A Letter to the Boy who Called Me a Nigger: You Have Irked Me.

You little shit,

I know how you self-described “not politically correct” people look at me (and my friends); Basically, you think I alternate between running through the streets looking for something to be offended by, hiding in my safe space, playing the race card, and eating gluten-free snacks; and yet, surprisingly enough, I still somehow carve out enough time in my day to tweet @BernieSanders: “choke me daddy” on an hourly basis*.

Anyways, are you sober yet? Because I want you to take in every word I am about to say with all of your cognitive abilities: I truly did not appreciate you calling me a n*gger last weekend. I really, truly did not.

I get it—you were too drunk. It slipped. You’re not a racist. It was a joke. You have a Black friend. You listen to 2 Chainz. You think trap music is fleek. Fried chicken is lit. For God’s sake, you even tweeted that generic message saying you supported the students of color at Mizzou last fall.

Well, my official response to you is NAH— you fucked up. You fucked up. You really fucked up; because, now I am tired of trying to educate people on basic human respect (i.e. “political correctness”). And before you say it, yes, I know the first amendment protects your freedom of speech. But, I’m going to be totally honest with you when I say I don’t give a damn about the literal interpretation of a constitutional document made hundreds of years ago by a bunch of guys who barely washed their dicks. So, no, you are not being given a pass this time—not from me.

I’m definitely not going to confront you. Instead, I plan to piss on everything you love. As punishment, I have created a long-term, foolproof plan to destroy you.

It will all start on a Monday morning at approximately 5:30am in two years from now. DNA samples have already been collected. I can’t tell you much else, but I can give you some hints.

Do you remember the plot of Gone Girl? Well, I keep a copy of the book by my bedside.

Love,

Amazing Ashley

(*And, you know what? Bitch, I might.)

The Week before Break: Keeping Up My Sanity With a Bratty Rant

Not to be dramatic, but I’d rather have someone churn butter in my ass than be in the library right now. I figured I’d dive right into this one considering the immense pain I am under with being tasked to write a comprehensive analysis of a specific contemporary world issue in under 2,000 words by Wednesday. I am not saying I don’t care about world politics; what I am saying is that I would rather watch my friends take tequila body shots off of me while brave strangers quiver with disgust in the background.

Honest to God, I’ve been pumping out these dry, half-scholarly essays once a week for around four months. I’m at the point where I might start this week’s essay with “ok so like”, refer to NATO as “BAE”, mention how Putin dragged the hell out of ISIS, and finish the conclusion with “ya feel me, nigga?” just to see what happens.

Don’t get me wrong– I am hashtag blessed to go to this amazeballs school in this amazeballs city; but shit, where do these professors get off on doing their job so thoroughly around the holiday season? Is it too much to ask that the homework assignment for one night be to work on our mental health by taking a day to kayak down the feces infested Potomac river? Or better yet: to smoke a jay and ruminate on the importance of what we’ve learned in school thus far? Can a bitch just get a night to catch up on Scandal?

I love school and I love learning, I really do– but please, my dear university, give me a break. I am trying to keep up my sanity; but how am I supposed to do that when I don’t even have time to keep up with the Kardashians?

The Princess and the Salamander

Zola, the alien princess, was busy chipping wood from a tree so she could drink the juices of her planet. Suddenly, up popped a little black caterpillar from the foliage. “Beep-Beep-Beep (roughly translates to “hello” in our language),” said the teeny tiny thing, “I came from the center of the planet to bring you some news, my sweet princess.” Delighted, Zola buried her face in her slimy hair. She said, “BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! Tell me everything you little angel of a salamander.” “Well, my name is Pinky and I am the sole proprietor of a particular set of knowledge–wonderful knowledge– that I am about to impart onto you.” “Go on”, squeaked the princess in a daze. “Now, Now. Slow down you beautiful creature. First, I must crawl closer to you so I can see your face clearly”. The princess let Pinky come closer and closer. Pinky said, “Dear princess, let me climb onto your hills of hair, on the top of your tiara so I can feel your presence”. Princess Zola let the little caterpillar climb all the way to the tippy top of her silver studded crown. “Oh, but, Princess,” whispered Pinky, “But, Princess. Let me crawl down your face a little so I can whisper in your ear.” Princess Zola obliged. Little Pinky wiggled his way into the ear canal of the princess. Princess Zola said ok. “Let me tell you the most exciting thing you’ve ever heard my dear girl. Let me tell you about what I’ve heard.” “What have you heard little animal?” “I’ve heard a great many things.” “Such as what,” she said while wiggling in the discomfort of a little bug invading in her delicate ear.

“You, sweet child, have fallen under my spell. You are compelled to do the things I tell. But, do not worry pretty girl, you remain as lovely as a pearl. Only good can come of this, nothing will go amiss. Just wait patiently, for my poison covered kiss.”

Upset at the idea of being controlled, Zola said, “How so, Pinky? I can still run free through the fields of lemons and I can still kiss the ground. I can do a lot of things that you’ve never told me to do when you weren’t around! I can put glitter on my tongue. I can sing from deep within my gorgeous lungs. I can break open my legs into a pattern of dance so intricate, you would shutter in the glory of its ambivalence. I can… I can…”, the princess spiraled off into a long list of can do for what seemed like eons. She did all of these things she listed, if only to guard her autonomy and her freedom to prove the little animal wrong.

“Oh Zola, soon you will see,” insidiously whispered the little caterpillar under the threshold of Zola’s hearing, “soon you will see what I say is true. The princess of fire is deeply imbedded inside of you.”

Gently, yet violently, the little caterpillar bit the princess in her ear and everything went dark for Zola.

Nothing.

“ZOLA. ZOLA. ZOLA,” a dark room of men covered in crosses screamed, “Come back. Fight the demon inside of you”. In the corner of the moist room sat a sunken parent, drunk in her own disbelief; Zola’s eyes rolled from her brain back to where they should be. Facing forward, Zola gasped under her breath, “Where am I and where is the little bug in my ear telling me nonsensical fallacies?”

“She’s awake,” one of the men covered in crosses yells into the other room.

In walk four tall humans clad in blue, badges, and guns: “Zola Mary Rekelike, you are under arrest for the breaking and entering of a hospital during closed hours, as well as the murder of fourteen people; the last of which was the newborn baby.”

Dizzy and lost, Zola asked herself where the caterpillar had gone and how she ended up here in chains. Still very much so confused, she asked the scary men to repeat their statement; she realized she could barely hear a thing out of one ear. She cocked her head to the side and out slowly dripped the darkest, blackest, most sinister, demonic unidentifiable matter ever seen by the likes of a human.

The officers repeated their statement and took her away.

Hellish Bitch

If you look close enough, you might find two little red horns sprouting out of the top of my head; I’m no angel, but I’ve certainly been pretending to be.

For every boy who has ever broken my heart, I’d like you to know that I’ve played the victim, the virgin and taken you down to hell in the process.

I’ve most definitely dragged your name through a pile of shit so dank that Snoop Dog would cough up a lung. Without you knowing, I’ve turned you into the small town junkie sucking off everyone’s uncle in the back alley for a nickel. I’ve told everyone that you have the Dasani Water™ of penises; I’ve told them how I’d rather deep throat a cactus.

Here I am, verbally destroying you from my crystal covered thrown; and yet, it’s starting to become evident that this princess is no angel.

You may have ignored my calls. You may have treated me like a cheap slut. You may have left me for dead like that bald guy in Jurassic Park left the kids. But, goddamn, I didn’t have the right to do it to anyone else.

I’ve been quick, astoundingly quick, to drag any boys who’ve hurt me down to hell; but, shit, how many boys have I inadvertently hurt?

I’m talking to you, the nervous boy who asked me out at the sandwich shop, and you, the nice boy who texts me every two months without fail to see how I’m doing, and you, the boy who loved me while I attacked him, and you, the boy with the tattoos and southern accent, and you, the boy who told me you’ve been in love with me since I was 11, and you, and you, and you, and you. I’m talking to all of you: everyone whose romantic love I didn’t want. I’m down on my hands and knees praying I didn’t break your heart the way my heart has been broken. I hope I put you down gently with a single slash to the throat or a gun to the head; I hope I didn’t let you suffer for long.

And if you did suffer? Oh God, if you did? Please, please feel free to drag my name through a pile of shit so dank that it sends Snoop Dog to his grave. I deserve it.

A Creation Story: Human Nature

Part I: The birth of all that is good

In a land 40,000 lightyears into the blackness of space, there lived a little planet devoid of the human race. There, the sparkle creatures roamed far and wide. From the tops of the fuzz covered mountains to the pink sands of the candy cane covered beaches, the sparkle creatures danced around carelessly as they sparkled in the sun all day without inhibition.

One night, the green people gathered in the jungle for a play date. They danced in the trees. I think they balanced on the leaves.

The girls grew their hair to their waist; it looked like a hurricane rushing waters into the sea. The boys wore no shoes and smoked a lot of weed.

The moon was full and caused the jungle to shine like shattered diamonds. So, the mini piglets ran wild and kissed the girls. Birds played the disco music to which the green people moved freely.

The infinite beings were all kids inside. They all knew the importance of play and the significance of water. Love was unbound and carefree.

Part II: The birth of all that is bad

But, one day, a stranger named Evil came and showed the green people new riches.

Frightening pink clouds filled with glitter and sugar rose above them and rained through the next three days. Becoming brainwashed by greed, the green people wanted more and more of the fascinating magic rain. The green people changed their hearts and traded their souls to the universe’s evil brother for just another three days of the pretty rain. The universe’s evil brother demanded that the green people clean themselves up and lead lives with silly purpose in return for more magic rain.

Most everyone agreed.

At the end of the three days, the girls cut and brushed their hair. The boys put their clothes back on. The piglets ran in fear as the green people tried to enslave them. So, the big entity in the sky, The Universe, took away the piglets from the people for mistreating them and replaced them with mosquitos.

The mosquitos kissed the girls who had cut their hair on the flesh of their necks. The mosquitoes planned attacks on the boys who now wore shoes and smoked nothing but time.

Eventually, everyone who sold their soul would perish to the ground.

Part III: The birth of hope

Yet, there did lay two selfless and generous lovers left in the pack of green people who did not trade their souls to Evil because their souls belonged to each other. They were the blinding light that caused others to turn away in shame. The universe’s evil bother plotted to change the couple time and time again. Eventually, time caused the boy to dull as his heart was taken with the temptation Evil presented to him over and over again.

When she noticed she was loosing her soul because of the boy’s greed, the girl ditched the boy and jumped into the sky to live with the piglets away from the temptation of Evil. While the boy perished with the others, she lived in freedom.

Part IV: The birth of the good and bad in human nature

She eventually settled on a planet a galaxy away named Earth and proceeded to spread her wings and the ideology of the green people all around the planet; she grew green things everywhere and planted love in the crust of the inhabitants. She promised to protect the ideas of love and freedom forever on this planet.

Today, we call this girl Nature.

Yet, Evil still wishes to hurt this girl’s new planet as a form of revenge for reeling against his ill intentions. She battles every day against the Universe’s evil brother who wishes to make the inhabitants of the Earth, human beings, fall to greed and destruction like the green people.

Although Nature and Evil bitterly fight everyday, worry not children. Every time you see green roots crack through the surface of the concrete that destroyed trees or see birds making nests with the piles of trash that cover the jungle or you see a stranger smile kindly in your direction or you have an orgasm that leaves you wailing, take comfort in knowing Nature is prevailing.

The end.

Note: this is a story I wrote a year ago or maybe two years ago; I was probably high on something beautiful and looking at the ocean or the stars. I think the moral of the story is that we shouldn’t succumb to the evil’s of capitalism because it’s destroying us from the inside out and probably eating our souls as a snack.

Smoking Pot and Sitting in the Dark

Getting high and sitting in the dark with another humanbeing might be the most essential part of ensuring the survival of our species.

Unlike the pretentious exchanges of the daylight hours, conversations in the darkness of night are adorned with an infinite possibility. In darkness, both time and space are bent because they cannot be reasonably measured. So you let the idea of a timeless and spaceless world overtake you. You cannot sense anything but the stillness of the air and beauty of the voices and ideas around you. You loose your sight, but you regain the stark consciousness of your humanity.

Following suit, the insecurity of regular face-to-face dialogue evaporates into the darkness. You and your companion are only made of the penniless and luxurious ideas tucked within your deepest corners—no body to limit your blissful naivety. So you might fall in love somewhere in that darkness.

After your lungs empty of the smoke, you will forgive everyone for everything. All the while, you end up staring so hard at the ceiling that you start to see stars and dancing sheep until the last hazy statement is made. Then, you drift into the dreams of your own mind until you float to a peaceful slumber.

I swear, getting high and sitting in the dark could end wars.

The Monster

I had a nightmare last night that still had me shaking after I reached full consciousness this morning. Usually, I dream about shit like pink cotton candy clouds, glass castles, glitter falling from the sky, people calling me princess, and earth shattering orgasms; but, last night I could feel my heart breaking over and over with every bitter realization of the reality of what I am: a total bitch.

Somewhere in the darkest part of my body, I know that something is watching me and waiting for me to fall on my ass. Whatever it is, it’s black, covered in the shiniest patented leather, and always slightly out of my direct field of vision. Sometimes in the darkest of places, it will stand in front of me and I can faintly see its smiling teeth glaring at my frightened face. Those teeth shine brightest in the moonlight. The doctors call this dark monster Anxiety. Luckily, I’ve learned to live harmoniously, almost happily, with my demon. But, last night it threw me for a loop.

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In the beginning of my dream, from an aerial view, I watched myself walking in a hazy fog towards a mailbox. I kissed the hand written love letters I was holding and watched them go down the drain in the mailbox—I knew I had made a mistake.

4-7 days later, I received a response in the form of silence. On the 10^th day, face gleaming with naivety, I opened a recklessly formatted text message that said he was sorry for hurting me and that I was a mistake. I felt my heart breaking and my tear ducts welling up; but, also, I felt a sense of relief. I didn’t cry; I never cry. Someone famously once said that she would never cry over a boy because her mascara was too expensive, as was mine.

Weirdly enough, I was heavily relieved because my worst fears had come to life. I was not partially rejected—I was fully, 100%, whole heartedly rejected by this mysterious person that I was in love with. This mysterious human was somehow different than all my other romantic interests– the bitch-ass-pieces-of-shit I was used to. But, somehow, I was okay letting this amazing human go.

What had me shaking this morning wasn’t the rejection, but how quickly I got over it. I realized how quickly I get over heartbreak in real life and how fast I am to throw shit on someone’s name.

I might be a cold-hearted cunt with a black void where my heart should be, but at least I know how to not let things effect me. I am filled with galaxies of mental space that allow me to discard the things and the people that make me unhappy.

I am always happy.

How did I get this way? Easy. I made friends with my demon. I accept Anxiety’s evil premonitions as truth and the best possible outcome as fantasy.

As for the one seemingly perfect boy who I naively sent the letters to in the dream? Lump him in with the rest of bitch-ass-pieces-of-shit. Not because he’s necessarily the same as them, but because I owe it to myself to feel safe. He won’t notice.

I will let my demon eat him alive and turn him into something he is not.

Tonight when I dream, I will write another letter to him. I’ll let him know that I’m fucking crazy and that I’ll kill him in his fucking sleep.

Anyways, I hated that dream. I didn’t even orgasm.

MIDDLE SCHOOL

Middle school was like a three year long bad acid trip, was it not?

Am I a ‘house nigger’?

It’s no secret that I have a bit of a wild side. I’m like a walking Lana Del Rey song on Friday nights; the only things I’m missing are a lover as old as my father, a heroin needle in my sock drawer, and traces of cocaine on my one hundred dollar bills.

On Friday nights, I walk out of my house in the illustrious Fox Hall drenched in red lipstick; or rather a more fashionable matte plumb lipstick, and an all black mini dress. I go out to parties and bars. I drink fancy cocktails I didn’t have to pay for and schmooze with America’s elite. I wear $1,500 bags and shoes. Weekend bus trips to the mountains to party with IFC fraternity boys were not something I thought to be particularly out of the ordinary in my life. Hell, I once threw up in the back of a finals club at Harvard when I was a teenager. If that doesn’t scream privilege, I don’t know what does.

I can only have a wild side because I have privileges that extend beyond my wildest imagination. Upon birth, I was given a popular 90s name. I went to a private prep school for my entire primary education and now I attend one of the most prestigious and selective universities in the world. I can recite Shakespeare. I was groomed to be proper; to speak structurally accurate English and to eloquently and strategically use my voice.

To top it off, I’m advantageously beautiful—not in the traditional Eurocentric sense—but in a way that makes it easy for people to relate to me. I have big, dark brown Bambi eyes, little pink tinted lips, perfect teeth, and a non-threatening nose.

That’s all right and dandy; but power structures—I’ve been thinking a lot about power structures.

Am I the white man’s fantasy? Am I… a fucking house nigger?

I can’t help but notice how people who are otherwise completely dismissive of blacks, will reference me as a sort of salvation for my whole race—MY WHOLE FUCKING RACE. For God’s sake, I’m one human.

I can party with the “bougie”. I can keep conversation at a polite level of interesting and provocative. I can blend into a room. I can tell a good joke. I can fuck without getting pregnant.

Is my very presence hurting the perception of black stereotypes by way of rigid juxtaposition? God, this is not what I intended. I love my culture; Am I brainwashed?

But, then again, we as black people are not secular. We are as dynamic as any other person is allowed to be. Perhaps, I am changing the perception of the limitations of black culture.

Can a house nigger change the perception the master has of the potential, ability, value, and preciousness of all the niggers? Does my wild side invalidate me as a credible source to the master? Am I a joke or am I changing the world with my unapologetic freedom?

This is going to eat me alive, isn’t it?