BLACK COCTEAU

2012-01-14T07:47:00.000-08:00

POSSESSION/ The Virtual Trap

Kofi Fosu Forson

Possession was a novel by A. S. Byatt.

Candidly the refrain from love as a form of possession has always been a sense of undue power over some one.

Much of this is established in sexually political exclusivity in what makes an individual lover. Society establishes an ideology as far as what is expected of both male and female, basically the commercialization of love.

Puritanically speaking nuclear families function basically in uniformity making the family unit circular.

This notion was broken by 60's spiritualism which drove the individual to outer cities in search of love, sex and art or independence perhaps the source of what became "The Rebel," a free spirited demon made celluloid in the movie Easy Rider.

Hitchhikers are known for their renegade sexual behavior. Their sense of caution and safety is thrown to the wind. Sexually they are exhibitionists. Danger attracts them. Pathology as it is involved borders rape or violence.

A man may make eye contact with a woman. Means of attraction takes a second or half second. Intimately signifiers present here are elements of lust and hunger. Much like rapist the male libido is at a high willing to fornicate at will.

Possession is an act be it physical, intellectual or sexual.

Literarily speaking Nabokov's Lolita and Masoch's Venus in Furs achieved all of this with a book.

Text can be pleasurable based on its language.

A reader then draws from its theme, prose and style. The literary dance between the writer and reader expresses an attraction particular to any two intimate personalities found among dancers or two strangers in conversation at party.

Possession in the modern day is virtual. Human connectivity has been replaced by adventures on line. Participation between persons in the communal sense is now found on threads on facebook.

Link therefore is not so much the recognition of skin or comfort in the eyes. One's persona activates a sensation that attracts people to each other.

Photographs, profile pictures, posts and status statements are means of possession, trapping each other into a faux psychological and conscientious world.

Guru David Shade speaks of how when people are making love the entranced and enlightened act as possessiveness is something shared with the world in nature and its people, animals and every living breathing thing.

The lovemaking act is a celebration of life, two or more people channeling spirits, energy, lust, libido.

Orgiastically speaking tantra was commercially introduced to communities around the world. Couples were taught how to achieve enlightenment through sex. It was at a point when gender politics and emergence of the internet and its sexual spam and porno websites crept into our culture.

Virtual voyeurism is the new means of inter connectivity where people on the web even neighbors in households are possessed by each other curious as to personal and private activities beyond the guarded walls.

Possession is now less animal void of flesh. A woman still wants security emotional and physical shelter. She attracts her own kind her human kind.

Intellectually people dont mate. They pretend, cavort among each other as artists but very few represent what is art.

Love is fleeting. I seek it in the moment. Others find it meaninglessly.

People are less of sex. The act has lost its potential for many.

Survival is not sexual or intellectual. It is pragmatic.

In the end virtual reality is possession.

Not money. Not fame.

2012-01-05T11:03:00.000-08:00

Cult of Man/ Exiting the Vaginal Cavity

Making Myth of an Autobiographical Life

Kofi Fosu Forson

Cult of man is myth with which he exists the vaginal cavity. This fate is understood. It can be seen in early photographs of a child. How he presents himself. His sense of style body language and facial expression. Does he look in the camera's eye with confidence. Perhaps he supposes leadership characteristics, beauty of a poet, sadness of a mule.

Cult epitomizes essence of life and death the struggle between. The individual is once at war with himself. The person and individual he supposes as human is at a disadvantage whether by illness, lack of faith or confidence. Thus then begins the struggle of finding who and what this person is.

As Joyce Carol Oates puts it "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?"

Circumstances from which the individual seems defeated is almost always societal; sexual or religion based, sometimes both. Role in the family paves the way as whether scapegoat or defiantly heroic. At times the idea of the black sheep becoming legend is almost fateful.

The term black sheep is only befitting if the individual recognizes it as such. Most of the time it's based on the shuffling of egos within the family, mother / father ideology and what roles children play.

They meaning the children are given agenda as first child, middle or last. First borns are those who bear the brunt of much damage within the family. Somehow their lives revolve metaphorically around the family as symbols of failure or success.

At an early age the first born displays signs of what's to be expected, perhaps its his successes as an artist, musician or in the sciences.

Alice Miller's Drama of The Gifted Child explores the genius and how he grows within the family. In so many ways a gifted child is given the freedom to be himself. This can be found in a parent buying the son an instrument. What is brilliant in today's society is how the purchase of a computer gives every child a chance.

Education is exemplary of who the child is as a student.

In Fernanda Eberstadt's Isaac and his Devils, Isaac, a genius student refuses to go out of town to study with other geniuses.

This is foretelling of who the current and modern so called genius is as most young talented children hate competition. In their minds they stand above the rest. This notion of entitlement and greed has pervaded the lives of young men today.

A class environment allows for the young talent to express himself among his peers. If he's a true star he will be noticed for his brilliance given what he's good at. The idea of being tested is crucial. To be removed from society living in a room with a personal computer doesn't present the individual with dimensions. He lives a faux life creating a persona on facebook and other social websites.

As a child I enjoyed a little bit of fame as illustrator doing drawings for students or getting paid a little as an exchange for doing arts and crafts homework for other students. I excelled also as soccer player in highschool where at soccer camp I was confronted by the star athlete after defeating him the year before he swore he was Rocky and I "Mr. T". and how he was going to beat me. I beat him a second time. This was an example of my talent in competition with others.

Among a social circle the young talent explores his myth.

Who is he? Does he possess a persona? What if anything makes him attractive? Why do people like him if at all? Is he envied? Does he have enemies?

I was given several nicknames as a young student. People knew me based on these nicknames. I also wore a scarf to go along with the school uniform of tie and blazer. One professor called me G.Q. I was voted the most likely to write and illustrate a book.

There are trying periods as the individual begins to grow. For starters he is awkward in one way or another. In my case it was girls. I was torn between growing up in Ghana with Ghanaian girls, growing fond of white girls here in grade school and facing the question of what black girls thought of me. One example found me teased and taunted for not knowing how to talk to a black girl.

Early in college I fell for a black girl. After ten years of a long distance relationship I took her virginity. She died a year or so ago as my only black lover.

What then determines my cult if then myth?

I was a star as child. Famous in school for my original persona, idle , alone among the crowd, stylish and as an African who felt comfortable among a white crowd.

A depressive and manic psychosis was my greatest challenge. Within it I developed scenarios of acute sexuality, mother/son issues, lover's triangle stigma, affinity for attracting lesbians and rape victims, contrast of young and mature women.

Obsessiveness over Sam Shepard's myth and plays encouraged my own role as playwright and director. Realm of my theatrical plays explored my depression, mania and sexuality.

I found myself among the Barely Legal generation of the 90's socializing and befriending young men and women. One great affair that decade was an extra marital affair with a highly sought after editor making love to her seemingly in the company of her husband.

My sexual conquests were few but those recorded were legendary, a collection of art muses and models followed by a self induced celibacy.

Neighborhood of Washington Heights proved to be greatest test as I lived among hoodlums, drug dealers and thieves. Four years in cohabitation with a PTSD Vietnam Veteran was well earned. This was the best example of defining my myth and cult, able to test my vernacular among drug addicts, gamblers, street people as well as dialoguing with philosophers in the art world, most notably my legendary relationship with Transvoyeur's Gaynor Evelyn Sweeney.

Life in the East Village has proved a battle with an alcoholic roommate and another a recluse with a crack whore girlfriend. Meanwhile channeling virtual ghosts through the access of facebook. This proved the most unusual battle as I dealt with a young neighbor who interpreted my phantasmagorical love affair and has since been a nuisance attempting means of witchery and demonology.

Hipsters of this generation have viewed me as threat and I have battled with them in the streets. Queer culture has permeated society and much of my adventures in the streets was resisting the usual come on from men. It drew a last straw when a man challenged me to a fight. He didn't persist but I woke up the next day never wanting any one to disrespect me. I have since defined myself as fighter more than lover although I am both.

To all of this I do say I am cult and myth. The "shadow" as Emer Martin calls me.

I possess an ego. It doesn't define me. Life possesses me. I embrace it.

I know fear. I do my best to conquer it. I know love. I have potential to be great lover.

I deserve a biography of this life. I refuse to write an autobiography.

2011-12-06T17:17:00.000-08:00

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.

Eternally.

2011-12-04T10:24:00.001-08:00

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

2011-10-31T08:40:00.000-07:00

DISMEMBER THE NIGHT AT TRIBES GALLERY, NYC

October 28, 2011

Artists Kofi Fosu Forson

Dianne Bowen

2011-10-22T16:29:00.000-07:00

Special One Night Event:

Dismember The Night, Collaboration Poems and Photographs, with a full color soft cover and hard cover book produced on the occasion of the exhibition available on line now.
link: http://www.blurb.com/my/book/detail/2498630

“Dismember The Night” By Kofi Fosu Forson and Dianne Bowen
October, 28, 2011
Opening reception, Friday, October 28 from 6 to 9
Poetry reading on opening night “the thread slam” poems, October 28 at 7pm : Kofi Fosu Forson and Dianne Bowen
Gathering of the Tribes, 285 East Third Street (Between Ave C&D)

On October 28, 2011 artists Kofi Fosu Forson and Dianne Bowen will present their first collaboration project “Dismember The Night”. This collaboration evolved after weekly intense dialogue about art and life. On Facebook, Kofi and Dianne took it to another level, using the social networking tool, they responded to each other through what they have termed, “thread slams.” In association to the poems, they began a series of photographic portraits. These diverse artists were creating a new form of art originating in the vast space of the virtual world. Two artists from differing backgrounds, Kofi a theatre director and writer and Dianne a multi-media visual artist converse fluently through the two mediums of Poetry and Photography. Together they are two distinct voices as one in collaboration running parallel.

“A visual language of the liminal is exposed and shared in the guises and mannerisms of the artists. We are presented with their story of awakenings to themselves and each other. To observe the static moments so elusively missed by perpetual time. We are drawn into their world and enter their dreams. As man, as woman, artists and ourselves.” – Gaynor Evelyn Sweeney

Kofi Fosu Forson is an artist originally from Accra, Ghana. He has written and directed showcases for The Riant Theater. As director and artist for New York, Transvoyeur, he received a one man show in Liverpool, prints of his muse series, audio monologues and premiere of his video film Cushion Pill.
Dianne Bowen is an artist originally from Brooklyn, New York. Bowen’s work is exhibited nationally and internationally and has been reviewed in print, on line, film and radio, including: Art in America, NY Arts, ArtSLANT NY, and Art in Dialog Estonia-NY documentary.

2011-10-21T19:27:00.000-07:00

IMAGES from THE POST GRADUATE

Photographer Kofi Fosu Forson

Model in Collaboration Dianne Bowen

2011-10-21T19:14:00.000-07:00

IMAGES from CASINO

Photographer Kofi Fosu Forson

Model in Collaboration Dianne Bowen

2011-10-21T19:04:00.000-07:00

IMAGES from La Rose Bleu

Photographer Kofi Fosu Forson

Model in Collaboration Dianne Bowen

2011-10-20T09:47:00.001-07:00

This is a test.

2011-09-10T18:34:00.000-07:00

EUPHORIA SEX

Sex and Doom in a Failing Economy

Kofi Fosu Forson

History fails me as to when we as a universe were plagued by sexually transmitted diseases such as chlamydia or the commercialization of The Eros in antiquated art or further modernized in art by Picasso, Louise Bourgeois or surrealistically dramatized in DALI, Khalo and FINI.

This Revolution began with the birth of Rock and Roll. What was a term coined by blacks as "getting their groove on" started a new means of music hypothetically instituted by Ike Turner's Rocket 88. It was later commercialized by white radio disc jockeys as Alan Freed bringing a white audience to performances by black musicians. With television shows like Ed Sullivan many tuned in to watch The Beatles and many other rock and roll acts including American bands like The Doors. Much of this hilarity and euphoria was however censored as these flamboyant performers were told what to say and what not to say.

Movies like Black Board Jungle, Rebel Without a Cause and somehow To Sir With Love created an atmosphere for the youth to rebel. This was seemingly the first time in history when youth was commercialized with its sense of raucous behavior both sexually and violently.

In literature Norman Mailor, Henry Miller and The Beats, Burroughs, Ginsberg and Kerouac introduced a different kind of language spurned by the use of drugs and a heightened sense of sexuality. Matinee idols included ELVIS, James Dean and Marilyn Monroe. They were marketed as icons and brought a charge of licentiousness not only among the young but political figures.

This decade of the 50's as an allure and set as an example in Donald Fagen's NIGHT FLY talks about the future where there'll be "more leisure for artists everywhere". This is where we are where technology has principally become our means of communicating. Social networks as Facebook have made communication much more common among those living in different countries. As is evident in the sentiment within the album there's an element of doom. In a song entitled New Frontier the main character builds a fall out shelter where he has a time of his life.

The idea of Facebook becomes our fall out shelter as we fear not so much a nuclear war but rather an impending doom fueled by circumstances as September 11 and our failing economy.

So what is euphoria sex. The relevance of politics to sex is great in how evolution and moments marked in time transformed our sexual behavior. Once again history fails me in surmising what is love and sex at a time of war, economic depression or a renaissance. But with the birth of rock and roll and its lyrics of revolt and outrageous performance acts with their front men, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, people were inspired to copulate. Rock and roll was the drug among the actual drugs people were introduced to. Woodstock culminated this behavior and unofficially started the Sexual Revolution. Much followed in the following decades as AIDS in the 80's brought our sexual conscience to an end. The aftermath was the 90's and the introduction of sadomasochism to a popular culture, heroin and sex and the Barely Legal.

Post 9/11 technology and PORN, love, death and sex plus gender politics and the establishing of the post post feminist has brought an awareness which is more or less an acceptance that love, dating and the 50's Playboy bachelor and 70's Gloria Steinem feminist had manifested into Hollywood house wives and porn stars.

The circumstances surrounding sex now is a prison sensibility where men have sex with other men what is known as "down low" originally prevalent among African American men. As actor Jamie Foxx said "Everything starts from the ghetto". Society has been permeated with a dismissal of intellectual thought. Sex is as form of dry humping. Group sex is less tantric and more hilarious, a celebration of orgiastic behavior evident in centuries past. In this case it is less 70's cocaine and sex at Studio 54. It is much closer to stupidity as internet porn features beastiality and fecal behavior.

This means of nothingness in sex is the understanding that love has left what we know as sex. That the allure of the bachelor is now an example of anal sex on the first date. There are no rules. Internet porn is evident on television especially cable television where these television programmers are forced to compete with the internet. MTV has changed its programming completely as many of its shows revolve around sexual activity.

Sex therefore has become disease. This is marked considerably in the persona of the youth as queer culture an example of sexual freedom has resulted in primal behavior. The lives of most of these young men and women revolve around meaningless sex and outright violence.

In an interview with Kyle P Silvers, an editor with a newspaper at a Wisconson College admitted that 9/11 changed forever the lives of people among his generation.

That this euphoric sex among pre teens, teenagers, twenty somethings, the fearful thirty somethings, the future 40's and those who have been there done it all is a cause of sensational fear, virtual reality, technology, our failing economy and the supposed impending doom.

Like the fantasy of the old man with a young woman he'd rather be having sex the day the button is pushed.

2011-08-31T11:37:00.000-07:00

What Do You Know About Punk

You Never Punched A Hole

Through A Mirror

Kofi Fosu Forson

New York City is our greatest experiment.

Collectively there are five Burroughs in New York. It starts with the greatest of them all Manhattan. Followed by what has essentially become the new Manhattan, Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens and Staten Island.

Manhattan is concentrated with a variety of cultures and has always been. Much of this was viewed as the burgeoning of what was hip and new, 6o's Beat Culture, late 70's PUNK and the New Wave art culture of the 80's.

A lot has changed then. Plans were made as far back as when Mayor Koch was followed by the city's first black Mayor Dinkins to curb the violence brought about by drugs. The 80's poverty and economic distress saw an increase in drug trafficking and everyday violence. The lower part of Manhattan, what is known as Alphabet City, was a dangerous place to be. Uzis were fired even during the afternoon. Many dared not enter Alphabet City.

Mayor Guliani took credit for the cleaning up of New York, its subway system, day to day violence, pornography in Times Square. Post 9/11 made New York an adventurous place to be. Many who had helped cultivate the city's integrity left for other Burroughs or cities all together. A lot was done by many groups to keep the raw art content in the lower part of New York. But with the increase in rent many of these artists couldn't afford to live here.

What we have in the downtown area of New York are groups of well to do white patrons who can afford the rent. It has become a sea of young white groups without the integrity or culture of those before. Somehow many of these people are diseased by money and are left without the history of what made Greenwich Village a neighborhood legendary.

The subcultures of New York can be found among second generation Italian Americans, Russians and Greeks. Among these who live in mostly Brooklyn and Queens are Portugese, Asians and Polish. African Americans and distinctly those from Africa tend to live in the Bronx.

Intellectually it is divisible between Jewish intellectuals and African American intellectuals. Most of them have migrated to Brooklyn leaving Manhattan for moneyed people less of culture, Hollywood actors who own lofts here and live between Hollywood and New York. New York University and Columbia University students represent the core of its intellectual young.

The European influence is great. This can be found within the share of those who decidedly live an intellectual New York life. As opposed to those who find a core of their influence from Europeans who pass through New York.

I've gone through a phase of meeting and befriending Europeans who visit months at a time. My first lover was from Milano, Italy. My greatest affair was with a German woman. I find that most New Yorkers from other cities in America, prominently those from the South and others from international cities appreciate me more. Even people from outer Burroughs like Brooklyn value my raw nature. Those from Manhattan are viewed as too privileged and full of themselves.

As an intellectual African they view me as different and open minded. I've benefited in knowing Polish, Israeli and Eastern Europeans. They have created a strong center in me, a sense of character and love and respect. Much of this can be found in the art world.

Currently brilliance in language is spoken by a chosen few. Many of these live idle lives separate from the struggle that is the art world. The artists cultured in the modern art world are similar all over the world. They live the stress of art and its advantages of money, drugs and sex. Much of this is concentrated in a crowd of people with limited passions. Art is more or less a strain.

The relevance of the European influence can be found among those who welcome the European philosophy on language. It provides one with imagination an open mindedness which elevates the conscience of an artist who lives in New York.

Just like the Hollywood person who visits New York, the Off-Broadway actor who ventures to Hollywood, the Independent director who hopes to make it to Hollywood or the European who ventures to New York once a year, New York artists who welcome a European philosophy become more intellectually attractive.

2011-08-22T15:33:00.000-07:00

PHOTOS from album PARIS, Tennessee

MODELS: Kofi Fosu Forson . Dianne Bowen

PHOTOS by Kofi Fosu Forson

2011-08-21T17:38:00.000-07:00

What Do You Know About The Future:

You're Not a Genius

Kofi Fosu Forson

If I knew beforehand that this was going to be the future I would have been a little disappointed. Essentially not much has changed along the lines of the human condition. We feel and we love. We hate and we long for. Although what has emanated from this nature of reality television and what Andy Warhol envisioned as 15 Minutes of fame is a means of entitlement.

This sea of wannabes and potential nothings feel they deserve something, an entity I fail to understand. Much of this upsurge stems from the younger generation raised on post MTV, technology and the internet. Circumstantially they have everything they could ever want.

What is missing I feel is the literary and pronouncedly hot sadomasochistic notion of art and sex. I honestly felt the 90's were a decided uplift from the death of sex. With every death comes a new understanding and what the 90's became was a mirroring of the Beatnic 50's where language was seduced and massacred. Writers like Kuruoac and Burroughs extraordinarily took language to so many different levels.

The essence of the massacre is outrightly sadistic. The nature of Burrough's work stems from the sexual psyche. This is what made writers like Henry Miller. The essence of the brain as muscular breaking down the barriers of love, sex, fate. The 90's was a continuation of this and how heroin and sex, the introduction of The Barely Legal into popular culture, the post feminist authors like Camille Paglia and Naomi Wolf, novels like The Poisonwood Bible made language essential to life.

Once we surrendered to the BUSH philosophy much of this was replaced by government action which permeated everything we did some would say even the water we drank. Where we are now is a world where anybody can be somebody.

What is the literary model now. How is morality upheld. None of this is apparent as we live in a world with no intellectual approach. What I had always envisioned the modern man to be is a person of intellect and sex. F Scott Fitzgerald established this with such excellence later enhanced in the novels by McInerny and Easton Ellis.

So the idea of modernity was always envisioned with sophistication. This was evident in music, art and sexuality. I think back to Donald Fagen's Nightfly. An album steeped in 50's perception of the future. In it artists would be adjoined internationally in thought. That is what the world has become a virtual place. Social networks like facebook allows for such a condition. Many fail to see the possibility in this as much of this world becomes a place for meaningless fun.

It can then be said referring back to my original thought that not much has changed. We therefore depend on those who continue to encourage thought and advancement of language.

The internet has certainly become the place for that. The programmable thought thus then becomes a virtual thought as fantasy has been made equivalent with the real.

Hence the virtual is real. In a hyper David Lynch surreal sense of the world the imagined Blue Velvet is a real world.

To live within the notion of giving life to a thought and envisioning a world for oneself is where we are in life. But this is only pertinent to those with an exceptional imagination.

It can then be said this modern world was made for the gifted, the extraordinary, those with a gift for envisioning a unique world, a world they manifest from, exist in. And much as those who inhabited the Kafka- esque psychological trap and circled philosophy and lived a literarily modern life, the future belongs belongs to the genius.

The genius benefits from this modern world. Cultural thrashing and circumstances surrounding symptomatic madness in politics and sexuality is a source of inspiration for those who think for those who transform themselves. That is what we did with AIDS. The 90's became a rebirth.

This virtual landscape of internet porn and dismissal of intellectualizing will and has resulted in a backlash. Those who emerge from this are geniuses.

Hence the genius is not a fat woman who dances to New Kids on The Block on Youtube.

The genius is cult.

2011-08-21T17:24:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers of Black Cocteau,

I want to apologize for not posting for the past several months to what seems forever. I've been a participant on the social network Facebook. I seem to get more of an immediate response from the public once I post. I am able to share in a thread meaning one two or more people engage in a conversation as a reaction to my post. I have come to realize my blog Black Cocteau is not so much about an exchange with the public as it is a chance for me to express my thoughts on language and beauty along with a variety of topics which reflect my opinion on culture, gender and sexual politics. In doing so I gain an audience of people who share in this philosophy.

So I hereby return and continue with this very blog hoping I haven't lost my core audience hoping I make many more.

With Regards,

Kofi Fosu Forson

2011-06-24T19:24:00.000-07:00

Please click on the following link to see my interview with legendary graffiti artist and world traveled artist LA II for Whitehot magazine.

http://whitehotmagazine.com/articles/2011-interview-with-la-ii/2243

2011-06-12T21:03:00.000-07:00

Please click on the following link to see my interview with Ethan Minsker published in Whitehot Magazine. If not cut and paste the link.

http://whitehotmagazine.com/articles/2011-interview-with-ethan-minsker/2183

2011-04-08T18:40:00.000-07:00

The Human Marriage

Art Stars in Love

Kofi Fosu Forson

I don't think I can survive a human marriage. Some how I am content with living alone. But then again that is my greatest fear to grow old alone. It is fair to say people get married for comfort and security's sake. I have never been good at having the normal relationship with a woman. Dating is not something I did. Even the functional aspect of having an ordinary and healthy sex life was not something that was regular in my life. The one very true reason why I would want to marry is to become a father. I certainly can achieve this outside of a marriage. In other words the only reason why I would want to marry is to have some one near me as I grow older. What would be more probable is a life partner. Marriage then becomes a business proposal. The politics of it is what keeps me away.

The main objective of any marriage is that of two people in love who want to spend the rest of their lives together. I'd imagine the most important aspect of this would be the two partners falling in love. I don't think I'm normal with respects to how I deal with women. First of all the most adventurous times I have with women are during our participation in art projects. Otherwise I befriend them and I am a good friend. I've had two crucial relationships with women as lover. They were very involved in terms of the intensity. Other wise most of my relationships with women are with art girls who given time spent together I hoped and wished that I get lucky one day.

My problem with marriage is that I'm not used to the typical women. I find dating to be a waste of time. I enjoy more so the frivolity of going out with a woman not knowing what to expect. Also in conversation with a typical woman conversations tend to be difficult in the modern age. I tend to attract neurotic women or those in distance from the city. Women on a given day expect a certain kind of man. A man adventurous in thinking or perhaps more sophisticated challenges the woman. Most women prefer a safer man.

Through out history there have been couples who may have suggested something contrary to what people normally would expect. Marilyn Monroe and Arthur Miller. Or any number of art couples who exhibited an artistic disposition. There have been men who peculiarly seemed unlikely to marry. Some of these men were artists, film directors or musicians.

Quinten Tarantino and George Clooney are two men who live such passionate lives. It can be said that the modern day bachelor finds it opportune to sleep with as many women as possible. Since the discovery of the Barely Legal many men have left their marriages and are sleeping with younger women. There's also something to be said about the divorce rate and why people marry to begin with. Some where in the 80's it was cool for a woman to be single and have a child. This was normal at the time. The yuppie woman had a child out of wedlock. There's a stress now for women to meet men or what would be supposed as the right man.

I fantasize about having an art star relationship or what is known as the Hollywood couple. I like the idea of being a hot and consciously aware man with a foot in the art world who attracts a stylish woman with intelligence also creative. The 1980's were full of couples like this. The East Village of New York spurned such a creative burst that many artists found it easy to date other artists. Most of these art couples were fashionably dressed. They looked good together. This in a way was a priority. People don't marry because they look good together. But in a way I dream of a woman who has the same style and notion of accomplishment as I do. This seems like a fantasy but I do think given the way I present myself it would be wonderful to meet a woman who is from the same hypothetical world as me.

2011-04-01T06:34:00.000-07:00

Emotional Incest

Tie Your Mother Down

Kofi Fosu Forson

Earliest memory of my mother and me is that of my 4th birthday party where my younger brother and me both of us sharing our birthday in the month of May were surrounded by a cast of people including distant family members and friends.

My mother's name Eva is somehow derivative of the Biblical Eve. At least I see it as so. She is stark in her beauty. Somewhat of a threat juxtaposed her brilliance and intellect.

Much of these memories also include time spent alone with her whether going to church or driving to market in her red Datsun. She was always mother. I felt her as nurturing and available to my emotional needs and that of shelter.

Having moved from Ghana to America to be with my father our relationship took on different proportions whereby she was torn between finding a career, rekindling her role as mother of four sons and being a wife to my father.

Soon enough complications began concerning peer pressure from those I went to school and that of societal pressures emerging from pop culture and cable television. My father was frail in assuming a leading role. He was a demonic figure in the eyes of my friends. My mother was the one who embraced most of my classmates.

Sex on cable television during the early 80's was very visible. I slipped into the living room when my parents went to bed to watch shows like Interludes After Midnight and Ugly George. My mother serendipitously walked in on me one evening. That moment and catching me with an adult magazine and chastising me affected my sexual growth.

Independent of the rest of the family my mother and I had a torturous relationship where we fought. Our dueling egos usually ended in conflict and argument where we fought or she scolded me. Ironically I was always turned on sexually after we fought. In order to relieve this stress I would have to go to her and faun on her where I would apologize and accept blame.

Soon enough I gained an important role in her church as a regular reader and participant in functions. The church members embraced me as her son. They were used to seeing me at church every Sunday.

During my last year in high-school I had an emotional breakdown. I was diagnosed with depression. After weeks of not knowing what was happening to me and knowing I was loosing my mind I went to my mother for help. She said they didn't believe in psychiatrists and left me with no hope. I wanted to and could have killed myself that night but I didn't. I bravely went to school the next day and a teacher brought me to his office and started me on a life long series of therapy sessions. I look back now on it in pain and indeed realize my mother was a savior.

During these moments when my mother and me would sit and commiserate I gained a friendship but at the same time I became a sponge for her emotional dissatisfaction with my father. Our relationship became almost romantic as some people thought we were a married couple. I woke up in the morning to drink tea with my mother. The conversations we had were legendary. They have encouraged a sense of talk and conversation in me as professional.

In retrospect the circumstances surrounding my relationship with my mother was certainly that of love. There was a sense of neurosis perhaps oedipal. In a way our egos clashed as a form of attraction, empathy and strange lust.

2011-03-26T10:44:00.000-07:00

Photo by NYC Artist Dianne Bowen

2011-03-09T17:51:00.000-08:00

PATHOLOGY of The Artist Mind

Ego, Libido and LUST

Kofi Fosu forson

The artist in existence first recognizes himself as he makes use of language as a written text, given its signifiers and how they are manipulated. This in a sense showcases a sense of philosophy and articulation of language not only in art but as a device with which the artist presents himself socially and in public.

Somehow the artist is not merely an artist but a human person who feels and emotes love. The balance between the human as a sympathetic and empathetic person along with his role as an artist, some one who thinks and acts on his thoughts pathologically but foremost the instinct with which to create art.

The artist ego is prominent only in that he is sensitive to nature and it allows him to perceive things which are in a sense sources of inspiration. Once removed from this particular ego he is forced to hide within the notion that he has talent. At times it is enough. But in a world of competition outside the society of artists one has to deal with money, love and sex.

The ego with which the artist exists within the world of other artists isn't proportioned to survive the human life. He must then manifest an ego which is superficial. This can be found in hip hop artists who tend to boast. Once the ego is presented and actualized the artist is able to compete in society not only as an artist but as a person equal in stature if not superior to those who are less of talent.

The libido of the artist in the modern sense is seen as functional in ordinary terms. That the artist is made employable by his art and seeks love and romance like most people. Much of this can also carry over to the neurosis of artists like Van Gogh and Ego Schiele. This perception of the libido is an acute one. It is heightened by the thought of the vulva and how sexual desire is derived from the vulva as made symbolic in art and sex.

Meaning to function as lover one seeks a partner. The discourse then leads to a sexual encounter. But in Van Gogh's case it is more or less a matter of psychology and neurosis. The dialouge becomes less gender related as it takes on matters of madness and sexuality. Schiele on the other hand was prone to seducing young women. His libidinal energy was transferred into his art. That the seduction between him and these women were an act only that it met his need as an artist.

On the subject of art and sex I find myself now having rebounded from the very neurosis of Schiele in particular. Years of chastity has helped me address my dual roles of lover and artist. Whereas it seems probable that the intensity with which an artist loves can be combined with the work he does as an artist, made me think otherwise of how I seduced my muses and how at once we still managed to make art. I found it necessary to separate the two.

The role of the artist and muse within a discourse of art has changed now that the art muse is a sex muse. I found in the detail that it was best to court a muse separate from the art. After many difficult attempts to work with the muse free of sexual contact I have succeeded some what. As I am now in meeting with a woman less a muse and more an intellectual equal.

During a photo session when she approached me unusually close I felt a sexual sensation wanting to touch her and grope her. This was immediate and within the moment but it passed. For me this was more than just a libidinal moment but something more relevant to the language between both artists and how in mutual respect I didn't act on my feelings.

After years of practicing chastity I see now that I feel. I am still sexual. If only more articulate with respect to my partner.

Over all I have cleansed my self of the neurosis as I am able to view women with respect and not as sexual objects. My situation then is removed from the nature of most men as mine becomes more situated in my neurosis, role as artist and that of lover.

2011-01-28T03:50:00.000-08:00

Love by Assassination

Kofi Fosu Forson

We came from assassinations king and queen of cunt

Let desire be tattooed punk blonde coiffure in white gown

Kitchen goddess ascend mouth the word demonology

Pussy valor wire bound denominated as Masoch mistress

In this kingdom we are drugged dogs under influence

Longest journey took to kill what propaganda death

That our bodies imprisoned in coffins was romantic

Voluptuous serial cunnulingus Fassbinder fountain

Oh St. Christopher who among these animals cursed

Beautiful men Tahitian things transformed gorgeous

Sharon greetings to your belly I remember it well

Earth mother Gauganesque yellow water in a bowl

Make suicide of morning drink the East River dry

Pull me into womb of earth suffocate these memories

Bury then that once we were wise capable of love

The day of your birth we became murderers

On a middle class bed we tormented each other

Fought our flesh disposed of sweat struggled to live

We had awoken a ghost embraced and died

2011-01-09T17:22:00.000-08:00

Neurosis of Self
Manifesting from the Sexual Edit

Kofi Fosu Forson

The beast that is man is prone to love but he also can kill.

Circumstantially most men are in constant turmoil shook up by a means of turbulance. Functionality is the basis under which men find for themselves a life. In this day and age under the uproar of technology and pornography a man can be content with just being alive. The living status free of any regulation is enough as there are plenty to keep a man occupied.

At once pornography was an extra curricular that kept the minds of men at attention. This played a part inbetween relationships, employment and other sporting life. As of now technology provides one with video games, texting, tweeting, blogging and activities on social networks.

Used to be a man was a hunter. With the nuclear family he was a family man, employed. Post Heffner's Playboy, the spiritual and sexual 60's and disco and cocaine of the 70's, the single man lived a life of bachelorhood. This allowed for a fun loving and free spirituality.

The A.I.D.S. ridden 1980's would have suggested a readjustment as to what the male in society was becoming. Street culture with its sex, drugs and violence awoken the minds of some. This was revealed in music and art. The conglomerate 90's had cleansed the idea of the neurotic being. Intelligence in a heightened sense promoted writers like David Foster Wallace.

We as a society were undergoing an intellectual enlightenment. What we saw in the first of the 2000dth decade was an example of the death of this. Basically we were dumbed down to the point where we were to think one hour intercourse without the male partner orgasming was a sign of potency.

That we emenated from a world of philosophy a la Roland Barthes or great American writers like Faulkner didn't matter. I firmly believe the likes of Foster Wallace and Alexander McQueen killed themselves because society refused them the right to live up to their very own choice of excellence.

What I've done for myself in the past decade is address my sexual neurosis much the same way an alcoholic addresses drinking and a drug addict addresses shooting up. This sobriety has allowed me a chance to be free intellectually and concentrate on the detail of love.

Internet porn became available to many in the late 1990's. I much like others out of curiousity spent many hours looking at porn. I went as far as to use some of these images to inspire my art work. At this time I was directing actors and actresses at a local theater. Pornography tends to numb the senses. It creates a sense of sexual euphoria long enough to deaden the libido.

I became much the sexual zombie working among these actresses. When the opportunity presented itself I seduced some of them. This continued after I left the theater and started working independently. The issue of gender politics was popular in society as the female was taking on a new role. Basically I was torn as to whether to continue to sleep with my muses as some of these situations were precarious.

Having had a sexual neurosis and needing to address the issue of my muses I chose chastity. This was a difficult process. Most of the men I spoke to would have rather slept with these women and defaulted the working relationship. The idea of having to say no to sex for the sake of protecting my art has made me the man I am.

Currently I am willing to resume my so called sex life. I yearn. I urge and I lust. It is however controlled and healthy. It is more of a consciencious look at sex not something where my sex organ speaks for me. As a man I am at a will to sleep with women but now it becomes an issue of karma, the psyche and the kinds of women I attract not to mention how women and people percieve me.

It's a great place to be as I am intellectually prone and conscientiously driven to fantasize about women. Self stimulation doesn't and isn't a replacement for actual intercourse but what if... what if I exist within the balance of the virtual and the real.
What becomes real? Do I need a woman spread eagled to perform on her? Does this define me as lover? How does gender politics come into play? Would it be probable to find a so called whore or street woman? Is it possible to redeem ones self from the physical act of love making? Does it not become par for the course?

So I live my life conscientiously aware that I am a lover capable of making love. And life circumstances will define this. But wouldn't it be more suitable to find someone who loves me and not be bent on fornicating.

2010-12-23T18:02:00.000-08:00

The Round-About-The-Way-Girl
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

2010-12-22T08:03:00.000-08:00

Channeling Picasso and de Beauvoir
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.

2010-12-20T12:07:00.000-08:00

Conversations at the Breakfast Table
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.

2010-12-19T17:16:00.000-08:00

Digital SELF Portrait

2010-12-19T16:43:00.000-08:00

If Garbo Fell...

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

2010-12-02T08:38:00.000-08:00

Photos By NYC Artist Dianne Bowen

2010-11-19T19:03:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-11T18:45:00.000-08:00

Riot! 'til the Pigs Go To Sleep
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.

2010-11-10T08:54:00.000-08:00

Jill Conner, writer and curator, recently had a conversation concerning her show Core and Mantle. Our interview was published in Whitehot Magazine. Please click on the following link:

http://www.whitehotmagazine.com/articles/jill-conner-on-core-mantle/2146

2010-10-30T18:54:00.000-07:00

The Status Figure Monumento
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.

2010-09-24T18:10:00.000-07:00

Hazy Fantazy
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.

2010-09-23T13:49:00.000-07:00

La Belle Ballyhoo
Modernizing of the Bombshell/

Pornography and the Reality Show

Kofi Fosu Forson

The differentiation of the good girl and what is normal has thinned itself into what is now accepted as obsessive behavior. There are no good girls it seems. The once blessed Catholic girl is tattooed with multiple lovers.

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.

2010-09-21T17:15:00.000-07:00

La Fass Book:
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.

2010-09-06T14:42:00.000-07:00

This is an article I recently published in Whitehot Magazine featuring filmmaker BETTE GORDON. She gives an insight into the making of her legendary film VARIETY which included the works of writer Kathy Acker, musician and artist John Lurie and photographer and actress Nan Goldin. Please click on the following link: http://whitehotmagazine.com/articles/2010-interview-with-bette-gordon/2119

2010-08-13T14:21:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-02T19:12:00.000-07:00

ART DIVA
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.

2010-07-28T18:16:00.000-07:00

Male as Dude
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.

2010-07-26T17:00:00.000-07:00

Generational Politics:
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.

2010-07-22T20:39:00.000-07:00

December's Girl
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

2010-07-22T19:45:00.000-07:00

Transforming:

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.

It had potential and still does but I feel in retrospect my choice of language was not as clear as it is now. Having spent five years in a virtual relationship with British curator and writer Gaynor Sweeney I have excelled at my notion of language and philosophy. And much like most of my friends, colleagues and mentors I have bid them adieu with a path now which includes people who care about my well being as friend and artist and are not in it to poison me with their ego.

Noah Becker, publisher of Whitehot Magazine, among them who continues to further my dreams as magazine writer.

In writing for Whitehot I have spoken to and writen about some exceptional artists including John Lurie and Phoebe Legere. Much of this venture is a dream come true as I get to talk to childhood heroes and idols. I spent my entire teenage years idolizing John Lurie, the musician, actor and painter. To have spent an evening talking to him on line was quite special. The same goes for Joan Jeanrenaud former cellist for the Kronos Quartet.

Having parted ways with my connection with Liverpool and its artists with the exception of Jo Debyshire who is currently working to get me involved with the Liverpool Biennial, I have had to tend to matters domestic and life oriented. More so than not I have had to restrain myself from living the hard-edged life of most artists who fail to tend to their emotional and physical health.

I've since built a defense which has helped me deal with matters familial and sexual. I continue to ward of people who have potential to affect my life in a negative way. In a sense writing outside of the magazine has taken a backseat. As of today I am planning to quit smoking. The photo which accompanies this blog is an example of my past which will follow me for the rest of my life but in doing so I would have carried on with a more healthier and probable way of living.

I'd like to apologize to those who follow my blog and have not been able to read new and current blogs. The past five years has been an exercise in philosophy and ego. It has taken me that much time to find my voice. I have spent the months away from my blog to build exceptional virtual relationships with people on line, mostly Facebook.

I bring to you now a sense of knowing and belonging as human first then artist. The person and body that I am now is some one you can relate to. I'll continue to blog on topics that interest me and you as well and hopefully help to further and build this internet community.

2010-07-08T10:20:00.000-07:00

2010-06-29T20:52:00.000-07:00

Look for my interview with New York artist Brian Leo at http://www.whitehotmagazine.com/ under the heading of new articles authored by me Kofi Fosu Forson.

2010-06-14T13:21:00.000-07:00

Blue Garbo
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

2010-05-18T20:07:00.000-07:00

Please CLICK on the following link to watch my film video:
CUSHION PILL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9tnqOXsmbCk

2010-05-17T12:54:00.000-07:00

FACEBOOK Conversation (thread) between Kofi Fosu Forson and Renata Onisko:

Kofi Fosu Forson I am an entertainer. I set up theatrical games for myself full of dialogue and characters. I sing a lot as well.

Renata Onisko so what are you saying? is this also a kind of vaudeville for you?:}

Kofi Fosu Forson more or less a conversation with a friend

Renata Onisko well, next time I will try harder:} to create more resemblance of a friend

Kofi Fosu Forson I still have yet to formulate a vision of you. It bothers me...

Kofi Fosu Forson I see the history of a very beautiful woman but where is she now in life...

Renata Onisko what do you think?

Kofi Fosu Forson ...like all of us trapped within ourselves fighting to get out.

Renata Oniskothat is pretty much the case...

Kofi Fosu Forson so in that case... Hello how are you doing?

Renata Onisko Hello how are you doing?:}

Kofi Fosu Forson I want to touch you but I can't.

Renata Onisko you got me in tears...

Kofi Fosu Forson it's painful. we are two bodies with real emotions. somehow we can't get beyond words on a screen.

Renata Onisko no, we can't...

Kofi Fosu Forson what I like about you is you remind me of real women like a young Liv Ulman...she is woman to me. As beautiful as you are I don't see you. somehow I don't. your photographs don't apply at all. I feel a resonance of body and light. Is this it??? Is this the future...!

Kofi Fosu Forson beauty is prescience...some women have power because of their beauty. What is your power...

Renata Onisko You must know by now...

Kofi Fosu Forson I feel a strong urge to have a baby with you...!

Renata Onisko hahaha! you're funny, I love that!

Renata Onisko definitely maybe...

Kofi Fosu Forson in a fantasy world you and I are great lovers.

Renata Onisko then I am going to settle down in a fantasy world:}

Kofi Fosu Forson we make human love we make great love we make musical love.

Renata Onisko don't forget dancing in the moonlight by the sea, with the old good tumblerfuls of champagne is our hands:}

Kofi Fosu Forson you are really hot did you know that. I read your emails and I'm turned on. Kinda like I'm probing towards the screen hoping to find you ready and willing. Do you have memories as a girl learning about men, making love and feeling excited or confused. How were you as a girl.

Renata Onisko Are you sure you want me to go there? Lol. I've evolved quite a lot since... Anyway, it was rather boring, no trauma (none I am aware of). I was very naive, immersed in my world of poetry and art, a bit like Julianne Moore's character from "Far from heaven":} Boys treated me like some heavenly creature, mainly followed me in awe. My body developed ... quite early, I was ashamed of my big breasts and had no clue about those "dirty" glances some of them would give me:} My girlfriends teased me for being the last virgin in the class...

I've lost my virginity with the boy I've been seeing for a year (utterly because of curiosity), and lost my interest to the boy immediately...It was quite a dramatic relationship though, a bit like Romeo and Julia (he was Armenian and his parents wouldn't let him marry anyone outside of their community), they separated us (moved to another city). He was 17 and I was 18. A year later he came, we went to travel and I understood I didn't love him anymore. He kept calling me, soon after I've met someone else... I've never had "affairs", only relationships.

Kofi Fosu Forson What film director would be best to direct a film of your life. I think Wim Wenders would understand my life the combination of the dramatic, theater, philosophy, music, love, sex and death. I hate to say a female director would suit you but then again...what do you think. Who would direct your life story.

Renata Onisko Hmmm.., gotta think about that one, I guess I would come up with a bunch of names, different for each "period":}

Renata Onisko Sophia Coppola would be one of them...

Kofi Fosu Forson Do you hunger for men...totally different direction sorry ha! Do you feel a need for men or a man in your life at the moment. Does our dialogue yours and mine...this dialogue fulfill a need in your life. Or at this point and time do you digress from the male element in your life...the need for penis the need for male embrace the need for a man's ... See Moretouch.

I think with me it's either with or without. Life seems more important right now. I don't hunger for the female pubis, breast or what ever although I lust in virtual fantasy and approach women in public. It's all enlightenment I think not the typical sex life.

Renata Onisko Damn, Kofi, you don't make it easy, huh?:} Am I interviewed now? Lift a lid of your life story a bit as well? O.k., the movie. I think it would be collaboration, directed by Andrey Tarkovsky and David Lynch, script by Claude Chabrol and Louis Bunuel. Tinto Brass and Woody Allen on editing:}

Renata Onisko I do feel a need for a man, yes, the touch and embrace, and connection. This dialogue fulfills it partly, I think, you open me up, and enable my internal dialogue. This is pretty vague yet, I am not too sure what do I want exactly, I embrace male sexuality as part of this with pleasure, but I don't depend on it. This is not the typical sex life for sure:)))

Kofi Fosu Forson not an interview sorry otherwise I would make you very uncomfortable worse yet I would be your psychoanalyst haha!

A movie about me would be made by Alan Rudolph American director romantic, dramatic and witty. I love European directors like Eric Rhoemer (sp) Kofi scene through the eyes of a German director definitely Fassbinder Fassbinder Fassbinder he was great. Guys like Lynch and Jarmusch are too tricky! I don't like the surreal of Bunuel but I would have loved to have been in a Cassavetes film. I would have been perfect especially the film Shadows.

I had a strange theatrical affair with an actress I tried to get her to curb her sexuality. It was a typical sexual affair graphic intense conflicting but towards the end I would let her sit naked and I would watch her lust after her but resist.

Do I turn you on in any way Renata?

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...

2010-05-09T05:57:00.000-07:00

The King of Rock and Roll is Canadian

Kofi Fosu Forson

Call him pimp of pompadours cocks his cigarette like a hunk. Burning into skin names of women he had over'n out and done. Where were you the night of Betty Blue where were you that night. His rhythm and blues bore scars on my tooth songs about a hooker.

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.

2010-04-27T11:55:00.000-07:00

Jennifer Finch, a photographer and musician was a member of the all American 1990’s girl grunge band L7. With albums like Bricks are Heavy and Hungry for Stink they gained acclaim and international stardom. Her series of photographs featuring musicians from the Los Angeles area and an assortment of drug culture scenarios cover a period starting from when she was twelve years old.

Please click on the following link:

http://whitehotmagazine.com/articles/2010-interview-jennifer-precious-finch/2053

2010-04-23T16:43:00.000-07:00

FACEBOOK (Thread) CONVERSATION between Kofi Fosu Forson and Renata Onisko

Kofi Fosu Forson

a part of me is gigolo. a part of me is seducer. a part of me is vampire. Monica Bellucci is the most dangerous woman on earth. I would love to seduce one hot and glamorous Italian or Mexican actress model for one long evening of hot sex.

Renata Onisko If I were you, given those choices, I would go for Salma Hayek instead (when she played Frida)...So your normal breakfast is a glass of fresh blood?:

Kofi Fosu Forson

I've dealt heavily with a sexual neurosis as a young man only recently have I regrouped. The act of sex and or intercourse is not functional in my life. Having come from a past decade and a half of MUSES and deconstructing of the sex lives of some I tend to live in aura and fantasy. I live in a sexual realm with or without making love in the physical sense.

Renata Onisko

Same here... Physical abstinence, voluntary or induced, may open up new horizons of spirituality and give an incredible freedom (think monasticism). Physical act of connection with another being, on the contrary, takes it away and may lead to numerous mental disorders, you've mentioned above. Experiment is great, fantasy could be better than reality.

Kofi Fosu Forson

Is it true that once you encapsulate a notion of sexuality as endearing and wholesome almost pure... people sense it and like prey they harbor on that notion. people literally hunger for me follow me and peek out of curiosity where ever I go. You wouldn't believe but I'd be ok with it if I never have intercourse ever again and I live to be ninety. somehow the parallel of lust and chastity is amazing.

Renata Onisko

Is interesting that people are drawn to what they cannot have, or what they lack. Maybe you exude something, some sort of detachment that attracts them so much.
I always was envious about male's ability to remain in a physical relationship without getting emotionally attached, while females (unless they are androgynous or cold) get emotionally involved very quickly. I wonder, does it mean that they experience feelings deeper?

Kofi Fosu Forson

Men are stubborn and for most men it's about the kill the lay or the conquest not much is left for the romance. But there are those great men who honer women I believe they experience love deeper than most women. I for one write about gender and sexual politics it goes beyond having a relationship and making love. These would be deemed as acts and process but once these acts are processed articulated and written about there's more depth to the person. Do you not have a lover...?

Renata Onisko

Yes and no... I live in a fantasy land, which is why I was so enticed by yourself:) You flow with the conversation without interrupting, and a man enough not to dominate it with your machism. I've met some great men (and not so great), but, as I said earlier, you're quite exceptional...

Kofi Fosu Forson

I guess what Im going through is a transformation which is necessary in life I think when you come from a troubled background as I do. Circumstances surrounding sex and pornography has been big in my life and now it's a matter of deconstructing it. I continue to do the work and now I feel a little bit more elegant. But can you imagine a world without sex, drinking or masturbation. Im not that holy and I do plan on meaningful relationships with or without sex.

Renata Onisko
I love this thread, its like daily exchange with someone highly anticipated, but on public (public confessions?:) Tell me a bit about yourself?

It is interesting how you changed your comment, I did like the first version better:) I guess, this is how men are wired, very important thing to understand for anyone who wants meaningful relationships of any kind.

However, I can imagine a world without all the above, and I practice it from time to time. Would I expect from others to be that way? No. To develop your thought, it was interesting to find out from my interactions with African men, while abroad, about their very traditional views on family and relationships. Polygamy of men is considered the matter of fact by both sides. They remain separated for years with their wiwes (and obviously don't live in chastity), but they tend to come together afterwards and remain a couple. Herewith, if they find out that their wives were unfaithful while separated, they break up. I guess, this is the community thing, the way of survival in a tough environment? Is this a natural thing? I guess, it is...

Kofi Fosu Forson

African men are genuinely political, of family and of sex. The gamesmanship that goes on in the life of an African man you would not believe. Having had an affair with a woman from the U.N. I learned of the political and sexual affairs of African men in power. Like most men in power the language of sex is very important. This is the under current of how they survive...ways to manipulate women and other men in a cyclical manner where people are moved around like chess pieces.

I for one as a second generation African male lives a very nontraditional political and sexual life. First of all I'm not of politics the politics I know is the politics of art and gender not international or world politics. My father is a journalist so I've been around politics mostly to sit and watch him and his compadres sit and discuss politics is a beautiful thing. And as far as sex I have become chaste. The physical act of intercourse has somewhat been removed from my life. This is something that chose me and is natural. I feel more pure of heart and of mind. Then again this is very non African male.

I like intellectual affairs like this thread. To do so in real time seems impossible due to scruples and other gender complications. Time has changed. Intellectual light has transformed into the virtual. All people do is fall in love and get married or find ways to fornicate. Otherwise guys like me are potentially dangerous intellectually and sexually.

2010-03-29T05:29:00.000-07:00

Postings on FACEBOOK:

Kofi Fosu Forson most women play victim and are hounded by men. that was post 90's strain. traditionally women were elegantly pursued by men in the 20's to 40's allure. 50's rock and roll beset the nature of woman as liberated this carried over into the spiritually sexual 60's. 70's disco was hedonistic. 80's art culture and sex brought closure...

Kofi Fosu Forson

what women are now is a wild breed born into circumstance of evolution. most live in regret. some celebrate this post feminist redemption but to a fault all women wonder what if and what could have been...

Biljana Ackovski

You're totally right, I want to go back to the 40's :)))

Kofi Fosu Forson

Pure elegance, charm and class...we need more class...

Biljana Ackovski

Exactly, and a touch of mystery, the feeling that the "object" of love is unattainable, nowadays women are commodities :)

Kofi Fosu Forson

"object of love is unattainable" yes yes yes...

Kofi Fosu Forson

woman as commodity is a thing of power found in politicians, CEOs and gangsters...much of this has trickled down to the common man...

Biljana Ackovski

We have been duped into thinking that we are now free to pick and choose, wrong, women are now literally fighting over men whereas men have become bored with all the accessible women... The old rule should still apply, plunging neckline, cover up your legs or vice versa)))

Kofi Fosu Forson

what indeed is the fascination with boots I never quite understood although perhaps I think of that as a fetish symbol...hmm

Biljana Ackovski

I wasn't thinking boots but yes, fetish it is, especially nowadays...

Kofi Fosu Forson

Love is an articulation it's more than an expression. It's of my thinking that men have women right where they want them.

Biljana Ackovski

Totally agree, and women are I won't say what yet again...

Kofi Fosu Forson

Backwoods erotica and underground pornography were sold on the black market...well now it's translatable on the worldwide internet...

Biljana Ackovski

Now it's part of mass culture, totally acceptable, MTV, the catwalk, high street fashion, everywhere...

Kofi Fosu Forson

I think we struggle with intimacy... it makes us uncomfortable. social networks like FB and MYSP provide us with an exterior that is less human more virtual therefore making us less vulnerable.

Biljana Ackovski

True. Also, at times it seems as though men and women are living parallel lives...

Kofi Fosu Forson
I like sitting with guys at a bar and talking bout women.

Biljana Ackovski

See, that's exactly what I mean, while women sit with women, plotting how to "snare" the next guy, even if he is a total idiot... Whatever happened to partnerships? Euro girls are all very different :)))

Kofi Fosu Forson

The issue here is mating or as Bret Easton Ellis called it The Rules of Attraction. The rock and roll college dormitory behavior permeated the language of association between men and women, frat humor, locker room humor etcetera... that hasn't left us. I find some Euro girls still to be elegant and brilliant but that's just a supposition since don't live in Europe. What do you think of American girls...

Kofi Fosu Forson

I personally think American women are what fundamentally the international world revolves around.

Kofi Fosu Forson

America has it's history and cannot be denied that. The backlash when GWB become president was unfounded. I personally don't think we need OBAMA to rediscover whatever dignity America had. America is a proud country. It's women are blessed and beautiful. I just prefer sitting with a Euro girl drinking red wine and having a conversation about love for hours...haha

Biljana Ackovski

How right you are! Now team that up with the porn industry which seems to rule the world, together with the arms and pharmaceutical industry and see where that leaves us...
I agree with you about American women, although I have a few American friends who are totally different, they're all about new age spirituality, healing etc. I think it has a lot to do with generations as well, depends what role models you had when you were growing up. What role models do girls today have? You have to dig deep to find anything meaningful...

Kofi Fosu Forson

Well yeah this whole thing is about generational warfare.. men and women are dieing getting older and older and like vampires they need to suck the blood of the young. The idea of role models is pointless in this day and age. I honestly feel we are challenged and stimulated enough as a world of consciences and people to muster and savor a life for our selves. A strong family background always helps but in truth we are defenseless in the outside world...caution first, conscience second but after that anything can happen.

Biljana Ackovski

True, floating with no idea where we will end up, old values are now pointless. Sometimes I feel we are at the end of this civilization, have no idea what will ensue...

Kofi Fosu Forson

Technology somehow upholds that sense of loss we feel. what I find brilliant about these modern times is inner turmoil and stress we all experience it but how do we channel it. I find that to be personal with each person. I find that intellect and sex builds a (wo)man and not gamesmanship and control. we are a divisive society in terms of class, race and culture. And I will say it again that love is more than expressed it is articulated. You save yourself a person at a time we help build a world. Thank You Biljana...it's been a pleasure... :)

Biljana Ackovski

Likewise, I thoroughly enjoyed our chat as well :)))

Kofi Fosu Forson

Extremely meaningful and necessary... hope to talk again soon...:)))

Biljana Ackovski

You are a true gentleman Kofi :)

Kofi Fosu Forson

haha...thank you...I blush haha...I have a great father. my mother's brothers are geniuses and I live in New York..The whole world is here Biljana...The whole world is here...you are so kind...thanks again :)))

2010-03-29T04:56:00.000-07:00

Postings on FACEBOOK...

Kofi Fosu Forson is the origin of the poseur rooted in 50's Beat or French pop...

Kofi Fosu Forson

The Beatniks were stereotype of what was Jack Kerouac and The Beat Generation. The image in French popular culture of a painter with beret and seemingly fake mustache holding a palette and paintbrush. These are two images reminiscent of the poseur.

Kofi Fosu Forson

80's Neo Expressionism begot the street artist much of which problematically surfaced where American Pop Art would have left off. Andy Warhol's fascination with Basquiat may have proven this. Some critics still consider Basquiat as well as Keith Haring a mockery of what is standardized American Art.

Kofi Fosu Forson

F. Scott Fitzgerald was said to have inspired the so called "yuppie writer" among which was Jay McInerny. As much as the Jazz Age was affected by the quality of music for its time, 1980's pop music was a soundtrack to the lives of the characters depicted in novels such as "Story of My Life" and Bret Easton Ellis' "Less Than Zero."

2010-03-11T20:25:00.000-08:00

The I, Me, My:
Self-Defense in Modern Society

Kofi Fosu Forson

Frontier women safeguarded their authority by carrying rifles. This was a premise for what becomes the person and self, prone to the victimization by society as in what lengths one would take to keep the wolves from their door.

An urban setting is replete with as much signifiers present in the mind of a schizophrenic. But in the modern premise for existing not much of it is counter culture. A homogenizing of what is black and white does very little to enhance the brilliance that has insofar created this non-existence.

The Crisps and Bloods are defined by the colors blue and blood (red). As a writing exercise I have spent evenings during which I meditated on colors that is to say purple is a mixture of blue and red. Blue and yellow gives way to green. Red and yellow makes orange. That in a society of primary colors if given the chance certain temperaments and notions of life bring forth an assemblage of culture.

The rendering of philosophy changes in reference to the issue of race and class. A black revolutionary's notion of defense is more or less self-authority along with a stringent philosophy comprised of societal and racial politics. Civil Rights gave way to the furthering of a cause which prepared those within the culture to take matters to their own hands. These were not so much leaders of the civil rights movements but those who chose immediate means and were vocal via literature, print journalism or rallies.

What then calls for defense within a civilized world? Do the writings of Anais Nin and Simone de Beauvoir attempt at fending off the literary chaos and imbalance. And in doing so did they need to ingratiate what was the self along with the greater divide which was a compromising of what is truth, circumstance and art.

To defend one must carry a weapon. Or should they?

The pugilist defends with both boxing gloves positioned in front of his face. Either that or with one arm propped at the side of his head and his shoulders bent inwards. This is known as a stance. A policeman at guard carries a gun. The white gloves of a surgeon are sensitive to his nature. A dominatrix may incorporate a whip in her activities. A blackboard and a chalk are found in most classrooms. These are understood and are associated with certain professions.

What then is the role of a thief with a gun or knife?

Gang warfare is predominantly a means of protecting turf along with it is a certain level of testosterone and braggadocio. Criminals operate under a different mindset. Once having lived alongside the like either in a ghetto, prison or street culture the mind incorporates certain improbabilities not found among those who are outright content and not visualant.

The mind therefore is the greatest form of defense.

2010-02-13T18:12:00.000-08:00

Kofi Forson in Conversation with Joan Jeanrenaud

Joan Jeanrenaud, born in Memphis, Tennessee, was cellist with the renowned Kronos Quartet. She left the group after twenty years to pursue improvisation and work as composer. Her recording Strange Toys received a Grammy nomination. Currently based in San Fransisco, Joan’s commissioned works include the string quartet Del Sol, the multi-media piece (In Between), AXIS Dance Company, Austin Ballet (Savoir Vivre)…Among her grants are a San Fransisco Art Commission grant and Peter S. Reed Foundation grant. She continues to perform with a variety of musicians in the Bay Area.

The following is a phone conversation.(Please Click On Link)
http://whitehotmagazine.com/articles/in-conversation-with-joan-jeanrenaud/2020

2010-02-11T19:44:00.000-08:00

always wondered why writers and painters weren't badmuthafookas:

Kofi Fosu Forson

Pablo Picasso was much known for his machismo as for his role in Cubism.

What becomes a badmotherfucker most? And why do artists orientate around this disciplined notion of homosexuality if not a quiet sensitivity. All through history artists of varying forms from poets to dancers to film directors have all showcased this mild gentlemanly disposition which would refrain them from a brawl of any kind.

The Charles Bukowski factor is clear. As one would surmise in the Marquis de Sade. Circumstances surrounding Hemingway would be based on masculinity. Whereas Bukowski was sensitive in his nature it was the syndrome concerning his refusal to subject himself to continuous abuse that led to his physical prowess and henceforth this vice of women, gambling and alcohol.

Arguably the writer/ artist is prone to vice of a certain kind. If drinking was Bukowski's handicap, Picasso was known for his taste in women. Then again what defined him was not an ability to engage in a physical fight but just as well as a Spanish male he would be supposedly able to defend himself. His combination of excellence and presence made him a dominant figure. And as one of the more established artists in history, people feared him. It can then be said the ego commands a certain respect if and only if it is not a cause for vanity but the will to use it as decoration to uphold one's character and success.

The nature of a painter is sensitivity to colors. His senses are rather pure. The ability to test the medium of paint gives him a natural sense of imagination. This awareness is made due by hybridity as painters and poets are known for the peculiarity of childhood. A reference can therefore be made to Alice Miller's Drama of the Gifted Child where she goes in depth into the upbringing of an artist.

Writer's on the other hand deal with ideas that are constructed from words. Semiotically a single word may have multiple definitions whereas paint need be mixed or manipulated on the surface with brushstrokes. Perhaps great writers are historically of the mind while great painters are more sensitive to the world around them. Artists are genuinely known for the city they inhabit. This can be cause for the disposition of the artist.

The reference to the sensitive or suggestively homosexual nature of artists can be found in William Burroughs, James Baldwin and Salvador Dali. These were beautiful men. Given the poetic nature of Baldwin, Burroughs and Dali were cultural threats. Burroughs for his novel Naked Lunch and Dali for his subject matter. They were very complex men. And indeed they were men. The beauty of Burroughs and Dali if applicable in this sense was more surrounding the polite madness found in their nature. That they were able to exhibit this madness outright made them special, unique and therefore beautiful.

Somehow the handling of the subject matter of sex would make an artist controversial and be viewed as a "bad boy". Writers and artists like Henry Miller, Robert Mapplethorpe and the aforementioned Charles Bukowski took pride in their handling of sexual themes. Even the writer, female, Kathy Acker, made a continuous use of sexual references in her work.

The so-called "badmotherfucker" in art would be someone who breaks ground as John Lucas, Martin Scorcese and Steven Spielberg did in the 1970's or Jay McIlnerny and Bret Easton Ellis did in the 80's.

2010-02-04T17:45:00.000-08:00

UNAUTHORIZED ROLE OF KOFI FOSU FORSON:
TRANSVOYEUR

Kofi Forson met with Lisa Eickholt at the Eickholt Gallery located in Soho, New York in 2003 as per the invitation of TAFA, an Eickholt Gallery artist. Lisa was fascinated by Kofi’s depictions of Euro-American women in the Naïve form of German Expressionism. His first show with the Eickholt Gallery came later that year in a group show with graduates from Pratt University.

After following up on requests from Lisa to visit the gallery, Kofi became a frequent visitor at the gallery. He went from exhibiting art in group shows to hosting art related events and officially writing for and serving as Eickholt Gallery’s Creative Director. His duties included writing press releases for art openings, articles about the gallery in art/business magazines and co-writing the gallery’s manifesto with Reto Bruseghini, all the while promoting the name of the gallery.

Michael Ricardo, a New York artist had previously met with Gaynor Sweeney and in doing so conferred on the subject of an artistic link between New York and Liverpool, where she was based. This was the origin of Transvoyeur. During a conference call at the gallery Kofi spoke to Gaynor for the first time. Their conversation was rather frank unlike the philosophical and scientific dimensions it developed into months later.

Plans were underway for the Liverpool Biennial. In preparing for it, Kofi and Gaynor dialogued on a variety of topics including hybridism, lineage and gender politics. Each morning when Kofi arrived at the gallery, he made a long distance call on the office phone to Gaynor. It began a dialogue between the two which has existed since.

The plans for the Eickholt Gallery artists to participate in the Liverpool Biennial fell through. Most of the work coordinated on both sides as in Gaynor and her team in Liverpool and Lisa Eickholt, Michael Ricardo and Kofi Forson at the Eickholt Gallery were left unrecognized.

All the while Kofi kept a dialogue with Gaynor Sweeney. It reached broader proportions when Kofi did a painting of Gaynor and proceeded to interact with Liverpool artists like George Lund and Tony Knox. Soon thereafter Kofi and Gaynor had their first collaboration called Enlightenment: Cushion Belles based on a poem written by Kofi. It was developed into a digital film and has been the base of Gaynor Sweeney’s performance and intervention of this subject.

Years passed and Kofi and Gaynor built a friendship on email exchanges, failed attempts at other collaborations, telephone calls from New York to Liverpool and the glorifying of this exchange between these two artists as they were endeared and recognized separate from where they practiced their art.

Another attempt was made at the establishing of the New York version of Transvoyeur. Michael Ricardo put together a collection of New York artists. They met officially at a lounge to discuss the matter at hand. Much as this was a wrong choice for a meeting place, not much was accomplished. Such was the tone that followed which led to an unofficial resignation from Kofi and his position at the Eickholt Gallery and Transvoyeur.

The biennial that year was dominated by rejections, deceit, disloyalty and mishandling of the entire project which was indeed a fiasco, not helping the cause of Gaynor Sweeney, who had put much of her time as humanly possible and then some to be denied the chance at encouraging and promoting the very title Liverpool was to receive as cultural center.

Since then Kofi has had a one-man show, Femmes du Futur in collaboration with Gaynor Sweeney and Jo Derbyshire, a Liverpool artist. Much of the previous summer was spent organizing the project Gender, Space, Art and Architecture; a program curated by Gaynor Sweeney, featuring Kofi Fosu and Daiva Gauryte. It received its premier in New York, sponsored by Judith Escalona and Media Noche.

What transcended the relationship between Kofi Fosu Forson and Gaynor Evelyn Sweeney was the innate ability to transfer science and philosophy into a common and human understanding of conversing along with the written word.

Kofi and Gaynor have collaborated on several philosophical projects bordering gender and sexual politics and variations of science and semiotics. What the Transvoyeur website fails to do is capture the human spirit that these two exceptional human beings exemplify. The worrisome direction and misdirection that they have expressed towards each other would only be best chronicled in an authorized biography.

2010-01-11T17:33:00.000-08:00

Flowers in a London Apartment
Kofi Fosu forson

"And then what will he do...Piss off it! Like what...Sadie it's your body. And then? To hell with him. Don't you ever...I swear he ever lays a hand on you what I wouldn't do. Sadie! Sadie...I gotta go. Speak to you later."

The nerve of him. Sadie is too sweet to even know better. I woulda fucked him that's the problem. He offers to pay your way you do it. You don't come up with some shit 'bout commitment. What does she know. I love her like a sis but sometimes she's got a dig up the cunt. Tony's a good lay. I'd off him like that. You call a spade a spade. He hits her because she doesn't put out. The fuck of it...

Damn the cold. I've got the fit. Shit. Who was it that said he stuck a fag up his lady's bum to get off? Or did it happen to me? The fuck of it...I get sick and tired of this. When am I gonna get a job? I'm hung up on this. Not like it's getting me anywhere. I get paid dammit. I gotta keep telling myself that. I get paid. Wankers last night...The four of them. Can't believe I lasted that long. Like a fuck doll or whatever...Sure beats working the parents for a loan. The fuck of it...

Here's a funker. I betcha he's got a cigarette. He looks warmed up. Can't figure him out though. Shades at night...strange. No trouble here. Gonna off him for a trick.

"Excuse me you got a cigarette." Like what he's gonna walk away? "Are you sure you don't." He hasn't said a word. We're walking together...he hasn't said a word. Like what the fuck. Prick. "Yeah I get it you don't have a cigarette." The fuck of him we walking together and you don't say a word. Wouldn't have done him. Wouldn't have done him. Cheap shit.

Gotta pee. Guess I walk in here order a cup and have a pee. Not much of a crowd. I fancy sitting back there. Gotta work the pee first. Something says I'm due for a fuck tonight. Wouldn't find one here I don't think. Never know who could walk in. I'll fuck off the coffee long enough 'til I meet my match. Sure am lonely tonight. A good pee and I'm off a' thinking. Sure am trouble. Footballers? Me cunt's a little tender I think...hmm. Piss.

Bullocks. The fuck's got me seat. Queer. I'd fuck him. I'll sit next to him long enough 'til he turns straight. Oh well what do you know he's an artist. But to sketch in a coffee shop. I'd be just the the thing for him tonight. The look of him like some pretty boy from the academy. He's got something about him. I can tell. Could be mad or whatever. Queer. Bet he fucks like a queer. He's got pretty fingers I must say. So what I ask him if I could take a look. He's not gonna off me or whatever. Queer. Fucking queer.

"So what now?""Yeah I like it. Is it of me?" "But you weren't looking at me." "You've got talent."

The fuck is asking me if I want to model for him tonight. Is he serious. Apparently he is. We're walking out...I can't believe this. How do you figure an artist for a fuck. Like what he's going to paint me. I never sat for one of these. Not like I haven't taken my clothes off. So like what he's going to fuck me. I make money this way love. If you're going to fit it in me better bring the load love. Pounds of it. To think he's going to get a one off for free. Stupid. What did you learn in college. To fist or fuck costs you plenty. We've made the turn. I guess we've arrived.

A studio apartment. I figured as much. Got to admit I love his work. Quite the knack for color. I do love flowers. Would I...definitely not. A fuck in exchange for flowers. Paintings of that is. How ridiculous. Come to think of it I've fucked an artist. A bullshit artist. Bullocks. Getting that queer feeling 'bout this guy.

Got loads of boys out on the corner looking for a treat. Then again what a night for a fuck to then make money up and leave with no regrets. Instead the most beautiful boy I've met in a while is preparing to paint me. I love his paintings of flowers. They would look perfect on my wall. I have no shame.

I think I want to fuck him. I think I want him to fuck me.

2010-01-10T11:58:00.000-08:00

Recent publication of WHITEHOT MAGAZINE features a spread of my photographs.

2010-01-04T17:03:00.000-08:00

The Pocket Poet Thief
Kofi Fosu Forson

I am a pocket poet thief. "Intellectual fuck," she called me, Nuelle, a Russian barber from Queens, New York.

She knew them well, the bros, bitch-shit boys from the hood. They walked in with the bounce, careful and clever ready to pounce with knife or fist. But leave it up to them to tone and touch, a soft tweek on Nuelle's shoulder. Never would she have allowed a kiss on the cheek not even on the days I tipped well or brought a bottle of wine for New Years.

I am a pocket poet thief. She liked me. I addressed the days' innuendo whenever I walked in. "Nuelle you've lost some weight." " "Nuelle we should go out sometime." Just enough to keep my options open to trip her up.

Maybe she would have had enough of the bruiser cruiser-bad boy behavior. These fucks had nothing on me. I dressed well, smoked my 555 imports, kept it simple. While she cut my hair, I divorced myself of cliches.

We spent the time clicking on our hopes and desires. She wanted back to school. I wanted to open a hotel. She had a daughter. I was single. But it was all sexstress the moments our eyes made contact in the mirror.

What of the poet? Yes indeed I am. I trust you know your vocabulary or persistent in your vernacular. I've walked the streets of Italy at night. Had enough hand jobs in buses traveling across the midwest. I have handled Hong Kong waitresses. Made of with a teenager at a wedding in Vancouver.

It is therefore my assertion that I'm well-spoken. Like a thief with tongue I take with word what you say and I spin. I drug the meaning of what's spoken and present you with the most poetic thing you ever heard. It has worked well at parties, bars and even funerals. For a woman to take of her panties at a time of death I would have served her well.

Nuelle and I made it to a casino one night. After hours of gambling we made it back to the hotel room. Strong I was. The kiss that is was muscular, arrogant, tough full of tongue and grit. With our clothes on I handled her.

The smell of perfume on her neck, a whiff then a lick on the ear-lobe, nibbling, biting... Gripped her by the shoulder, watching as she undid her shirt. Even before she removed her bra, I stuck my fingers in to pull out her breast, sucking full-mouthed, tasting her nipple. She allowed me the comfort of the other breast. I did the same.

She stripped herself of underwear, pulled me towards the bed where she fell on her back, lifting up her skirt to expose her pussy, shaven, wet and moist. With both fingers I spread her open licking, gradually sucking juice, rotating my tongue all around, spreading the pussy wider...

Our clothes off and on the bed, I stuck my dick in her, forced it in hard and began to ram in and out, spreading her knees apart. On her side I thrusted again slower with a groove, watching as her leg angled in the air. Her black pumps perfectly placed on her foot. I bent her over on the bed, dug it in and stiff-fucked her. Her hips banged against mine in a hot rhythm.

She wanted it in ass particular. I took my time, readied it, patient and vulgar, managed to pull of the trick. I went in and out with such symmetry. Both her arms were stretched east to west on the bed. One side of her face remained flat on the bed. Her buttocks raised, I mounted over fucking the dirt of her.

Pulling out, I turned her around to face me. I jerked my dick, stripped it of cum...all over her face, grimacing as she struggled to lick the excess of her lips.

The week after we met again we hardly said a word to each other. I gave her a fat tip...to erase any notion that we were lovers. Our eyes made contact in the mirror yet again.

She knew. I knew... That was plenty.

2009-12-09T17:38:00.000-08:00

Chelsea
Kofi Fosu Forson

Friday night at the Chelsea scrawl...It's always that something in the air. The usual suspects fold into the gallery...circumspect, incriminating, gorgeous...gallant.

Art crowds at night are bejeweled, the lack-lustred temptation to score, none of which figures into the potentiality of buying art, leaving one to wonder is it ever safe to offer free wine or champagne...

In walks a tall brunette, elegant...damaged. She's sophisticated by means of body language. Her confidence is becoming of a person with charm. Among those gathered she seems wanting, approachable, careless to the painting on the wall, drinking red wine from a glass.

A gentleman stands northwest of her, unaffected by anyone or anything. She walks up to him commenting on a glassed sculpture at his side. He engages her, switching to the topic of wine. Unfortunately he has to make do with white wine. This becomes somewhat of a mockery as he is bent on red. They both find humor in this, laughing and chiming glasses.

She is married and recently gave birth, a nine-month old daughter. Her husband is Swedish. Keeping a distance from those gathered the two strangers fill each other in on their personal lives. He's more or less a free agent speculating on the various women walking around. Somehow she engages him on who she thinks would be good for him, not as wife but lover. In turn he wonders about her life as married woman.

As married couple she and her husband met at a restaurant. He was the only European standing among many men, cavorting, drinking beer. She wanted him immediately. There was no doubt in her mind she had to have him. The process began when she introduced herself. They slept together that night, months later they married.

The woman presents the gentleman with a business card, wrapping herself around him with a kiss on the cheek. She makes her way out of the gallery. He barely looks at the card avoiding people as he inspects for the final time paintings on the wall.

Outside the gallery he notices the woman standing by a parked car. She walks up to him wondering if he wants to spend the night. He thinks it strange. He rejects her offer saying he's expecting a delivery later on in the evening. She's quick to oblige him with anything he needs, stressing she has many good contacts.

He is stupefied. The woman has the world in her eyes. He can't say no however much he desired.
She kisses him on the mouth, moist and full. They hug. He grabs her derriere with both hands, filling them with his fingers. A man taps him on the shoulder. The gentleman turns around. She introduces the man as her husband.

The car-ride to their apartment was filled with light conversations. He owns a bar. She's a grade school teacher. They had come to the gallery with hopes of finding a lover for the evening. The woman found the gentleman attractive, not so much his physique. They wanted an artist, someone with passion and insight. Talking to him she knew he was exactly what she wanted, a man who would more than fuck her, rather seduce her into forgetting her married life.

The husband plays bartender offering wine glasses. He pours into each glass sitting across from them. It is almost clear that he is content on watching his wife flirt with the gentleman. She is sitting very close to him rubbing his knee. The husband looks on drinking from a mug. He obliges the gentleman to touch her. The gentleman places the wine glass on a table inserting his hand into the woman's bra. He lifts up her breast, sucking in a heated hunger. Carefully taking off the blouse while he awaits the other breast, she steals a look at her husband, smiling. He sits watching them, drinking from the mug.

The woman is nude lying across on the sofa. The gentleman partially clothed, spreads her open eating her vaginal cavity, pressing his lips, tongue exposed, against her clitoris, slurping, tasting, licking. He moves up to her breasts sucking on the nipples, positioning his body flat on top of her. Raising his head to look her in the eyes, they kiss. Her husband interrupts them suggesting they move into the bedroom.

On the bed the gentleman is totally naked. She edges up to his erect cock jerking it up and down, finally putting it in her mouth, sucking with pleasure while the gentleman attempts to finger her anal cavity. He falls back while the woman continues to suck him. The husband walks around the room unconcerned.

The woman inserts his cock in her cunt, gyrating, bouncing off his pelvis. It grows in intensity. She starts to utter unintelligibly as the sound of their bodies crashing into each other makes a thumping noise. She has her first orgasm, arching her back, looking terrified yet amazed.

With her legs in the air, he grips her by the ankles, fucking steadily and precise, looking her in the eye, maintaining his rhythm, her breasts bouncing. He falls on her, fucking her in the missionary, damning, as if with fury. She has another orgasm. He pulls out of her. She jerks him off with anger, gripping and pulling, over and over until he cums on her face. She wipes off the cum, embarrassed and exasperated.

The husband walks into the room while the gentleman is putting on his clothes. They barely speak. The gentleman walks into the living room. He looks at the husband. He opens the door to the apartment. The gentleman walks out. The door closes behind.

He stands there, somehow naked to the world, not wanting to leave, not wanting to stay. He runs uncontrollably down the stairs into the streets, never looking back.

2009-11-20T15:47:00.000-08:00

"she sang sea-water songs"

Kofi Fosu Forson

She made me lick salt off her nipple. It reminded her of sea-water salt. Her mother used to cook with it back when they went shopping at the farmer's market. On most Sunday evenings they welcomed a share of friends to their Long Island mansion. Her father would have brought home buckets of clams, crabs and lobster. What usually followed was time spent drinking wine and dining. If Lara felt like it she got behind the piano and sang songs she one day hoped to sing on Broadway.

I've been Lara's musical director for a year. We met at a going-away party for a mutual friend. It was one of those parties where things got out of hand from the bathroom to the bedroom. Dancing alone to rock and roll was more or less masturbation.

I was indeed dancing alone when Lara walked into the room. It was clear she had been engaging in something kinky or otherwise freakish. She was at once shy yet seductive barely making eye-contact. I kept dancing. She watched me all the while making small talk. We sat down, only two people left in the living room.

A great urge overcame me when our conversation all of a sudden quieted. She rested on my shoulder, shaking loose to feel comfortable. Her arms reached and unzipped me, removing my cock, shaking her face free of hair, placing the hard cock in her mouth. Slowly she sucked stopping to rub and feel the erection. She then knelt in front sucking harder. I grabbed at the length of hair and felt her head bopping up and down.

With my dick dangling in the air, she positioned her palms on my thighs and without any traction she sucked me looking up, our eyes meeting. I encouraged her to keep sucking until I helped remove her panties.

Her back facing, she slid my cock into her pussy. She rode me, my hands helping, feeling her ass bouncing off the cock. I rummaged through her pubic hair until I felt her clit, wet and moist, stimulating as I kept up the pressure. Her body was bouncing off me. Squealing, she would grab one breast, the other hand on my thigh, as she gyrated and humped the dick, lifting herself up enough for me to see the dick going in and out of her.

I guided her onto her knees, entering, proceeding to bang and cock, hard and hot, grabbing her breasts as I cocked hard, feeling the joy and pleasure coming out of her. I came. Looking over at the side I noticed we were being watched. We scrambled to the sofa, listening as they cheered and clapped.

We took the same taxi home that night. The following morning we met for coffee. She had planned a one-woman show and needed a director. I was more than willing. It seemed wonderful, a woman that beautiful. It wasn't clear how talented she was but the whistle in her voice, the sex in her body could only mean my gratitude and fortune.

Wasn't clear to me at first but she shared an open relationship with a boyfriend. She frequently stayed at his apartment. Sitting in the very room where she and her lover made love I felt discomfort. Surprisingly we were both honest about the intimate details concerning our professional partnership and moments when she would barge into me with her knees, exposing her breasts. I often obliged, filling them within my fingers. I would look her dead in the eye rotating the breasts until I brought a rise out of her.

I had been working on songs I wanted Lara to sing. They were songs in the blues vain. I sat there with my keyboard and played, listening to Lara belt it out. She was a consummate performer, the way she stood, city-mermaid, perfectly poised, her voice soft and childlike. When she sang I tried not to look at her, keeping my focus on the keys. What I heard was a voice so moving filling the room as sounds from the keyboard bounced off the walls. At times she would move closer to me. These were moments when I felt my songs hitting home as if she was meant to sing them.

We were both entertained by our rehearsals, usually relaxing to a cup of coffee. I'd wait while she made coffee, joining me with her legs placed over my thighs. Drinking the coffee she would reminisce about her childhood. She talked distinctly about her uncle. They spent time alone when he would seduce her into singing. It seemed as if they were a couple and in love. Lara becomes enlightened when she talks about him. Asking if it was rape, she denies it, expressing her love for him.

I then would rub her feet, creasing my fingers into the depths of skin and bone. It was a moment of arousal, looking at her melt. I complimented her, all the while rubbing her feet. She would breathe out loud, intermittently touching my hand gently, tossing her face to the left and then to the right, all the while smoothing her hand over mine.

She would pull my pants open and with spit rub my cock. I then placed her on the sofa, sliding my cock up and down between her breasts, noticing as she squeezed them together. Quietly the two of us continued, my dick moving up and down along her cleavage. I tapped my dick on each breast practically fucking them. I'd cum with a purpose all over her breasts.

There was a garden in the backyard. Lara and I sat there rehearsing. Flights above, several men would position themselves, watching and listening. The look in their eyes was that of hunger. They wanted this tall sensuous woman, standing, singing...seemingly so innocent.

To fuck her would complete their lonely and miserable lives.

2009-11-13T14:19:00.000-08:00

Thick as the fog in June

Kofi Fosu Forson

Two Brooklyn dykes and I waited to cross the street. Short-haired tease in a white tee-shirt wondered if I had a late night. Long-haired, olive-skinned girl tossed her head around fucking with her dark hair.

It always occurred to me that I looked hot when standing, slightly bent, strecthing my arms forward, if not to catch my breath from walking at least a polite gesture from two lesbians on a hunting spree.

I told them all was good the night before but I didn't do shit. Indeed I'd been walking all day. I was tired. She had a thing about her knee, played tennis in college. Not too long before I brought up my days as a soccer star in high-school.

Dykes were all right with me. I'd known some, even got off on a couple of bases with one. Sucking tits on a girl you know is into girls is more like an offer, a favour, a one off.

Somehow they found me attractive. It wasn't clear what they wanted to do but they thought it nice to come along.

We ended up at a bar on the L.E.S. I loved their body language. Short-haired girl offered her body open-faced. The other stood in a slant, observing, not saying much. Her mug of beer rested on the bar. Not like her partner who stood facing me, sip after sip, taking me in.

I knew then what they wanted to do. We found a cheap hotel, walked up and into a room. I posed at one end with the bed seperating us. They remained next to each other not talking. One girl smiling at me, the other looking away...

Short-haired girl was first to grope me, rubbing over my crotch. She wouldn't let me kiss her on the mouth. We did however embrace, massaging my lips over the whitest of skin on the neck and face, softly as she gently resisted. Not wanting to stop, I grabbed her in my palms, meeting open-mouth to mouth but not touching.

Other girl came over undid her partner's bra. With tongue sliding across the back, she wrapped her arms around to squeeze the breasts that formed full-figured, cupping them, pressing them against the chest, turning her around to suck them. I couldn't see but heard the slipperiness of moisture as she sucked and released the breasts from her mouth.

The two women made out, hugging and grabbing each other, deep-tongue, rushing their fingers within each other's hair. They kept eye-contact stopping to rest their lips on each other, half-circle to half circle, resuming their kiss, passionately with intensity. It was aggressive yet romantic as if they were in love.

I exposed my dick, rotating my fingers up and down. It felt hard, stiff and ready for a fuck.

Undressing and falling on the bed, long-haired girl proceeded to tongue her partner's pussy, licking, motion after motion. Soon thereafter, short-haired girl began to moan. Stuck in this position, the moaning and gyrating increased.

I crept up to the bed, stuck my dick out at short-haired girl. She jerked it back and forth, cradling my balls. The closer I got to her mouth she turned her head the other way, lifting herself onto her knees. Long-haired girl got on all fours, hurting as her partner banged from behind with curls of hair on the pussy, slapping her ass, grabbing onto hips, banging.

On the edge of the bed I did everything to maintain my hard-on watching as the short-haired girl held her partner by the shoulders and banged away, slapping her ass as she did.

I walked out of the room, up and down the hall, kicking at myself. I could hear them huffing. Angled against the door, the noise settled, not knowing whether to walk away or ask for explanation.

I barged into the room. The two women were dressed. Short-haired girl brushed by me, exiting the room, closing the door behind.

For the first time long-haired girl looked at me and smiled.

2009-10-23T16:39:00.000-07:00

A Love Poem for Deviants Like Us

Because I sleep with the dog between my legs
Doesn't mean I'm in love
Sometimes we walk down Park Avenue at night
My dog, Pepe, likes women in fur
It reminds him of Cassy---
The cat he couldn't fondle
Our home is a dungeon
On the loveseat are my whips and handcuffs
Anyone is invited from virgins to vandals
When we make love
I'll be wearing my black leather boots
You can wear my fake moustache
But keep your hands tied behind your back
I don't know you, you don't know me
If you want me to,
I'll get on my knees and bark
Your flesh is white
My mouth is black
We can be so dangerous together

Kofi Fosu Forson February 14, 2000

2009-09-30T12:59:00.000-07:00

Kofi Forson in Conversation with John Lurie:

John Lurie, musician, actor, composer, painter exploded onto the New York music scene with his band The Lounge Lizards. He experienced fame with his portrayal of Willie in the film Stranger Than Paradise, a movie he scored. He has since scored many other films including Down by Law and Get Shorty, which he received a Grammy nomination. His television show Fishing with John was the first of its kind.

Please click on the following link:http://www.whitehotmagazine.com/articles/in-conversation-with-john-lurie/1948

2009-08-30T13:28:00.000-07:00

Sexual Picasso
Power of Sexual Conscience

Kofi Fosu Forson

Sexual conscience is one reason why Picasso was Picasso.

Conscience normally merges two distinct intellectual points.

Modern technology has allowed for activities present in social networks. But surreptitiously far removed from daily blogging and status updates is a notion of telepathy and psycho-sexuality which impacts the sexual-conscience.

Within that vacuous space found in the world wide internet once two points take on the notion of intellect and sex, forms of energy are transported from one point to the next. These are shaped as phantasms which manifest intellectually or sexually.

Without the notion of these energy sources made probable as human, given a profile or photograph, communication renders itself in fantasies if not e-mailing, exchange of texts and what one would assume to be the closest to normalcy in a phone call.

When communication becomes nothing more than signifiers as in a social network not much is left for articulating emotions and profound discussions. Much of this becomes brief interactions expressed through adoration where one responds positively to a posting. Intellectually nothing is ever gained just a want and need to be accepted and acknowledged as safe.

Somehow within the realm of accepted behavior there are those who live off these profile pictures as fantasy. Orgiastic exchange of words, thought and photographs result in an emotional and intellectual escape. How they manifest is probably likened to a dreamscape.

However in a semiotic understanding what shapes thought is not the physical word not if abused in totality. The case for chatter as abuse is obvious. Taken as an example of intimacy one responds to another in a natural and intellectual sense.

What is attractive is the idea of thought and resonance, honesty and brilliance.

It prepares for enlightenment throughout the emotional and intellectual physical and virtual space. Much of this surrender awakens the sexual conscience.

Language is then transmitted between both virtual sources. This seemingly is recognized not so much as relationship but events occurring moments at a time through telepathy and the psycho-sexual.

The sexual conscience therefore can and does redeem the individual from normalcy, the idea of copulation versus livelihood. In essence copulation is livelihood, philosophically or Freudian.

Once the physical copious act balances philosophy with psychology, the gratuitous need to copulate isn’t recognized commercially. It’s rendered in a circular and cyclical form balancing the creative, psychological and sexual foundations found in each human.

That sexual conscience is one reason why Picasso was Picasso explains how if one balances dimension of sexuality ingrained in our conscience into a perfect circle a lot emanates from this vacuous and virtual space.

2009-08-14T11:37:00.000-07:00

I recently had an in-person conversation with Jenny Shimizu which was published in Whitehot Magazine. Jenny Shimizu is a Japanese American model, actress and television personality. She was discovered by Calvin Klein and can recently be seen on BRAVO television's Make Me a Supermodel.

Please click on the following link: http://www.whitehotmagazine.com/articles/in-conversation-with-jenny-shimizu/1925

2009-07-25T14:47:00.000-07:00

The following is Part 2 of a Five Part interview with Laura Conde, Mexican Artist.

Kofi Fosu Forson: Given the virtual promotion of pornography where do you draw the line between making art and fueling a cause for sexuality and art? Does your work promote pornography and if not what are the philosophical and artistic reasoning behind images of rape? Can you equate the themes of torture with mathematics and philosophy, if so how?

Laura Conde: I am interested in the social limits of art, as well as to enhance systems of thought different from the formalized rational systems.Constantly I doubt about the language, I doubt about science. I believe that there is a hidden malignity behind this desire of objectifying everything, naming and defining everything.

The media mass spreading of pornography is a cultural phenomenon and I am not interested in promoting it or to participate in it because to end of accounts it is the pornographic glance the one that more labels and reduces desire and sexual experience to very poor classifications, the sexuality is not this, this would come to be a very distorted projection of the libido in the real world of million people that live in the Web like a being of his own life, is like an image that has been traced a million times and in the end it finishes being a monstrosity. It is hyper-explicit and overloaded, almost baroque because it thusly must be able to adjust to so many and so varied profiles, but is not real nevertheless it is in the limits that could be a denominated culture.

There will always be doubts about it if these manifestations are an important part or not about what we are as societies. Because no matter how hard it is reprobate, it does not stop calling the attention of millions of people who visit pornographic Web sites, for example. In my work I retake images of pornographic origin sometimes but always as a critic or a parody. For me every practice that leaves the common sense and resists to take part of the collective is interesting, the pornography consumption is an anonymous, intimate activity and generally that the consumer realizes in secret form. I am interested more in this quality of the activity that in the explicit or sexual content on it.

My work does not have to do with the pornography but with the desire and the politics of genre. I am interested in the playful sense that can reside in the sexual activity. And it is in this sense that sometimes I stare at masochistic images or self inflicted tortures. I do not approve rape or that a human being is damaged or that something is done against his will. What I do find very valuable however and they do not have anything to do with rape, the sense of humor and parody in means of sexuality.

It is in this way that the feminine masochism according to how I see it, is not more than a critic to the dominant structure socially,activity in which indirectly, via parody, it exaggerates the category of femininity established by this structure through the recognition and taking illicit pleasure of this relation of apparent disadvantage.

What my work speaks about is of the authority, not only the authority in society but in art, that during centuries has guaranteed representations of women where they only appeared as an object of desire, in images done by men, for other men, they never show them as subjects capable of having their own desires. The images that I have been working with the last years are directed both to men as to women. And talk about female desire, women conceptions and beliefs I grew reading and listening and what I do is to make this conceptions of my own and interpret them according to what I live as a woman, as a mother and as an artist.

I see fashion magazines that portray feminine models so thin that almost disappear make me wonder if the masochism or the sadism is really something so far from our daily experience. I do not think so.I believe today that divisions of genre had stopped making sense.There is so much anxiety to define you as a hyper-man or a hyper-woman,more masculine than masculinity, more feminine than the femininity. And if the definition that history keeps from women is one of submission and vulnerability, the woman of nowadays seems more submissive and vulnerable than ever.

Extreme diets, rigorous exercises to have a perfect figure, excessive sexual disposition and an urge to please the other… Let’s not forget the importance in questioning sexual power and the physical that is sex.

2009-07-10T12:54:00.000-07:00

Flesh for Lulu
Modern Interpretations of Skin

Kofi Fosu Forson

By design a stranger in passing registers as human body, part flesh, otherwise clothed, signifying ones gender, subculture and association. Given each person’s idiosyncrasy much can be said about what in particular resonates as beauty, a body part or genuine aura. Nonetheless it is a physical attraction void of intellect.

Animal magnetism, brilliance by definition, more than represents hetero or homo spontaneity, an exact and immediate interaction based on the intellectual and sexual ego. Modern society renders it more particularly, musculature or perfect body, a heightened reason with which we have become pronouncedly a sexual culture.

Somehow as a redirect, language still possesses musculature and substance. Many have chosen an alternative route where graphic display seems more formidable, therefore making the act of peeling away at skin more satisfying than intellectual qualification found in the common man.

Does the modern man qualify as animal and not as intellectual? Is it love and fear that best describes this predicament?

Porno is not pornography. The subtexts of art, music and fashion can be found in pornography. The word “porno” however derivative renders the pornographic material as caption. These become postmodernist human cartoons where bodies mount and interact not solely for pleasure but derision, abuse and euphoria.

Language therefore between the translatable acts of sex and the viewer supposedly promotes desire. It resonates when the viewer is susceptible. Otherwise a conditioned psyche finds the humor and disgust in it all.

That varied sense found in history as orgiastic hasn’t so much evolved as it has proved notion that the human animal is at first sexual. If prompted, gruesome display whether sexual or violent best defines ones disposition.

However conditioned and programmed to love, a false notion predetermines a so called “ordinary” and “normal” livelihood. On matters sexual we are at once befallen by fantasies expressed through moments in the day to day orchestrated when the body conditions itself.

This is when dialogues within the day are transported into visions of fancy at times pleasant or graphic, bordering innocence and experience. Such notions as fetish and type continuously excite the senses. Much can be said that the mind’s narrative best defines a true lover. Circumstantially the brain is by far the truest sex organ.

In an ostracized society we more so primarily find favor in what is subject as matter of fact. That an elongated erect penis is the key to sexual pleasure removes the counterbalance through which we find language within the barriers of love and sex.

If not love then is sex not more than just a dry-hump?

Speculating as one watches porno it’s often clear that the male subject with the elongated erect penis is merely thrusting and that the female partner is pretending.

What presumably is an act of sex results in the male partner dry-humping the female thinking she’s being pleasured when in actuality she’s doing her best to complete his ego.

Language depicted between the male and female gender is bound by love. Modern society has removed its relevance. What we become are essences signified by gender, race and subcultures.

All too real there are few notions that reflect a conscience that death and love equals sex and self-imprisonment borders rape, torture and murder. Life once a continuous cycle has been met with factors resembling a camp or prison whereby people associate themselves by color of skin, tattoos, colors as in fashion or plainly exorcising the nature of skin by fornicating.

The disillusionment of porno neither borders an envisioning of sexuality nor does it further progressivity of love. Unlike a Bacon masterpiece where religion, the masculine body, mania and torture erode in the absolute, porn remarks at an immediacy best explained as nonsense once again meaninglessness …a modern-day cartoon.

Image by Tracy Hunter

2009-06-27T13:42:00.000-07:00

Following is a Five Part question and answer session with Mexican artist Laura Conde.

Laura Conde engages in the precepts of Art, Sex and Philosophy. Much of this is understood in a rather mathematical and psychoanalytical manner. None of her paintings promote pornography but it’s from that realm of modern torture, penetration and the vulva rendered metaphorically as damaged does she gain her interpretations and formularizations of what is now a crisis.

Kofi Forson: On the subject of Gender how do you think male and female sexual diversity has helped to create an open view of sexuality in society and art? Does this hurt or help preservation of innocence or does innocence and experience build a stronger sexual psyche?

Laura Conde: I believe that without the work of theoreticians, the minority artists and groups who began to raise the voice in Art and Literature we could not perhaps speak today of diversity and opening. It has been an arduous and complex work without a doubt, and without the studies of feminist groups on psychoanalysis and gender politics of sort I do not conceive that I myself can approach a topic like the one of femininity, that is one of the concepts that began to resonate more in my head when I started to study art.

At the time I was influenced by the work of theoreticians like Julia Kristeva, Foucault, Deleuze, and the production of artists like Barbara Kruger, Cindy Sherman and Nan Goldin. Also I was obsessed with psychology and psychoanalysis. A friend and I began to study the work of Freud and Lacan. Her mother was a psychoanalyst, for that reason since he was a boy he had grown strongly influenced by her way of thinking. My mother also spoke to me about Freud when I was young. She in detail explained to me the Oedipus complex and the main contributions of Freud to sexuality.

Soon my friend and I read the antiOedipus of Deleuze and Guattari, we discussed it so much because it was a direct critic to psychoanalysis, that one we were so familiarized by.

The thinking about desire and Capitalism in that book in truth is something that I must mention because it influenced so much my formation at that time. It would not have begun to interest me in art if I had not had always this sensation of been strange among people of my same genre and community. I had the security from very young that I was different from other children and I was not able to understand it until I was older and I had the possibility of watching the work of other artists who in spite of being thousands of kilometers away and having another nationality, had restlessness verysimilar to mine.

What is it to be woman or to be man? Is it that you can only be a thing in spite of feeling often like both or like none? Are the particular characteristics of each genre imposed on men and women when they were born? Where are these characteristics written? What happens if I do not fit in any of both genres totally? There is somebody that does?

I believe that both men and women have had to defy many conventionalisms and concepts given by fact at social level to be able to find some answers with respect to what motivates them and are passionate about, what ever makes them feel alive. Long time perhaps we were confused by others. We catalogued and domesticated our desire for their convenience. The way to find their own freedom is a way that each human must cross alone through the discovery of themselves and of its vital potential.

If desire has been manipulated and domesticated so many years it has been because it represents energy and motivation. Not always is it easy for many human beings to leave the establishment or to accept the fact that others decide to do it can be frightening. After all there are centuries of agreement and repression. I think freedom is obtained through innocence and innocence not in terms of purity, but of a constant questioning of life and existence, once that eternal question is asked innocence finishes. The fault happens then.

But the fault is not either something that can or must be avoided. Both innocence and fault are part of the process of growth of the human being and while we do not take nothing for granted we continued being alive and while questionings continue, to continue living will worth the pain , so for me there are no established sorts, I only conceive desire, and desire does not have object.

We are like in Deleuze and Guattari, wanting singularities, not even individuals, there is multiplicity of people in each individual. Each of us concentrates a multiplicity of“ways of being” in relation to desire. We are attracted to the hair of a person, the neck of another one, the rumps of a baby, the morbidity of an object, the sweet or rancid scent of a skin. We constitute our desire with fragments of stimuli that we oriented towards which we think is the object of our desire.

This object is not but the representation of which by itself it is irreprehensible.

2009-06-21T11:08:00.000-07:00

PHOTOGRAPHS BY FRENCH PHOTOGRAPHER: Fabienne Perrier

Model: SANDRA NICOUETTE

2009-05-20T09:48:00.000-07:00

Kofi Forson in conversation with Tony Ward, artist, actor and model icon: (Please Click on the following) http://www.whitehotmagazine.com/index.php?action=articles&wh_article_id=1861

2009-05-14T08:26:00.000-07:00

NEW PAINTING by Laura Conde

2009-05-03T12:31:00.000-07:00

Half-lives of Fractured Selves
(The Body Kingdom)

Kofi Fosu Forson

The most beautiful person is fractured if not by ego then in proportion with the physical self and how he or she balances the body kingdom. This is made do by the mirroring of the self. None of which is ever compromised only subjectively achieved within the eyes of a lover, an unofficial biographer or through the favor of a conditioned poet who is compelled to honor as if brainwashed.

There is no self-model. We exist within a series of half-lives. To some this is a celebration of the self or a conquest bringing to fore a pronounceable ego which in itself is the self-mirror.

Ego as foundation is a construct allowing the self to command and achieve persona. That sense of character builds to a crescendo where the individual is aware of self in guarding against defeat and maintaining a high esteem.

An implosion occurs when physical beauty isn’t enough. The very physical self brought about by narcissism breaks down. Once again conclusively the mirroring factor warrants a need to uphold what is the body kingdom.

Centrally we are kept within an enclosure of doubt and uncertainty. Beauty at best is sold commercially allowing for moments pleasure if contentment. Most would agree that we have failed. None of this is a calculation based on political, socio-political or an independent divide. Evolution by discipline nurtures our advancement into the future. Pushing against this natural rhythm is what makes a society conscious and yet self-deceiving.

Conclusively living within the parallels of consumerism to be free of influence takes a hardened original model. Given the comfort zone within societies very few are willing to shift from their personal understanding of normalcy. If at best we were to follow the ideology or philosophy based on a human level we would all communicate with no disregard.

To be from Brooklyn is different from Istanbul. Knowingly ideas relative to one’s conditioning allow for a common sense in language and semiotics. Somehow the examples of race, class and gender remain constant in separating who we are and what we are becoming.

Government and religion are among many dividing factors but the constant is that of an individual with an ego and persona. How far must one go physically or virtually to establish oneself as derivative of an original model? Communities in film and fashion are examples where the ego is central to status and a greater cause. True to form most would murder for talent but have no understanding of brilliance.

Individual spectrums have allowed for communities in the world wide internet. Whereas September 11 was categorized as the invasion of normalcy the world as a whole has undergone a change albeit climatic, economic and psycho-sexual.

It has allowed for certain behavior whereby people interact within privacy meaning the physical body is indifferent to emotions and sensations. We therefore become a community of spasticity, spirituality perhaps intellectuality.

What is virtual then has very little relevance to the all too real. Can there be a separation or does virtual reality suppose a sub-element within the manifestations of what occurs in society relative to the physical experience?

Facebook, Myspace and other websites that allow for instant messaging encourage immediate forms of communication which separate physical contact between two or more entities resulting in self-gratification (cyber sex) or a heightened sensation due to an intense accumulation of intellect and sexual depravity.

The behavior found in the virtual, meaning the thinning prospectus which rejects human contact has led to a disturbing trend among societies where love has taken on different definitions and that what is natural love has been intermingled with intellect, sexuality and politics.

Perhaps this is evolution… A damning supposition that saw sex grapple with intellect, love at first natural took on the proportions of Tantra…more or less a perversion given the topics of generations and gender.

Ego and beauty within this supposition thrives matched by love and intellect.

What sex is has no relevance. It’s absolute.

Photo credit: Fabienne Anne Perrier

2009-04-22T12:19:00.000-07:00

Photo credit: Eve Prime

Kofi Forson interviews Siobhan Duffy drummer and performer originally from God is my Co Pilothttp://www.whitehotmagazine.com/index.php?action=articles&wh_article_id=1832

2009-04-03T14:16:00.000-07:00

Noah Becker of Whitehot Magazine concluded his conversation with me on the subject of MUSES... Part 2 follows in what was a great chance for me to reflect on what has been the past ten years in working with and exploring the beauty of the female in art and profession.
http://www.facebook.com/ext/share.php?sid=81920235069&h=XgNlC&u=5jTyz&ref=mf

2009-03-30T12:50:00.000-07:00

White Beauty/ Love and Death

Kofi Fosu Forson

White female, product of unconquerable ego manifest in politicizing of beauty and self-worth, has for lifetimes now permeated the conscience to finally reach a melting point where love and sex offered as torment both intellectually and physically comprises of our existences void human proportions, that is nature and ability to survive love and death, translatable in fornicating, while car, home and companion would suggest normality, leaving potentially others removed from its cycle to fend for themselves in a world where white female continues to serve as sign of heroism, eternity, power, libido…

“Pussy” profanely used to describe the coital flower of the female in most terms would have digressed conditionally into the Kathy Acker chosen word of “cunt.” To have approached the world puritanically we may have kept to the word “vagina”. Much of this disdain made relative to the female would have stemmed from a Hemsleyian, Thatcheresque or Clintonian appeal.

Women are and will always be appreciated for their sense of nurturing, comforting the beast that is man, woman and child.

The white female would then have supposed a conditioning of inhabitants of the world centuries before and hereafter to impressionably exist under the acceptance of white beauty as the governing principle from which beauty starts and ends.

How does this affect multi-culturalism or is this notion now dead preparing room for a whole new generation on matters gender, sex and race. Marketing of this stems from disturbing trends to preserve youth as in hair implants, plastic surgery and the tendency to disrupt natural progression of living.

The world is viewed in matters black and white as in race and politics. Excruciatingly so we are lead to think racial matters have never been better than now with the election of President Obama.

The true sense of racism is an intellectual one which was determinably made official by aspects of colonialism and slave ownership. Blacks are made to think they can’t reach intellectual partnership with whites. When they do in their own right, other blacks deem them as white. Certainly there’s no rationale. One is forced to operate under their own terms whether it’s black women getting weaves or black men pursuing white women.

White female in history when in companionship with black male has stemmed from empathy and sympathy within the constraints of socio-politics, political movements, music and art as well as the genuine appreciation for another with respects to love.

Indiscretionably the female within modern gender politics views the male for his disposability. This can be found within the ramifications of psychology in how women choose their partners whether for sex, money or their availability.

Thinning of intellect and sex is obvious as it has made the transference from everyday real to virtual.

Love in turn lacks romance whereby everything and anything is programmed to fornicate leaving us as a society labored in love with nothing original to say amongst each other in fear for our lives stranded within a conclusion of love and death.

2009-03-18T13:37:00.000-07:00

Click following link to see my interview with Emory Douglas (Artist for the Black Panther Party)
http://www.whitehotmagazine.com/index.php?action=articles&wh_article_id=1759

2009-03-02T11:02:00.000-08:00

Sexual Identity
Love and Modern Reality

Kofi Fosu Forson

If vice then commit to it!

Puritanical lifestyles serve no purpose in this our age of dominance. Evil guilt once redeemable through repentance is the scorch that symbolically serves as tribute to life, sex, love and intelligence.

The misery that is smoking cigarettes is still issued by most lovers after sex. As if our lung turning purple was merit, what would then replace the after-play when our bodies with sweat merge as we pant for air to then inhale breath of smoke adjoining our senses male/female?

“Smoke me a hot cigar,” she said. The pleasure with which he sat under lamp light well-dressed smoking a cigar…This was prelude to an encounter. The frozen letters of smoke hanging in the air… His breath releasing circles of the letter “O” that pop with pizzazz…Perhaps a jazz melody embraces the background. Is this not finesse to watch your lover at play?

If female she sits in the nude cross-legged wearing a bowler hat smoking a cigar. Given the spotlight effect and with gender assumption she would swing her legs back and forth in this a display of amateur affectation.

More or less they are suggestions for foreplay. The sexual embrace is politely determined as coital, male member inserted into female when in actuality the gratuity with which lovers perform is much the gender and politically situational means separating male aggression from female passivity or male sensitivity to female insatiability.

It is not a reforming of sex. Centrally the act of love, poignantly in its animalistic realm is decent and encouraged. Each and every aspect of sex is pertinent to the animal as creature as lover as human. The circumstances surrounding the act from flirtation to arousal must be distinguishable within the sexual ideology.

What we humanly must recognize are the signifiers which potentially announce our role as humans and lovers. Obviously these are interchangeable.

In a society of abnormality we choose indecency over courtesy. Politeness is the charge in most behaviors. Understandably there are types in race and gender. Speculation of intense love and hot sex are subjective within the aspects of talent, personality and seemingly fateful love.

If sexual identity is given to play, fetish, multiplicity of lovers what then encourages the actual act of love. Most would suggest vacations and an alternative to the act. The banality of most lives is the circumstances surrounding pills for penile extensions and increase in sexual libido.

Attraction is at once physical but the origin of mating is more or less matching one’s inner dimension with another. Circumstantially great lovers are born out of couples who embrace the same identity or language. Opposites do attract but evidence is given to their nature and how much they are able to imbibe the notion of attraction. This then leads to probability and destiny which stems from association and the day to day.

Sexual identity stems from love and respect of self. Otherwise it reaches a point where nothing more is achieved than a mating process. Suggesting modern love, sex and intelligence as a retraction from internet pornography is laughable.

Pornography in general has always been a subtext as in art and pornography, sex, drugs and rock and roll. What was once a means of titillation is now introduced into our daily lives. Impressions of mature and teen sex, threesomes are now very common. These are new templates in a sense which excite our minds as fodder. Desperately people are seeking partnership but in doing so they have ulterior motives whenever money and sex are involved.

Tying a woman to a chair requires skill. Going on date after date is near boredom. Going on date after date to find a woman to tie to a chair is damn near embarrassing.

Origin of one’s identity is to define what identity and then embrace it. It’s a life-long process.

Sexual identity stems from love. It is not an entity. Practices such as BDSM originate from a psychological pattern esteemed in one’s combination of psyche and love or lack there of.

Sexual practices have become much the flavor but every act responds to a part of a person’s
history and psychology.

It isn’t the type of sex one practices. More so sexual identity is a mark of a person’s identity through nature and psychology.

2009-02-21T05:49:00.001-08:00

http://www.whitehotmagazine.com/index.php?action=articles&wh_article_id=1739

2009-01-31T07:10:00.000-08:00

Noah Becker of Whitehot Magazine interviews Kofi Fosu Forson on the subject of my muses and themes of love, sex and art. Photographs of the aforementioned muses cover a period from 1994 - 2004. http://www.whitehotmagazine.com/index.php?action=articles&wh_article_id=1723

2009-01-16T21:27:00.001-08:00

Modern Aesthetic
Female Intellectual Beauty

Kofi Fosu Forson

Beauty in eye of beholder will soon be founded on principle where women form likeness with mannequins evident in Vanessa Beecroft intervention, removing any references made about originality, hence human conditioning of love would be relegated to physical desire and fornication.

Flesh has been restricted from its natural progression into maturity. What once was normal now undergoes a certain death with hopes of producing a new, however artificial, understanding of the body.

Manifested in this somehow is disrespect for the spiritual being. Physical self becomes fallout shelter misinterpreting sex for love and acquaintanceship for trust.

Sex then will be made definitive as an act between two bodies without any immediate attraction just a need and crush to experiment whether with toy, enhancement drug, exotic wear or video.

Many among us live in isolation as self-made individuals removed from the notion of normalcy. Ours is a life with potential. We make sacrifices which allow for an independent livelihood expressed through need for intimacy, intellect and an understanding of sex as desirous, lustful, bound by love between two individuals who share a common philosophy. Given the gamesmanship of love and sex there are those who take on lovers. Women are prone to display such behavior whereas men if not identified with one partner choose several randomly. Current trend among women is multiplicity of lovers who serve different purposes.

The female as an intellectual has a heightened sense of consciousness and beauty, at times giving off notions of prescience. That an intellectually beautiful woman has a sense of foresight!

Does beauty equal intelligence? Combination of intellect and beauty manifests into a euphoric disguise where it seems improbable for both elements to merge.

Intelligent women who are equally beautiful charismatically form at center a neurotic and guarded disposition. Reason being their physical selves are at odds with their central core existence.

An artist’s perception of this would be Picasso’s cubist paintings of Dora Maar. They express a psychology which translates the dilemma found in the beautiful physical self and neurosis suggested by intelligence.

Internally the particular woman would be prone to theatrical and outlandish display found in an actress, dancer or interventioner. It becomes a balancing of both extremes without which would combust as means of eccentricity as a living and breathing encyclopedia or chaste female speculating on sexuality.

Erotically the woman in question is a confident lover not so because she’s a great lover but that she knows of her existence both intellectually and sexually. Thereby it allows her to be desired based on her reflections on love, romance and sex, the act of which she wants and imbibes as crucial element of her nature as woman but would rather be with someone she loves with her mind and body. Otherwise it’s scarcely relevant and at best a conquest.

Narcissistically intellect and beauty in the female allows for persona other than the one that exists. Circumstances surrounding this border fantasy and the stimulating of ego. By envisioning a persona other than self allows for distinction expressed through fashion, personality and character.

The self is lived as fantasy presenting an acute delusion. At times it serves as shield from unwanted attention marking need for privacy.

Angularly the female determines appropriation between fantasy and functionality which form to define ultimately an intellectual and beautiful woman glorified as lover, an aesthetic, peculiarly haunting.

2009-01-11T06:38:00.000-08:00

NO SE FUMA

2008-12-28T22:31:00.000-08:00

Literary Bimbo
Modernist Acclamation

Kofi Fosu Forson

Bimbos are known to be dimwitted.

Embracing a woman who appears concerned with her physical makeup, leaving very little for the imagination would suppose affectation of bimbo.

What would then be the redirect if she spoke and actually sounded interesting, making references to art, literature and music?

Dorothy Parker among her circle was a charming, clever, social critic… As much as she was clever, some would have cleared her off as a merry madam a little lose on bitters.

The word “bimbo” however derivative of chauvinistic nature paints a picture not only of the underpinned guest in an opportune moment blond-wigged and made up. It can also be found in the self-obsessed gentleman who offers carnal knowledge first before and after introduction.

Made present in history the term bimbo was mostly offered a blond woman, pin-up model or woman of certain social disgrace. Literary women on the other hand were appropriate in their distinction. Ayn Rand completes that speculation in her professional disposition and intellectual prowess.

The “bone” that distinguished feminism from post-feminism is much the “pipe” that angles in proportion what was estimated in Warhol and now secures an advantage commonly as practice in medicine, business, politics and art. Male whore is nothing more than a bimbo suit and tied.

Is the literary bimbo free from pronouncing him/herself as sex object or does availability of sex make him/her more domineering. Power then manifested is relevant in sex appeal and not always intellect. Publishing of a book or directing of film would be representable of that.

Intellect and sex in modern discourse perhaps an aphrodisiac, otherwise most would prefer a celebrity’s musculature and power. Where the prototypical Hollywood stature meets money and promiscuity becomes a modern day art pro, visionary and auteur.

Term “starfucker” highlights the enslavement propensity: - that most would do anything to be famous. If not fame there are those who carry on peculiar lifestyle through which they manage finance, livelihood and recognition.

Clearly some practice objectionable behavior underlined mostly by sexual politics: - to then think which is the quicker way to success! It’s a double edged sword what conditions the individual within the art or business ideal.

It is crucial to close a deal given prospects of employment or advancement. That then would suggest operating against one’s ideals and preference. However manageable, there are those who prefer a much clear distinction as opposed determining between power, authority and inexperience.

Literary aspirations always predetermine one’s nature. Some welcome success with defeat. Others claim it as destiny. Overall there are rules made applicable. In order to work within any professional environment one must promote self-respect and dignity. That allows for an honest truth spoken about colleagues and others in question.

There’s the independent market and what otherwise would be termed corporate or Hollywood. Very few are able to walk both lines. Julian Schnabel is one among very few who can claim authority in both markets.

Understandably there’s the rank and file. These are those who manage choices based on money, sex and reputation. In there lies abuse of power, rape of innocence and eventual distinguishing between star and groupie.

Literary bimbo is one and none among these. The character and substance with which a literary or aspiring “game player” promotes himself is based on an individual motto. This would be found to be different in music (hip hop or metal), publishing and film (independent versus corporate).

The bimbo in the literary person would somehow be the persona that encourages a conversation after a round of cocktails, flirts with the opposite sex, secures a role both in business and love, maintaining a disposition in self-identity, masculinity/femininity and supposed stardom.

PHOTO Copyright (c) Noelle Joy Grosso

2008-12-15T11:39:00.001-08:00

Fear and Love
Inside The Black Cloak:
Hidden Measures of Default/
Encumbering Beauty

Kofi Fosu Forson

Dark desire isn’t incumbent upon the mind’s hysteria made probable in day to day vice. Commerciality as an example marketed is a resistance to what we experience as fear and love. Subscribing to elements within the picture show, romance novels and celebrity status allow our imagination as lovers broken by desire and encumbering beauty.

The blinding cage or preferable as the black cloak is a metaphor, designable, much the disguise in every behavior. There are assumptions led to think we encourage a darker side. None of this carries weight in what would seem a life of entrepreneurial philanthropy supposing a condition of love in the manifest, not exterior posturing.

Hidden measures of default are circumstances surrounding our inability to persist a higher understanding. The half lives we permit allow for a guarding and preventing from intrusion divisible within the life model. What we post based on reality isn’t confined to humanistic disposition.

Certainly each quotient representing that proverbial animal inside the mind, programmable through moral code, dramatically reveals a persona separate from the original content found in sexual desire, nocturnal dreams, virtual reels and spontaneous behavior as a cause for reaction.

Act of violence and sexual misconduct are narratives which play themselves out, translatable in the primordial psyche. Dominance with no room to ingratiate, two psychological realms dictate power and aggression, determined by transferring of negativity, leaving the human body susceptible.

Desperation isolated brings about love and death. Consequences resulting are neurotic behavior fueled by psychosis and libido. Rape or murder if actualized certifies the damage within the turbulent mind.

Thus then is the difference between the darker spirit and what otherwise becomes glamorized. Human self however stigmatized is capable of one true ideal, dialogue and conference. In doing so, we manage discourse merging beauty and prescience.

Intelligence and foresight therefore encourages each individual to reveal their preeminent self. To then hide, revealing a false self, negotiable as imperfection is a defeatist prospect.

The human animal from birth to death is at a quest for completion and understanding. None of this ever meets the demand in a lifetime.

A biographer would have written the book. A cinematographer told the story.

We would have emerged from the dark into light.

2008-11-24T13:18:00.001-08:00

Portrait of Parrot
Lust, Voyeurism and Self-Redemption

Kofi Fosu Forson

Word “lover” is of the embrace.

The technicality which binds us encourages one to seek a partner thereby freeing the self from neurosis. In modern terms we accept this as the norm. The cancelling factor thereby explains reasons why most if not all are captivated by love as disease.

Envision a parrot inside a cage. This abnormal pet is then the persona that we as lovers are programmed to be. At a disadvantage the parrot observes potential partners walk in and out.

Seldom do we manage an understanding behind who we are and ultimately what defines us in that role. What we claim are manifestations prescribed potentially as drug.

If the parrot in its mild euphoria claims an identity based on whatever dialogue and situations encouraged before him he then becomes product to that environment. Lover would then be a designed existence based on mother/father figure, societal norms and the interpreting of ones identity.

To engage in act of love…the crush in every being!

Hunger, lust, desire are basis for our survival. A longing would best express need for nourishment. Lust has probabilities bordering an intervention to will against as if by force of nature summon onto another reality ones hope and desire…the attraction and brilliance in another.

Lust then by nature is the most emphatic form of desire. It carries over in brilliant light what we seek in another. As predisposition, the human travels in a subconscious reality. If given towards the act of love, he gravitates without notion and/or by determination to the opposite gender.

In the virtual world, people live off the fancy of others based on intellect and sex. This brings about notions of fantasy and movement of light travelling through virtual reality.

Lustful desire then remains evident within a conscious space where one meditates on an image alongside a profile resulting in an exchange of text casual in the everyday variety. It never reaches fulfilment outside of potentiality surmised throughout transatlantic hook-ups or intense revelations depicting sexuality based on a spiritual and intellectual vibe.

How do we render ourselves as “lovers” with regards to modernity? Voyeuristically conscience revolves around the lives made functionable in the immediate world wide internet.

Is it then possible to harbour a conventional relationship and still be able to lust?

Livelihood bases itself on continuity. In doing so, we command a need for variety of things. Most of them are circumscribed by gender and sex. The greatest challenge would be to have it all (the fruit) and seek (pulp) in another.

Modern romance has inspired the female allowing for the inclusion of multiple partners, none of which has to do with lust…that undeniable desire. It’s more an excuse, a pointless and greedy hump, and not willingly embracing love.

What a person of intellect and sex seeks in lust is ability to protect the qualifying feeling of love, predicament found in an artist’s relationship with a muse or the circumstances surrounding marriage and infidelity.

In this the virtual age, best it exist in conscience, a means of deceit and contempt, not a drive towards abnormality.

2008-11-04T17:06:00.000-08:00

Velvet Revolver
Kofi Fosu Forson

Early mornings during rush hour when you sit across from the appropriate person with a sexual default much time is spent wrestling thoughts and images about power and control.

Before him was a Seige-Seige punk femme fetal, red obnoxious hair in a parted ‘fro bound by a white leather trench coat, black and white striped leggings and black boots. Her hands were secured inside the length of pockets with legs crossed. As he made his face familiar she looked sideways, constantly blinking. His glance was immediate and confrontational. Noticing she was uncomfortable he backed off, adjusting himself.

He turned to look at her, imagining her breasts. Somehow he felt they were fully developed with a wide circle of pink flesh surrounding the nipples which protruded as miniature cones. It wasn’t an intentional provocation. His attention was placed around her yet he kept envisioning himself sucking her breast full-mouthed.

She uncrossed her legs. He stared at the passenger sitting next to her and then back at her. She coughed quietly watching reflections in the mirror. He did the same altering his thinking all together.

Scandinavian politics had left him since his betrothal to a local woman. He finds himself in a foreign country needing to escape.

Football by standard was religion. His teammates made the rounds. He always had a girlfriend. Having had to keep his promise he has become neurotic, seeking conversations with young Latin women wanting to buy them off from their parents or seducing the delivery boys into giving him a hand job.

The woman has since taken out her Ipod lost in a wall of sound. He looks at her, sharp and tight, then again inspecting the reflection in the mirror, turning his attention away. The passenger sitting next to her in turn watches him. He once again maintains composure, avoiding eye-contact with the woman.

Several students walk into the subway car chattering. For the moment the woman is obscured. He catches a glimpse every now and then straining his eyes to find her in-between the motioning bodies, people leaving and entering. On his mind are thoughts of making love. He notices her adjusting the Ipod, looking around as if she could actually hear them in his fantasy.

The subway car is crowded at a certain stop. Many force their way in. The man sits in embarrassment, desperate and helpless. He imagines himself and the woman trapped in a suicide bar where people come to drink themselves to death.

Pointing a gun he forces her into a corner making her expose breasts warm and soft. The gun in hand, pointed, he fondles her breasts with the other hand. She inches lower to perform on him, lips locked, welcoming the strength of cock in her mouth.

Refraining from the fantasy, he turns his attention on the woman. When their two eyes meet, she immediately hurries out the train onto the platform. He sits in a daze, mouth open, turning to look at the woman through the window.

Moments pass. He resumes the fantasy in which he dominates the woman on the bar, making love to her at will, removing his cock from about the pussy, spreading it open in admiration to begin again, entering and exiting to finally out of stress and strain cum on her face.

2008-11-01T07:29:00.000-07:00

I-id-Enigma
Modern Lovers Handbook

Kofi Fosu Forson

The yuppie writer was given an unfair burial.

The term Bad Boy made applicable to the literary author owns a link to Norman Mailer, Henry Miller and William Burroughs. Two writers termed yuppie Brett Easton Ellis and Jay MClnerny owned the name "bad boy" based on the allure given the trend-setting lifestyle surrounding these two writers at a time when New York endured a burgeoning late-night culture.

They owned a certain sophistication found best and reminiscent of F. Scott Fitzgerald and Tom Wolfe. In tailored suits they were featured on magazine covers and saw the fortune of having their novels made into successful Hollywood films. They were modern lovers.

The "I" in every proclamation dictates authority. Less served are the idiosyncrasies which determine who is truly behind the unobjectionable "I". This very pronoun represents the immediate presence of those quick to use it as a form of reproach or disclosure.

In theatre we find Julius Caesar displaying the mindset of a person who governs. Much can be said in these our political times when senators and representatives incorporate their intensions along with their affirmation by using the "I" for effect.

Who is the I-id-Enigma? At its psychological centre are there not many influences that determine or undermine who we are as human, animal, schizoid? The human condition labours on pointlessness. Whatever merits this understanding is usually prolonged in the life process. We don't all subscribe to a governing philosophy. Much the difference in our finger prints such is the parallel in how we approach the certainty of death.

The act of love brings to life new birth. To secure this very life the act of love takes on complex interpretations. Understandable are the differences within gender culture. That indeed we are different species can be made normal in light of the summation we live in a genderless society. That is by rule a philosophy.

Woman gives birth. Husband stands outside talking on a wireless. There’s the rub…

There are aspects of love which an individual must guard against. Some of them are generational warfare, gender politics and fraternizing. The male and female symbol ratified as genderless and androgyny in defeat is an idea the individual embraces based on personal beliefs. Style overall structured within society’s depeche mode usually fits into a subculture allowing for a better connection between male/female dynamics.

Fraternizing would then present a sticking point causing one to place in high order people with whom they associate. Friends would then be labelled in order of importance. The very fact of love would warrant a need to please those found among social circles. They tend to range from childhood friends, sorority brothers and sisters and others who have climbed the corporate ladder having endured gender and sexual politics.

Within generational warfare are those who use their seniority or philosophical and cultural experience as an advantage. This has breeched a category as in mature and teen where middle-aged men and women date those ten to twenty years younger. The politics hereby allows older men and women to relive their youth. While the younger ones gain a sense of expertise. However there are bouts of jealousy, misunderstanding and confrontations.

That indeed language is text, men as well as women are keen in recognizing and operating based on the I-id-Enigma whereby women are structured by their body parts, men approach them not so much out of desire but insatiable hunger.

This very feeling of longing need be reinterpreted to benefit the interaction between men and women. Much the cause for time and evolution, women sense a libidinal fury among their gender.

Artists speak la langue de conscience sexuelle. It will determine a future interaction between artists and politicians. If not much like Vaclav Havel, artists need to find their way in politics to affect implementations of moral conduct, perhaps at least a re-ordering of beauty, conscience and love.

2008-10-22T14:06:00.000-07:00

EXCERPT FROM NOVEL GORILLA HEAD
By Kofi Fosu Forson

Majorie appears from her necessary post-sleep adjustments with a towel covering her private portions. She burns her pupils into mine. It’s the cue, about the unwritten rule, to give her privacy. I trudge out of the room to prepare breakfast. The apartment has certainly settled from the effects of the days before.

In the kitchen I slice an avocado in fine pieces and not caring about time, wait for a loaf of French bread to heat up. When it’s ready, each item of food adorns a tray accompanying me back into the bedroom. A tea kettle comes to a whistle just as the door opens. Marjorie rushes out of the room still wearing the towel around her waist.

What did Dracula on the wall think of us last night? My furry skin and Marjorie’s blonde wig.

Marjorie returns with a pot of tea, hot on her palms. In the frenzy of it all, she secures it on the chest of drawers.

"You must have something decent for me to put on."
"I don’t suppose you want to leave here as Marilyn Monroe."

She hops into the bathroom after picking out a shirt from my personal collection. I remove the gorilla suit, slip on a pair of slacks and a white V-neck and proceed with the cups of tea. Marjorie joins me on the bed, vibrant and determined. I begin by serving her some avocado with bread. It’s very Ghanaian. Was this bequeathed to us by the British or could it be an African Queen mother’s idea of an appetizer?

Dracula on the wall, what would you do in this situation?

In the past, Marjorie has wondered about the relevance of Ghana’s history to my life in the modern day. I’ve always dodged the issue. Most often, history is made up of names we choose to remember or forget. Those that remain with me are Super O.D., Opiah Mensah and the traditional television culture that prepared me for a more vast culture in The States.

"What do you love the most about your independence from the British?" Marjorie inquires.
"Sipping on a cup of Twinings Tea, dunking my bread. If spread elaborately with butter, after dunking, it’s fun to watch the butter floating over the tea. Organisms come to mind."
"Surely, you have more important things to think about."
"Yeah. Water, leaves and dough."

Lying next to me, Marjorie is easily a conspirator of woman-hood, a Venus of Urbino. Marjorie’s voice could have been fashioned after an F.B.I. agent , carefully throated, pushed out of strong lungs. With technique, she spreads the avocado evenly on the bread, possibly gravitating towards the precision of a beautician. Her refusing to place the food in her mouth is for me such a disappointing resignation. The candidness of the bread, white and unaffected being cradled by forklike fingers, charges into her mouth. Splendidly the jaws rotate, cycle after cycle. Saliva sends the bread down in a swallow, followed by a kiss of the Twining Tea cup. Marjorie sips away and the crush of sun filling the room brings much delight to the completion of my early meal.

"My love of bread should be a suggestion," Marjorie dictates.
"Suggestion of what?"
"Virginity, Mother Mary. Of the belief that I should never be interrogated for answers I choose not to give."
"It’s about your father, isn’t it?"
"I dare to classify that as personal. Still, I would like for you to come along on a visit to my mother’s."

Marjorie has acquired a comfort in my clothing, smoothing her hands over it. Ironically, the uneasy feeling on her face is a reaction to the realms of the day. Her mother is Felice Tittleton. She lives in Long Island. Marjorie expects her share of fireworks today. We gather the utensils and redefine ourselves. I had not much of a chance to woo her anyway. We conduct a dishwashing session best fit for potential roommates. Afterwards we head back to the bedroom where we take turns dressing in the bathroom. I have the most genderless attire. Either that or Marjorie accepts her newfound manhood in my denim, wrinkled blazer and army boots.

Photo:Sarianna Sabbarese

2008-10-17T05:21:00.000-07:00

Bangkok
Kofi Fosu Forson

Sadu had auctioned off a painting by his late wife. The money therefore afforded him the trip to promote his latest book, a collection of photographs featuring lovers. As he stood inside the bookstore alongside his friend, Mark, a fuck-film writer, Sadu seemed elegant yet embittered. He had sworn off the lifestyle of his friend. Indeed his wife Exene was dead and Lamour, their only child, was far removed from the fanciful and electric passion with which he created and carried on.

The evening crowd assembled before a table where Sadu sat well dressed. His eyes kept falling on a young woman wearing eye-glasses. She sat next to a man who seemed too polite to be her boyfriend. As is well-founded in the game of gender politics opposites attract. A seemingly good natured woman which she appeared to be should fall for a gentle Ben or some one with a hunky-bearded-look. He was more a Buddy Holly.

The young woman with the eye-glasses was first to ask a question. She wanted to know if the peculiarity of photographing lovers was something that brought an arousal out of him. Meaning did he ever find it favorable to sleep with his models. Sadu thought for a moment then he told the story of Evangeline.

There had always been a motto which he followed. His models signed a contract explaining in clear terms that he was absolutely by no means able to partake in the frivolity his models engaged in. After all they went from foreplay to actual lovemaking while Sadu patiently sat and chose opportune moments to photograph them.

At the end of the night Sadu autographed the books. People walked up and bought copies. Others opted for a photograph with him. The woman and her supposed boyfriend came up and introduced themselves. They neither wanted a photograph nor a copy of the book. Instead the woman and her boyfriend offered to be his models for the night.

He was staying at a hotel further downtown. Mark chose to drive them there but knowing full well what shenanigans the woman and her partner had imagined, Sadu and his new accompaniment excused themselves from Mark and strolled among the evening’s revelers en-route to dinner at a restaurant.

They found a comfortable seating arrangement at an established eating place where they sat and ordered appropriate cuisine for a late night. The conversations wandered from trips around the world to sex. The two lovers were exhibitionists, ambitiously hoping for Sadu to do a book specifically about them. Given what they wore he had an idea as to how their musculature from body to breasts was defined.

At the hotel Sadu and the couple sat and drank wine and further established themselves as friends for the evening. At the appropriate moment Sadu asked them to undress. They took their clothes off, moving closer to the bed as if choreographed.

Their motions were soft. She was running her fingers over his arms. Soon there after, they kissed. Sadu noticed as the gentleman’s dick began to rise. He looked over at the side towards the bag with his camera. Retrieving it he quickly started snapping frame after frame, watching as the lovers went from fondling to touching each others parts.

The gentleman mounted his open lips on her breasts massaging them with tongue. She looked defiantly at the camera. Sadu obliged. The view of her derriere from the back with the male companion staring into the camera was a potential shot. She sat on him bouncing to a rhythm as he cradled her hips. She rotated as he pulled and pushed her back and forth.

He bent over her penetrating continuously while gripping the back of her neck forcing his way in and out, soon after placing her on the side entering as her leg angled in the air. He sat up. Her body above him, he secured his cock inside, lifting her up and down, stopping to grip her breasts vigorously squeezing, falling back as she took control maintaining pressure, all the while readying an expression for the camera. The lovers rotated from position to position wanting an immediate orgasm, screeching in a worrisome call, yearning and grunting.

Sadu had had enough of the intensity. With the woman moaning in the background, he stepped into the bathroom and unzipped his pants. He stood there admiring his dick when all he came in there to do was pee. When he walked back into the room he noticed the two lovers precariously picking up their clothes as they ran naked out of the room.

Sadu sat inspecting the pictures he had just taken. He didn’t know if he had been blind-sided or that he fucked and wasn’t able to cum.

2008-10-06T10:21:00.000-07:00

MODERNISM and Gender Roles

An Interview with Vadis Turner By Kofi Forson

http://whitehotmagazine.com/whitehot_articles.cfm?id=1571

Domesticity has familiarly been ordained in the works founded and traditionally marketed by women. Technology and corporate consumption has long since dismissed the care with which women approached handicrafts, knitting and craft work. Vadis Turner, Tennessee born and current New York City artist, revamps the notion of handmade objects as they are incorporated in a defining and contradiction of conventional gender roles. Her mixed media pieces achieve an intricate, colorful and at times elegant pronouncement on matters feminine and are reverentially transcendental.

2008-10-02T13:53:00.000-07:00

Marksman Defacto
Prognostication of the Self-Identity

Kofi Fosu Forson

The third eye: - what possibilities can manifest from singularly claiming a personal right to envision the probabilities of what is, then to predetermine what comes thereafter and the reality that existed before.

There is certain majesty to the nothingness of what we percieve as sensible and the indiscriminate thoughts that surround us. Making a distinction between what is wrong or right, meaningful or led to conjecture has more to do with intuition than the surmising of sanity meeting insanity.

Sensibility is an innate understanding based on discipline and counteracting what principles have been established heretofore within the familial code, society and government. Morality as relevant bends the curve enabling the individual decided wisdom which results in the identifying of the self and issues pertinent to his development.

Each person has a trusting identity which uniquely separates them from others. It defies all forces of inclusion. Much of this helps maintain a cognitive distinction. Irreplaceable are the fundamental aspects of ones personality. These then qualify each individual as circumventing the cycle made imaginable by the universe.

Circumstances surrounding the human experience point at indecisiveness found within the variables of choice, thought and action. At its core many forces prevent procuring and managing matters concerning our destiny. A marksman's disposition would cause one to aim at the focal point eliminating any further distractions. But through imagination alone our divided selves form a quandary.

We then oblige by self-possession, upholding beauty, narcissism, intellect, destitution and vice. They form a false ideology. The inability to function accordingly given abnormality present in most lives isn’t fear, will or drive. That’s expected in most humans. It’s more the undertaking one must undergo to face the greater fears of desire, success and love.

Painting (c)Laura Conde

2008-09-21T13:21:00.000-07:00

The Amorphous Male
Pithecanthropus Erectus

Kofi Fosu Forson

Boxer would be best definitive of the male. The gentleman further and professionally reprises the role as pugilist knowing of its science and rule.

Circumstances bring the macho fisted, less-gloved in the streets of Mexico to fight, form an opinion on who governs within a moment of ill-dispute. For it is not the man made definitive as “street” based on his walks of life.

Torture as in emotional turmoil need not be rendered in a gang-fight, drug bust or rape. The primordial mind is capable of surrendering to an escapade found in serial killers, dictatorship and government.

Who are we that bring to life foetus born to lead a challenge best deserved of a conqueror knowingly life itself is more than gift; it’s miraculous. Where are those who merge this complicated effort not to merely survive but ascend beyond proportions set aside for those who dare? In defeat and victory we summon this challenge.

Wherefore do we sport in deciding who is king or merely man? Does manhood suppose physical and emotional strength? What becomes of a person who has no monetary gain? Is he less the victim and more the conscientiously free?

There are suppositions in life. One must deliver unto oneself the ordained manifesto. To what principles does one ascribe? When does politics refrain from art and do they form a consequence with science and music to implicate genius. Is that then a means of disillusionment or a clever way of describing Goethe?

Art is never the scientific method. It’s the very way of meditating on nothingness. But with every query is the history behind the undertaking. To suppose a pen and paper, brush with paint is to kill by sword, death at war. We are not children at play. Such is the hindrance in today’s society where to pupil requires a gun. Credibility is gained by senseless death. Isn’t the precarious delivery of an artistic expression an excuse not to murder?

When then is art a premeditated means of expression and earns its merit as an occupation? Were we not all children once ready at play crayons in hand debating on colors, shape and form? Was this a path towards destiny or does innocence beget curiosity?

Experience warrants the character of every male. The hunter in nature knows a precise hand and eye coordination. The painter at heart is open to the world. Depending on temperament he finds a vision. The writer marks with punctuality thoughts and equations.

How then do we suppose the resolve with which an abstract expressionist manages the thought process from the minimalist divide of an avant-garde filmmaker? Does an accomplished jazz improvisation bear similarities to the redundancy of a rock and roll song?

These require theoretical interpretations coming to terms with the notion and understanding behind the creative process. Assuming the standards and artistic movement relevant in each medium we can magnify in peculiarities and uniqueness, the musician from the photographer, the dancer from the choreographer.

Art then becomes construct, a decided business with which we mark conclusions drawn from our pithecanthropical existence neared evolution through time, emerging as creative beasts, pronounceable as architects of misfortune from which we establish language, vernacular, enabling communication, semiology, translating signifiers through advertisement, cinema, art culture and the continuous motion emerging as dignified, an entity onto all others where we prolong by will alone the innate ability to conference.

2008-09-18T09:44:00.000-07:00

Wittgenstein

Kofi Fosu Forson

Wittgenstein. I had never heard of Wittgenstein. They were a rock band he said and he was the bassist. Didn’t care to know what type of music they played. I was on some dyslexic sex shit I paid enough money for and I was feeling pretty good…Pretty good enuff to be noticed in this fuckin’ dive dump of a cash bar…ya know like every one here is well off, yeah like intellect is money and it comes in pounds and yen as well. But get caught up on some shit about mathematics and philosophy ya get the name Wittgenstein as a name of a band.

Didn’t know if he was shittin’ me or not but he kissed like a mean grocer. Picture a fuckin’ joogie at the market slippin them shits in a brown paper bag but he does it with style. I mean one after the other…tit-fuck, dick-suck, tit-fuck, dick-suck. Sex is good like that. I definitely wanted to fuck him. Wasn’t sure if he liked what I was wearing. I had on the charcoal-black proper. It fits, meaning whatever the occasion. This was a perfect call, the charcoal black dress, my stiffs, can’t get my feet in ‘em but when I do I strut.

He was cool kinda like that Jagger thing you get with the Brits. Stick-fit that thought in your brain and think about a lanky fella with bones for a body. That means fine prick, right?! Whatever, at least he had a prick. Felt sorry for some of these other boys. Bastard wouldn’t place his Remi on the bar. He kept it hangin’ sip after sip, turning to look away, back at me with those lips to say, “Get drunk. I wanna fuck.”

Yeah he was a bassist. He had a poster of Paul Simonon in his bedroom. He immediately took off all his clothes to the bone. I watched as his cock saluted me. His body was tight to the muscle from ribcage to abs. His head of hair wasn’t wig but had that effect and I looked down at his prick hair it looked a mess, uncombed but good bush. So he stood there looking at me and he went with his hand like this…like what about that dress. Are ya gonna take it off? I couldn’t believe it...

This strong piece of ass was going to stick his hard dick in my cunt and make me cum. The water moisture in my pussy was almost making a sound with all that rubbing against each other. I had one leg over the other as I took off the stiffs one by one. I fell back on the bed and lifted the charcoal dress up above my thighs exposing my candle-white panties. I wear them when I want to lose my virginity for the fiftieth time. He came over and pulled them off my body, proceeding with the middle finger inserting it in and out of me while the thumb and the next finger rubbed my clit.

Yeah! Fuck yeah! Right darling now look me in the eye as you do this. Yeah! Oooh yeah!
You do what for a living now… I see you as a cock who will make me cum tonight. Bitch! Fuck! Like wow…Fuck me…Please…please.

He stuck his fingers in his mouth then rubbed them over his cock. I had my legs spread wide separating my pussy with my fingers. When he entered me it felt right. It was the perfect fit. We were in it for sure. My hands caressed him as he went in and out of me.

Fuck me! Bitch! Fuck me!

He had me by both legs as he cycled his way in and out of me. I took my time to finger my clit, rubbing it faster and faster as he fucked me in an alternate motion. Is that not it?!

The rhythmic pressure of two alternate motions to form a symmetric balance is conducive to the determining factor from both points wanting a conclusion defined by its dimension therefore giving in to the relevance of what is taking place.

We were fucking. All I wanted to do was cum. He bent over my nipples, barely sucking them while fucking me. He massaged my breasts as he fucked. I was hot all over. Our eyes met. I knew in that moment I was about to cum. His pressure point increased. My breath got shorter and shorter. I started to scream. He kept fucking me. I was giving in to him. He gripped me tight. I came.

I softly pushed him off me. I reached down to his cock. I gave it a jerk and began to suck him off. It felt good in my mouth, sucking hard, stopping to jerk it. He was breathing heavy. He came. I squeezed every drop of cum from his cock.

He lit a candle. I said for what.

Good wax.

2008-09-10T13:40:00.000-07:00

(EXCERPT FROM NOVEL GORILLA HEAD)

By Kofi Fosu Forson

So honestly, what if I were a gorilla, blessed with savoir-faire, since being a vampire is Roberto’s destiny. He is an accomplished strategist, the one and only vampiri. In the past he had an entourage of women following him around. It all started as a collegiate prank when costumed as Dracula, he gained attention from people he would otherwise have given an offensive stare. Women labeled as trollops were his ideal. He never thought much of the chaste, saving them for sarcasm. It is an advantage he has always had over me: how to be pompous and attract unwanted attention. Then again, there’s tonight and the prospects of Halloween, but even that encompasses a fancy that fleetingly lasts a day. If I truly were a gorilla, I might entertain prospects of pugilism and its governing rules in order to prevent homicide. It is a wonderful game. All I have to do is show up and my presence will be felt. First impressions are so important. The thought of being a gorilla is on my mind. I reframe my personality to fit into the gorilla suit. I’ve had it since the days of art balls and frolicking at Rhode Island School of Design. It is not a hailing of Halloween, but a way to convict myself of failing to live prosperously. In essence it’s a jail. When I put on the suit, I survive the ordeal with tightened belly, a twisted grin, and heavy breathing. It won’t be long before I make my way out the door onto the streets where other re-defined personalities are roaming and wanting attention.

2008-09-01T13:21:00.000-07:00

Trans Beirut Erotica
Kofi Fosu Forson

Elegantly new because water purifies you know. Cleanses feet of sandal soot, frees cuticles of modern nail polish, separates lint from the belly button, adds moisture to the vaginal cavity and wets the skin to then dry within the comfort of laundered towels.

Beirut would then be the place to call on evenings like this ‘cause he’d be waking up getting ready for another day of briefings, teleprompting and interviews. But tonight he was here in Landover waiting for her to come to bed. She walked into the room with a towel covering her cleavage and mid-section. Another towel towered over her head. Standing by the doorway she looked at him as he sat bare-chested on the bed reading a newspaper. She smiled the kind of smile that let him know she was happy to have him there with her. She had worried over him and tonight they were together alone.

“Carrie, I’ve been assigned a post in Nicaragua.”

“And who’ll be doing the dishes while you’re gone?”

Lamenting about her days alone without him, she moved closer to the edge of the bed and sat looking away from him. Her hands were placed flat on the bed. She looked down at her fingers, blinked, thought for a moment and let out a long breath.

Removing the towel covering her waist, she entered the bathroom and brought with her a bottle of lotion. She stood before him, rubbing the lotion all over her body, around her arms, legs and thighs. Her fingers pushed back the towel covering her head. She tilted it to the side and fussed with her hair. He kept on reading the newspaper. She remained silent, watching him.

He appeared distant, quietly adjusting the newspaper to another page. The light from the lamp fell over him. He looked important, the reading glasses and his poise, focused on what he was reading. Within the dead air, he cleared his throat, removed his glasses, looked over at her and asked her to come closer.

The bed sheets covered the lower part of his body. Her back facing, she inched closer to him. He toyed with the strands of her hair, combing it through with his fingers.

“It’s not getting any easier, Carrie.”

She glanced up at him, with her eyes blinking, turning around to face him.

“Where would we be without each other?”

She took his fingers and raised them to her lips. She rubbed her lips over them. His fingers were long and thin. She sucked on them, one after the other, sucking until the finger disappeared into her mouth. She secured her body on the bed, her head on the pillow, one arm folded under her head and the other embracing him as he moved from her breasts to her navel, kissing her.

Kissing with open mouths, they groped each other, breathing, circling as their bodies formed in rotation. He pulled his weight off her, separating her legs. She was wet. He placed his tongue over her clitoris, licking and sucking. His mouth completely covered her, licking, sucking and fingering. She closed her eyes, rubbing her breasts and moaning.

He grabbed her legs and raised them in the air, securing them over his shoulders. He then held onto his prick putting it inside of her. She immediately lifted her head off the pillow and let out a hot sigh. He rammed it in continuously. His arms long, palms flat on the bed, his head bobbing from looking at the wall and onto her face. She looked up at him with her mouth open, letting in air as he rocked her, gently, building into a crescendo, separating her legs wider, keeping the intense pace, steady and effortless…pushing his love into her, as the moaning increased in sound.

He turned her around onto her knees. He went in from there, muscling his way into her, pushing, digging with dick into the music of her pussy. She was breathing, feeling his prick separating and entering her. Their bodies remained a vision of light and fantasy.

She the girl on top, gyrating counterclockwise, her buttocks bouncing off his prick, up and down dancing as she pants, body slanted slightly, faster the momentum, she lets out one hot sigh after the other. He brings his fingers to fore rubbing her clitoris as she thunders above him. She turns around to face him, resuming pressure. She raises her buttocks inches above bouncing off his prick.

She feels a momentum up and down her spine. She trembles, whispering his name repeatedly, maintaining the rhythm of sex as she builds up speed, whispering his name.

Her pussy tightens. She screams out loud, arching her back, collapsing onto him to kiss him softly, resting her head on his chest.

2008-08-29T22:49:00.000-07:00

(EXCERPT FROM NOVEL GORILLA HEAD)
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.

2008-08-29T07:14:00.000-07:00

(EXCEPRT FROM NOVEL GORILLA HEAD)

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.

2008-08-22T19:03:00.000-07:00

CONFESSIONS:
Introducing Laura Conde

(Untitled)
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.

2008-08-16T08:19:00.000-07:00

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.