Tuesday, December 06, 2011

The Beauty Glass / Intellectual Mirroring cum Love cum Death
Kofi Fosu Forson

I fell in love. I fell in love with a ghost.

On facebook the social network I befriended a young woman on a snowy day in Milano Italy. She was listening to Miles Davis' Bitches Brew while talking to me via the live chat.

She was alone. Apparently she was always alone. Coy and particular in what she shared I brought out of her a persona she hadn't actualized in herself. Patiently I helped her reveal inner demons coaxed her through moments of sadness.

All the while I imagined this beautiful woman sitting by the window as snow fell taking me through moments of fantasy images from the album cover of Bitches Brew floating through my mind.

This moment was telling wooing a woman who lived continents away. I had a great knack for possessing women with language. A means of intimacy which inspired a former classmate to call me the "word pimp."

The woman in question much like people on these social networks were lost somehow in need of an escape. Life on the internet gave them a means of touching the hearts and minds of those far far away. This was no different. I had been tempted to join facebook. In doing so I got a chance to affect the madness and beauty of many of these women around the world.

It became a common thing for this woman to "poke" me a service on facebook where people are able to "poke" another as a way to say "hi". The more she poked me sometimes more then twice a day we built a sense of attraction a sense of love.

Within the virtual threads of facebook with little means of verbal correspondence between us we fell in love. The constant poking became inffectious. It built desire and libido in me. There were times when I would lay in bed thinking about her and my body was overcome by her virtual spirit. I would rotate on the bed in total phantasmagorial allure.

I was smart to write the word "phantasm" on a thread we shared. She promptly wrote back "fantasm". We both knew what was happening. Our mutual ghosts had possessed each other.

This became the death of us as I summoned her ghost when I felt lonely. She came. I would take my clothes off aroused waiting and expecting her to torment me. It was torturous. At times I was angry angered by the fact she and I would never meet ever face to face. I had to forever live with her ghost torturing me.

I was advised by a mutual friend on facebook for us to kill each other's ghost. I spent moments murdering her ghost went as far as to delete her from my facebook account. We came to an understanding as we resumed our affair which turned into a respectable mutual love for each other.

We never truly had prolonged discourses besides the poking. We shared meaningful love notes realized we had an eternal love affair.

In this the virtual world our love is everlasting. It is understood. It is recognized.

We may never meet in person. Somehow we shouldn't.

I know if we met it would be remarkable and brilliant.

I am her love. I am her lover. She has men. I have women.

And we have never met. But we are in love.


Sunday, December 04, 2011

art imitating life was always faux. life is art. art is a manifestation from life. the last of which we have seen are the post feminists post modern intellectuals post modern fashionistas post modern rock and roll geniuses to them life was art now we make art fail to manifest what has to be understood is potential not to under sell potential the potential to be be become we mold we sculpt we articulate from life that life is art is the manifesto not the art itself that we make