstances surrounding, people are forced to care. People are inspired to give a damn. You see this in the ghetto. You see this in crime families. You see this in poverty.
I was forced to give a damn. I was forced to attempt to kill my psychoses. Put an end to this malady. I tried to kill myself. Death is so easy. It's the planning stages that take forever.
My malady has always been a combination of sex and art. Mother's boy. I wouldn't call it an addiction but my mother and I had always had a special relationship. It was what it was: intellect and emotional incest.
My mother the original woman Eve is the most intelligent woman. She comes from a matriachal family of cultured men. I've been subject to this creativity. My mother's role in my life has always been more than just mother. We were independently born of love as a symbol and as mother and son we were partners in discourse. Our conversations were brilliant often inspiring talk among those who listened. During this moment of turmoil she was my savior. My only friend. My only means of love, hope and life.
So it can be said this my life is one of language extracted from the models of love, sex and art. I became this very vision more an idea than a person. The person that I was more or less was shattered. Conclusively I lived a life of stress without the resolution on sex which flowed from celibacy to random sexual acts.
Theater defined the muse for me. In it I was able to solve the complexities of gender issues, subjects on the masculine and feminine. I also used this as a means of rendering my personal and sexual relations to women.
The decade of the 90's had encouraged a lot of intellectual light. In the decade of the 2000's I was able to put it to use exorcising that very turmoil of love and sex.
As an artist I had then defined myself. To then become a human person was the next mission. My emotional poverty could then only afford me housing probabilities with other men who had emotional difficulties. This has been the greatest undertaking of my life where I've had to live with men I had never met before who had been tormented by addictions, fear and abuse. The many of them were homeless in a previous life. They were from the street. I had to learn how to adapt to the trickery, the deceit, the violence, the drugs. This has defined me for life.
So as time would prove I am less the functioning artist more so a human person. The circumstances of my background as an artist has never left me and it never will. I have conditioned myself to use the formula for art that is the envisioning of an idea with image, sound and text and apply it to rammifications in my daily life.
My mind has gone from a thing, a concept to a machine, an operating entity, livable specimen able to paint scenarios not with a brush and canvas but the usage of the mental playground and atmosphere.
I think back on the friends I've known this past decade and I say not one would I befriend now. Not one would recognize this person. Not one would know how to love me now.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
One Man Circus
Kofi Fosu Forson
I thought of writing my autobiography. In retrospect who the hell am I?
I'm in my early 40's. I never felt better. I never looked better. Who the hell am I?
For starters I am Kofi Fosu Forson. Born and raised by Eugene and Eva Forson, two humble people with extraordinary egos. He a retired journalist. She a caterer and fashion designer. I am exactly the kind of person to be raised by these two people if some one had predicted my birth henceforth life. My mother is born of the first woman "Eve." She is the foreteller of death. My father's given middle name is "Evil-doer." My mother comes from a background of great men, artists, musicians and theater people. My father sat at the same roundtable with JFK and has traveled extensively covering conferences with some of the world's most powerful leaders.
So who am I and what does this make me? I am indeed the artist they had praytold me to be. At an early age they knew enough to send me to The Metropolitan Museum of Art summer program. As a passionate fan of sports I got enrolled in summer camp and became a star soccer player. A musician at heart I was quick to join a band in highschool, Xavier highschool, an all boys' parochial school, made to wear blazers and ties. I started a fashion trend when I wore a scarf around my neck. Somehow I was celebrity. Strangers walked up to me and called out my nickname "Fuzzy." At the talent show my nickname could be heard loud and clear "Fuzzy Fuzzy Fuzzy."
What then is to be expected of a black boy from Ghana, West Africa who is indoctrinated into white culture early on with its world of sex, art and music? He grows mad. And after a mental breakdown the several years that followed would define my life of psychiatrists. Therapy doesn't work for every one but I have learned if something is broken you fix it. I've had to fix my broken mind. And indeed I did. Months later I started studying at The School of Visual Arts which led to my stint at Hunter College and my degree in Creative Writing.
The 90's for me was all about a rebirth from depression and medication. I had to fight my way back to a form of maintenance. I had lost my virginity late and what followed was a combination of affiliations with great women more so than casual sex. Although I had my one true affair in this decade. Women for me were more or less muses. I incorporated them into my art. I did paintings of them and gradually found myself directing them in theater and in videos.
Professionally I wrote and directed Showcases for The Riant Theater. Served as a Press Co-ordinator for The Eickholt Gallery, through which I formed an affiliation with a Liverpool project called Transvoyeur. And currently I write for Whitehot Magazine.
What I've learned in this life is that survival is key. Actually its the most important thing as one gets older. As a young person we feel invincible. As time catches on we have mixed feelings about people, love and race relations. Currently soceity is faced with issues involving gender politics and generational politics. We seem alienated from each other much of this can be blamed on technology and culture on the world wide internet.
Independently I am blessed of the love of my mother and father. The constraints that which makes a family tortured and disfunctional has helped me grow. It has tested my spirit physically and emotionaly. Circumstances surrounding who I am can be traced through photographs of me from childhood to the present day. I always had a sense of character and fashion, a feel for poise and charisma. Somehow my father has influenced this. But a combination of my mother's glamour and my father's discipline has made me and brought me this far.
Survival as I mentioned is pertinent to the mental frame, the physical character and spiritual energy. The body can and must adapt to this that and any situation. Having lived in New York for the better part of my life I am now able to say I have matured. I have become this person. A person of self-identity and a talent for living. I went from being an introvert to a man who gives flowers to strange women and compliments them as they walk the streets much to their glorious surprise. And with my ego disciplined and masculinized I am able to ward of the psychical, verbal and physical approach and come-ons from men.
I have a fight in me now. I can challenge any one. I have secured a life that is my life.
A One Man Circus.
Friday, September 24, 2010
The Fantasy Delirium
Woman as Flesh/Woman as Fantasy
Kofi Fosu Forson
The virtual age has spurned a subreality from the existence of the female in flesh to an all too reality of women as virtual fantasies. Having lived a virtual reality for the past ten years women seem a vision less impressionable in the real as they are as denominated within the dream sequence or managed and exploited within fantasies.
The woman at once intelligent featured as body sexual and penetrable has become a means of transient and fleeting examples of masturbation or made do for neccessary moments of meaningless chatter for the sole purpose of fornication. Much of this is so because of the virtual seperation between men and women in the modern age. A lot is also due to the fascination with pornography where women are virtual desires.
Women as physical beings have taken on a strain between love and desire. Whereas women in the past were understood as complicated beings most men took time intellectually and psychologically to know them, it is now more or less advantageous to woo a woman to bed than to know her within the realms of heart, spirit and soul.
People do still marry and carry on strong relationships. That love is in existence is real. Simply love is what keeps the balance between us as humans. What has occurred are the links with which people find love and how they define love for themselves. The eccentricities of love has taken on proportions which remove from its core what is morally acceptable among humans.
The entity that was and is love was furthered by the disposition of women as nurturing beings. Currently the woman has removed herself from that role and is more a seductress. This is more or less due to the pluarity in language between men and women. The introduction of tantric culture and the woman as sex muse was quick to influence gender politics. It encouraged the nature of women and gave them a sense of dominance more or less the right to be sexually free.
As physical beings and in the flesh women are obsessively in competition with the virtual muse. The model that is the porn actress wears on the conscience of the male in society. To then imbibe the existence of women in the real much of the fantasy delirium plays a part as it removes the fervour of what is female and turns it into a physical and almost animalistic relevance. That the female becomes a sexual creature less alluring more subjected to fornication.
Within the realm of fantasy the woman is not trading skin for skin or exchanging body fluids. She is a sex muse with relevance to the psychical and spiritual. It is not a sex act but it is indeed a sexual experience. As fantasy it is orgiastic and orgasmic. It plays on the erogenous zones. Depending on how psychically aware a person is they are turned on and react physically.
Modern women in their current existence have to compete with the virtual world with it's sex muses and virtual fantasies. The person that is woman therefore in the real and in the flesh is limited to a notion a thing as the intellect is removed from the female animal leaving her problematic as a sexual creature who feasts on the body without any probabilities of thought.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Modernizing of the Bombshell/
Kofi Fosu Forson
Women are now made divisible by the bombast and those who walk the street in the everyday. The eccentricity of the bombshell is a woman with bleached blonde hair, well dressed with heavy make-up. The notion was this variety of woman was the one enjoying the most sex. Due to what was home-made porn the typical woman in the everyday has acquired as much flirtation as the female who once subjected herself to Las Vegas trips or dated business men. This circumstance has rioted into what is orgiastic leaving very little space for women who function in what would be deemed as normal and typical.
Once was the variety of women where some were more intellectual, shy, promiscuous, secretive or lonely. Somehow many women have merged this difference as this so-called laughable sexual revolution has formed women into one identity as men-seeking-whores.
There is truth to this as some women of extreme intelligence are forced to live a sense of hilarity dumbing down their intelligence to be as bimbotic as most women. The breath of an intelligent women combined with a heightened sexuality is such an attractive thing. These are the kind of women who warrant an extreme sexuality. What I find however is that many of these women subject themselves to men who are less dominant sexually as if they are unwilling to partnership with profound men of masculinity.
Men who want to quote/unquote "get laid" do so with a variety of women most of whom are insatiable and not the typical professional woman. Some women do seek to marry and have children. Many find this on-line on websites like match.com. But even with marriages some are polyamorous or include women who are interested in group sex.
What is bothersome is the declared language between men and women. Honesty and sophistication is a thing of the past. Men pursue women mostly for sex. Vice versa women do the same. Those who pursue marriage are exclusive in how they find it.
Otherwise this pattern of feasting on the body for sex will increase all through societies around the world. Men and women will seek one thing and one thing only. Any forms of intelligent banttering will be left to social networks like Facebook.
Whereas men and women exist locally and internationally sexual activity will be made pronounceable in how men and women relate. Obscenity will replace integrity. Respect for the opposite sex will be nothing more than excuse to fornicate.
Gender relations have officially been extenuated. There are no principles governing who the woman is and what she wants. It's understood.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Torment of the Literary Thinker
Kofi Fosu Forson
Facebook has overcome me. I find myself on Facebook several times a day. I do know why and it's no mystery. I'm home there. People like me there. These aren't friends I sit with and drink coffee talk into the wee hours in the morning. It is virtual. I understand. We don't look each other in the eye. We don't touch each other physically. We do so virtually.
I've spent the better part of this decade virtually doing projects with people as far as Liverpool. That ended. Then I found myself on Facebook which was in a sense a continuation of this madness. Madness in a sense that what we accomplish whether theoretical or philosophical is done within a literary plain of psychical and virtual means.
Even the thing that is love has become virtual. I had my first virtual affair with a Mexican girl I met on Facebook. At first I wooed her into literary thoughts on love and art. Much of this stemmed from my years of seducing women into art. Soon enough we started live chatting on Facebook. Then I got her phone number. The long distance phone calls followed. She assumed the role of lover and virtual muse. She sent me nude photographs and a video of her stripping. We even went as far as to have virtual sex which means during the live chat we began to talk dirty and promptly masturbated in our respective homes while assuming the dialogue.
My problem with Facebook is that there are very few Fassbinders and Kieslowskis to be found. And if so people rarely spend time thinking profoundly. There are those who do but many of these people pose as thinkers. They present the occasional quote from writers past. It then forms a thread whereby people comment. I find that Facebook is not a place for literary thinkers. I continue to form this literary circle of people who love my updates and build a friendship. This becomes my virtual cafe where I share intimacy, friendship and even love.
The love that exists on Facebook tends to take on phantasmagorical proportions as it did with a Polish model who lives in Italy. Once again I seduced her into my world of love and art. But ours wasn't intimated on love and sex. I sent her thoughts and opinions and she responded with Hallmark like quotes. I was overwhelmed. But the physicality was missing. This was torment as our virtual ghosts were in love. If anything it played on my loneliness. I spent time fantasizing about her. Supposedly she spent time fantasizing about me as well. This was our sexual experience a means of psychical sexual torture. I promptly told her to "kill the ghost. kill the ghost" She now is among my 400 plus friends and we don't carry on like we did.
I feel I do benefit from Facebook as literary thinkers in society do so professionally whether they partake in a literary forum, tour as writers and artists. When it comes to Facebook people are keen on being carefree almost silly and irreverent. It removes from the nature of people actually thinking. But as matters go people love my updates and this to me is enough.
I tend not to care about my number of friends on Facebook as some people have as many as 5000. What I do hope to do is find another muse to carry on the notion of projects or even one day fall in love.
Monday, September 06, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
I've currently published an article about CORPICRUDI an Italian art project. It is featured in Whitehot magazine. Please click on the following link: http://whitehotmagazine.com/articles/august-2010-corpicrudi/2104
Monday, August 02, 2010
The Lady Gagas of the World/
From Edie Siegewick to Madonna
Kofi Fosu Forson
I met Suzanne Mallouk at Hunter College. She was the artist Jean-Michel Basquiat's lover and confidant. My first impression of her was her stark beauty; the black brunette, pale skin and thick redness of her lipstick.
We went off to see a reading I gave and stopped for pizza, watched her remove her lipstick with a napkin then after eating the pizza watched her apply the lipstick again. We headed off downtown still not believing she was Basquiat's lover until she presented me with a gallery book featuring a photograph of her and Basquiat. I kissed Suzanne that night this began a brief hang-out of a relationship which ended when I did an interview for Whitehot magazine and last saw her at John Lurie's art opening in New York.
The art diva is pronouncedly an attractive girl with a certain look judged by her face, body, hair but most importantly an articulate attitude of body and style. What she struggles with is a sense of beauty and ego and the pursuit of power in men and herself.
I have attracted the art girl in the past. What she seeks in me is the need for friendship and mentorship always making way for the more powerful man. What I have learned in this is to pursue my ego more as an ART GOD present with heart, ego and humility and not so much the egomaniac. I have since also learned to honor the art diva and let her go. Ours is a source of creative empowerment and not for sex or money. My role is more engaging than the typical man with power. I possess more creative strength and must allow the art diva to follow her dreams.
What I have learnt about the art diva is to notice her and stay away. I don't benefit from her any more. I have the experience to inspire her but to involve myself in a creative or personal relationship is detrimental to my health. It is a form of her using me to gain an advantage whereas in the end she lets me down. I keep this as a part of my history having worked with actresses and artist models and what is now the virtual model.
The virtual model leaves very little room for contact outside of telephone calls and emails and now with Facebook there's a constant everyday need to communicate. There are causes for creativity and productions and a means of emotional contact. What I've learned here as well is that the model takes advantage since the virtual lacks any means of humanness. This provides her with a greater advantage to control the relationship making it more probable for the man to seek contact whereby she is wanted and needed more so pursued giving her control.
Much like art divas in the past Nico, Siegewick, Madonna and now Lady Gaga, they seek power where ever they can find it. Their beauty is a cause for ego issues. What becomes of her is a woman seeking the highest esteem with no fault and continues to carry herself in the company of power less philosophical more control.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Modernizing of the Gigolo Effect
Kofi Fosu Forson
There seems to be a distinguishable pattern among men in the modern sense. Not much attention is given to elegance most of which is suspended for machismo. 40's handsomeness was an example of etiquette and style many of these men as in Bogart were disciplined right down to their tailored fashions and genuine good looks.
Rock and Roll brought about a sophistication which was evident in the attitude among college students and gang members. The hippie tradition also added to this notion of self-freedom and rebelling. Once the gigolo status was commercialized more freedom was given to the disposition of the modern male. He was free to experiment with fashion and personal hygiene.
In the 80's fashion took a drastic curve with the welcoming of what was a new wave culture in music, art and film. The male identity was recognized in so many different ways with trends in money (The Wall Street subculture) Hip hop as well as the yuppie. With the introduction of gangsterism and corporate masculinity the male had a propensity to exhibit power mostly expressed through politics, music and art. The 90's male was rebel giving the standards and principles set to be free artistically and moneterally.
Much of the 2000 era has been subjected to the commercializing of porno and technology. It lessons the modern male's ability to be literary. This perception was last scene in the works of Philip Roth where as the male driven nature of writers and artists soon dissipated and were replaced by dispondent rockers and gangsta hip hoppers.
So currently the modern male is full of complex stereotypes all of whom are in it for sex and somehow suspend themselves within the notion of this new feminist society. Seemingly the disposition of the modern male is his concentration on defining the female for himself. Generally there is an understanding among men as to the masculiniazation of the female. Somehow men take it upon themselves to play victim to this irrespective of their status.
Sophistication and excellence is the order of the day for most men although some still resort to juvenile behavior and bravado. There continues to be distinctions among race and class. The white male at once hippie is also locally a dude in character or businessman. The nature of the elegant male is still prevalent and as the modern man deals with the topics of the day i.e. international politics, gender issues, local politics and the business of money, women continue to be his greatest discovery in love, marriage and or sex.
Monday, July 26, 2010
The Punktitude of Pussy Posing
Kofi Fosu Forson
We are not let to believe that young boys in the 1920's snuck out of their parent's homes and went to get laid. The theory of the CAVE MAN is more relevant:- that we BASH we BREAK we TAKE.
Seemingly the 1950's would suggest a reckless behavior from the setting of the nuclear family whether it'd be a hummed and reclusive drug culture or pronounced race baiting. This was the era where young and old reached a divisibly and decisivesly blatant seperation. Movies like Rebel without A Cause and icons such as James Dean would represent what was the politics of the day separate from presedential politics setting trends between youth culture and parenting probabilities.
Pronouncedly the areas where youth met mature or old was radio and television as in man landing on the moon or JFK getting shot, entertainment and topical news represented what outrageously brought children together with their parents. Outside of that, music was the one potential to form a difference from youth culture and what was more relevant to adults. At times this met a melting point. For example I discovered jazz by listening to my father's records. Miles Davis and Ornette Coleman became important to me because of my father. And yet there were means of tension as some of these jazz records were not to my liking and seemingly defined him more than did me, Stanley Turrentine and Quincy Jones among others.
The WOODSTOCK era would then elevate that contension of youth. Whereas this defined the hippie culture it further expressed that notion of youth and freedom. The British Invasion, the Beatles and rock and roll had already established this.
Generational Politics of today is understandable as the fusion of world and internet politics has established where we are today. What is life as a young person is totally removed from an adult in the day to day because the circumstances surrounding children is influenced by so much more unlike the 50's or 60's. The movie KIDS was able to portray the nature of a child. It has yet to be equaled although foreign films succeed at giving a voice to youth culture.
Movies from earlier on celebrated youth in an honest way. 1980's BREAKFAST CLUB movies were true to nature although the sex comedies as a trend has lead to what I call the "White Boy" movies of today which demeans the original humor. Harry Potter can be said to have heightened the notion of entertainment for youth but at the same time it is not giving a voice to young men and women as to how they live and talk. Somehow these fantasy movies continue to be made and they fail to represent the youth of today.
While mature men and women continue to watch CNN and worry about gender issues, young men and women live a life outside of this. FASHION, SEX and MUSIC are areas where the elements of both come together in marketing and campaigns to sell commercial products for the sake of a dollar.
Otherwise there will continue to be limits between what is young and what is old. This as a conscientious world has been dimmed enough to allow for little introspection furthering a higher cause for internet sex, technology issues and money management.
The understanding of who we are, where we come from and where we are going somehow is not important any more.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Kofi Fosu Forson
Always will be in my solemnest of hearts a place for that better part
Uplifted into a world sharing hot chocolate with December's girl
Twirl of winds this winter wonderland sitting to think of a greater plan
Collapsing after midnight in the upper room of a white-walled cafe
Farther from those who gather beneath mocking the sounds of spoons
Alone in this majesty our hearts in abound at the love we have found
We have sat on the coldest day the lessons to be learned
We laughed at the presence of authority a hierarchy we spurned
We were the color blue your face Binoche
To have kissed you was Kieslowski's touch
The Manifest of the Gorilla Head
Kofi Fosu Forson
Gorilla Head, Cabeza de Gorilla, was a novel I wrote over the course of five years. I spent two years afterwards editing it with the help of poet and my professor of Film and Literature at the time Diane Stevenson.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Kofi Fosu Forson
16 crush, tattoo bum, lips like Bellucci
Street foot, Latin boys, dress them up in GUCCI
Sweet water, sugar mouth, scars on my breath
London and on, mother mother model before my death
from here to Babylon, mother mother, million dollar silicon
Poison me with alcohol undress me by the bedroom wall
Drain the blood from my shirt make me piss in the dirt
Blue Garbo I love you Blue Garbo true blue
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
Renata Onisko That I could tell you if I looked in your eyes:} Obviously, otherwise I wouldn't be still talking to you...Yes, Cassavetes, sometimes Francois Ozon, Godard, its hard to tell:}
Kofi Fosu Forson Let's talk kissing... two of my most memorable kisses one was the first time I kissed my German lover she was older and was married hadn't slept with her husband for years and she herself hadn't made love for years on our first date I took her to rock show and by the bar drinking vodka cranberry and talking I grabbed her and kissed her. I felt her body as one block of tired muscle hugging me grabbing me I sucked her tongue in and out of my mouth I swear I saw fireworks.
my theatrical exercises with my actress was great. we had incredibly HOT moments but when we stood and hugged and kissed with our mouths closed pressing against each other it was very innocent and warm.
Have your lovers been good kissers ;)
Renata Onisko I've had some lousy ones and some good ones, but it was never as you've just described from the first time. When its good, my body responds by the feeling of blood rushing down my stomach... Actually, touch is more important for me, if I can feel person's touch from the beginning, his hands are good, then I know all the rest is going to be great. I've been told that I have magic hands myself:}
Actually, until I've met my last man, I realized that I've never had a great lover, who would please me, instead of me pleasing him, they could only take, no substitution, selfish lovers. I think it goes for many couples. But we've adapted to each other gradually, so that sometimes I would literally "lose" my body in his...I think it is very important to be perceptive to the partner, feel each other instinctively, which could only develop with time. There is possible immediate spark of passion, but it normally wouldn't last...
Sunday, May 09, 2010
Pussy Kings made love to the very thing smoldering summer fling. Gigging at the Chelsea bars wailing from taxi cars blue guitars. Blond-eyed Unis girls waiting their turn hoping to burn burn burn. Where were you the night of Betty Blue where were you that night.
Letters he read to a girl from Canada Big Daddy Canadian Dada. Ruby Soho lips like wet dream Ruby Soho black as ice-cream. Channeling the spirit of Leo and Claire lovers by Shakespeare. Romeo Romeo falling at her feet dancing to a rock and roll beat.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
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