To the window, to the wall . . .

 

In my fantasy debate against Ben Shapiro (or fill in the blank with any prominent Republican) about the wall, Mexicans, the Southern border, etc.  I state:

 

1.    The indigenous people of the Americas lived on this continent, thrived on this continent, from Alaska to (whatever country is at the tip of South America), and there were no borders, there were no countries, there were no governments.  Mexicans are not immigrants to this land, white people are.  It was the white man who came here and decided that this land could be purchased, owned, taxed, and divided, not God,

 

The white man murdered the indigenous people of this land, they murdered them in numbers far greater than Hitler killed the Jews.  The white man STOLE land from the indigenous inhabitants of this land, the land where they existed for hundreds of thousands of years.  The Spanish and the English, it was they who drew lines on the map and decided what land was theirs, what language was to be spoken, who had a right to reap the benefits of citizenship that they decided. 

 

Again, they were not guided by the hand of God, they had no right, no dominion, no authority to do so.  It was nothing but their ego and their greed that made them decide that they could displace the Native inhabitants of this land, the people who cared for, protected, and loved this land as their home for hundreds of thousands of years (Yes, I know your history says that humans haven't been on this planet for that long but that's a lie.)  The people who are referred to as Mexicans, Nicaraguans, Costa Ricans, El Salvadorians . . . they are all the same bloodline, the same genetic makeup as the American Indians and Eskimos, who have more of a right to this land than the white men ever did. 

 

2.    Mexicans deserve a right to feed their families.  Mexicans have a right to pursue happiness.  It's an inalienable right.  It is not Spanish speaking migrant workers who are ruining your life, it's the greedy corporations that are paying NOTHING in taxes, paying next to nothing for labor, and that are overcharging American consumers that are ruining your life, not the individuals who are modern day slaves.  These people are slaving, working in fields picking food for your table, they are building your homes with no insurance, no benefits.  They aren't the owners of the corporations, they aren't the shareholders of these corporations. 

 

If you want to be angry at someone, be angry at the corporate greed that deems it perfectly acceptable to pay CEOs millions of dollars, millions and millions and millions of dollars a year, CEO's who do NO work whatsoever.  They don't do any hard labor, they don't even do any soft labor.  They sit in offices a few hours a week.  They go to a meeting every once in a while, and the rest of their time is spent living a life of gluttony and excess and waste.  If you want to direct your anger at someone, put your energy into the corporations that could be paying a decent salary to American born citizens but they choose not to.  They choose to hire the indigenous people of this land, they choose to politicize them, make them the enemy against racists and people too blinded by patriotism to see that the real villains are not the families trying to stay together or the people trying to survive, but the people who know that Mexicans have more of a right to be here than they do.  And trust me, they know the truth.  They just have a vested interest in feeding racist fires to keep white people in this country angered and outraged at the wrong party. 

I’m Broke

 

 

I’m broke. 

 

I have no money.

 

Society wants me to be ashamed, to feel ashamed about my financial status. 

 

I will not. 

 

The number in my bank account does not define me, it does not define my worth, my contribution, my value, my soul. 

 

As a society, we worship money.  People with money . . . we want to be like them, we want to have what they have.  We admire them, we read their books, telling us how to do what they did in order to get rich.  We give rich people free stuff, we comp them, they don’t even pay taxes and everyone knows it. 

 

People without money, they are reprehensible.  They are disgusting.  We not only look down on them, we hate them.  How dare they offend me with their poverty!  They should have made better choices! 

 

For the entirety of my adult life, I’ve lived on fumes, on less than $1000 to my name, and many times, on less than $100 for vast amounts of time.  I’ve been poor.  Really poor.  I am poor.  I don’t have any assets.  I’m poor by every conceivable standard and metric.  I didn’t grow up in poverty but we didn’t have a lot of money. 

 

What I do not have is a poverty mindset.  I’ve never felt poor, regardless of whether my bank account had money in it or not.  I am sophisticated, refined, cultured, brilliant, talented beyond measure . . . I’m compassionate, nurturing, loving, forgiving, empathetic, and generous, all with no money in the bank. 

 

Did I make poor choices?  No.  I followed my path. 

 

Back, when I was really, really trapped in the Matrix, I had a calling, an inner demand, to not go into the new millennium picking corporate cotton. I was not going to go into the new millennium selling pants.  I had a job in retail management . . . I HATED!  I hated the politics, the bullshit, the racism; I couldn’t stand the procedures I knew were flawed and they refused to improve them.  I got into retail because I worked in the fashion industry in a company that was racist and sexist and . . . blah, blah, blah.  (Corporations are the devil.) When I left the fashion industry, in the midst of a horrible marriage that ended a year or so later, I needed something fast because I needed to pay the bills so I took the first job on the first interview I went on.   Survival was my choice. 

 

With a little more than 10 years in retail management, I was destined to never make enough money to do anything more than just survive.   

 

The last corporate job I had, I was sucking on the Matrix teat.  I was at a job managing a retail store that paid me HALF TIME for anything over 40 hours. Not time and a half, not my salary plus half, nope. Half of my salary.  That was what I was paid for working over 40 hours.   And there wasn’t a week that I didn’t work at least 60 hours. 

 

I suffered.  I would cry in my car before work, during lunch, after work.  I was beaten.  I was a cog in the fucking machine.  They wanted me to slave for them, pay me pennies, they wanted my frustration, they wanted me to want to outperform all the other slaves on the plantation. 

 

That is a slave!  That is a slave on the corporate plantation, picking fucking corporate cotton. That is not what life is supposed to be, that’s slavery to capitalism.  I was rushing to work, to punch a clock, to be on time, I couldn’t be late, to make 10s MILLIONS of dollars a year for them . . . for them to pay me $40K a year.  I was a slave.  I was busting my ass to be the best.  And I was.  My numbers outperformed every store in the district.  I was the best slave on the plantation.  I had enough money to pay my rent, car note, utilities, and have modest fun.  No vacations but dinner when I wanted, jazz clubs, concerts, and books and music.  Lots and lots of books and music. 

 

I budgeted.  I budgeted and sacrificed and I prioritized.  I made sure that I had enough to pay all my bills first and foremost and I was never going to spend a cent on a luxury if a bill was unpaid.  And that was because I had never had a man pay a bill for me in my life and I wanted it to remain that way.  It wasn’t a conscious, out-loud conversation I had with friends discussing the merits of sex for money.  It wasn’t even a conversation I had with my inner voice; that bitch will not shut up with opinions and advice and affirmations.  It was a voice that couldn’t be heard, telling me, don’t let a man buy you, you are worth more than any amount than he can afford.  My soul didn’t want me to be a sex worker, exchanging my body for sex with men.  Not the Real Housewives kind  within the confines of a relationship where men paid for their women’s purses and shoes and designer clothes and gadgets.  Not the modern-day prostitution found in the open on social media and web cam apps, and strip clubs. 

 

This society is built on sex work.  That is the pathology of the white man, they think they OWN human beings’ bodies.  They think that women are things for their pleasure.  I can say, that at 56 years old, I’ve never taken money for sex.  I’ve never had sex with the intent of using a man for money.  I’ve never gotten money from a man to dominate him.  I’ve never had a man give me money with the expectation that I’m going to do something to sexually satisfy him.  I’ve never dated a rich man in order for him to buy me things. I’ve dated rich men who have never bought me more than dinner . . . ONCE.  I’ve never valued a purse or shoes or a designer label enough to do that.  I’ve always known my worth.  I’m priceless. 

 

I’ve also never gotten public assistance.  That inner voice, that silent inner voice again, that bitch is relentless.  Something in my gut told me, they want me to be dependent upon them, they want me to feed off the government teat.  At my core, again with no conscious dialogue whatsoever, I KNEW that to conform to their vision of the ghetto welfare queen was to let them win. 

 

Am I judging Black women on welfare for making poor choices?  ABSO-MUTHA-FUCKING-LUTELY NOT! Am I looking down my nose at sex workers and proclaiming my virtue to be superior to theirs?  Not even close. 

 

When you are born, you breathe life into a tiny, vulnerable body who has to have all their choices made for them.  What to eat, what’s going to happen when you cry, what’s going to happen to them when they misbehave and are bad.  Those choices are not made by the baby, they are made by the parent, who had their choices made for them.  Does one choose to be born to middle class white parents, in a society that idolizes and coddles whiteness and paints false images of life in the suburbs as vanilla and crime free?  Does one choose to be born into a family descended from slaves, who have never had wealth?  Does one choose to be born into a family where getting a college education wasn’t an option? 

 

What choice does an infant make into the circumstances in which they are born? 

 

If you look down between your legs and you see a penis, and especially if it’s pink, know that you made no choice in your physical life, none, that would negate the fucking unearned privilege that that little white dick gives you.  NONE.  There is no choice you made to have people respect you more than they do me.  There is no choice that you personally made to have history written to make you look like the victor in every epic alpha male battle when in fact you were a loser.  There is no choice you made to have access to better, high paying jobs, or to be able to get away with crime, literally.  Many of you made a choice to take an oath, to drink the juice, to pop a red pill or a blue pill, or whichever pill tells you that Black women are God.  But that choice was made available to you because of that little pink thing hanging between your legs, and you had no choice in that, it came with the package. 

 

I digress. 

 

My daughters were born in the ghetto.  They aren’t my biological children but I love them as much as if I pushed them out my body.  They were born into poverty.  It was not a choice.  They didn’t choose to have parents burdened with racism and oppression.  They didn’t choose to have ancestors beaten in slavery until their spirits were broken.  Not a choice.  They didn’t choose to be born in a country that intentionally, that INTENTIONALLY under-educates its Black population.  No choices were made to have parents who were born into dysfunction, who had parents born into poverty, who had parents who were born into slavery. 

 

Money isn’t even real.  I heard about the judgment against Fox News yesterday.  They have to pay $800 MILLION dollars . . . to whom I’m not sure, for whatever crime they are supposed to have committed. 

 

There’s no bank that’s going to load up a truck with $800 million dollars and send it to another bank. IF money were real, and it absolutely is not, all that would mean is numbers are going to be reduced in one account and numbers are going to be increased in another account.  But think about it.  What’s to stop Fox from just putting more numbers in their account?  What’s to stop any corporation from just putting as many numbers in their account that they want . . . as if by magick? 

 

Hear that, those are the screams of white men saying, “Regulatory policies are in place, that’s why there are accounting firms!” And they are run by white men. And that means they are inherently corruptible.  Every white men with power wants more power and money and is willing to do anything to get it because that’s the American way.  Greed is at the base of everything white men do.  They always want more money, more power, more nasty sex, more, more more. 

 

I want enough.  I want to take care of my family and dine well, drink great wine that I make and light candles I make while I take a bath with the soap I made.  I want balance.  I don’t want to live in a 17 bedroom house with 23 bathrooms and 14 cars.  Nor do I want to live in a house so fucking tiny you have to pee in the kitchen sink.  I want my home filled with art, not because it has a high price tag or because it’s by a famous artist but I want a home filled with art that takes my breath away every time I see it.  I want a closet full of clothes for my personal expression, for showcase who I am as an artist, creating impressions with my attire.  I want my home filled with love and music and art and great conversation and game nights and love making. 

 

White men, white men who have NOTHING to offer, who have nothing on their profile, who have nothing of substance to say, who have vile and offensive “I’m a BBC sissy whore BNWO cuck faggot,”  are the first ones to say, “I’m not paying anyone for anything you fucking golddigging cunts! Make your money the honest way.”  The contempt is tangible.  Women are not supposed to make money for something that white men want. 

 

White men created the very concept of money.  Things have no value.  Value is a concept created by white men.  Hmmmm, you’re going to buy this land?  It costs.  $3 million for 20 acres.  I have another property you can look at for $1.2 million.” 

 

Who decided how much land was worth?  God?  God set the prices on things?  God decided how much a car would cost, or an iPhone?  God, God decided how much electricity costs.  People are always talking about Tesla and free energy. Energy is free.  White men charge for it.  Not nature.  Not God.  It has nothing to do with off-setting labor and operating costs.  Salaries are enslavement to the system.  You are only worth as much as I’m willing to pay you for this job that whiteness has deemed to be worth less than this other job, that whiteness has decided has value. 

 

In a hospital, surgeon gets paid the most.  The janitor gets paid the least.  Patients would die if there weren’t clean operating rooms.  Let the bathrooms go a day or two without being cleaned in the hospital and tell me that the surgeon has a more important job.  But we’ve been told, we’ve been brainwashed into believing that that jobs that white men have more access to have more value.  The kitchen staff makes pennies compared to the administrators of a hospital but the patients NEED food, it does not good to buy it and have it in a pantry with no one to cook it.  We treat Black, female, poor, and uneducated workers like they made poor choices, that their poverty is their fault.  It is not. 

 

It’s not the fault of the Black college graduate who can’t get a decent paying job because white HR managers don’t like his name, or John in logistic’s nephew graduated at the same time.  It’s not the fault of the Black business owner who is busting their ass to do things the right, honest way and they are competing against old boy networks and cronyism, and nepotism.  It’s not Black people’s fault we were born in a society that devalues us, tells us we aren’t worth as much as white people. 

 

I had two very interesting triggers to this writing.  The first, I had a white man, whom I had taken my time and broken down how his words were disingenuous and how it was tied to his whiteness.  Master class level instruction.  Calm, cool, collected, reasoned.  Brilliant.  I mentioned to him that he was getting said knowledge for free and that if he had taken a class or workshop, he would have had to have paid a lot of money.  He replied, “Yes, I’ve taken several workshops and they are expensive. Thank you.”  He feels that I owe him my knowledge.  He feels that if I offer it for free, he doesn’t have to pay me, show gratitude, or even show enough respect for me to say, “Hey, you didn’t have to take the time to explain it so me and for that, let me buy you lunch.”  NO!  White men assume that they don’t have to pay a Black woman.  Not one online.  Not one talking about sex.  Because white men believe that they don’t’ have to pay for their sexual gratification.  And if they do, they pay blonds, or whomever the feel will jump and perform like a circus monkey for them. 

 

Four white men have given me any sort of money in my 23 years of dominating white men.  Scott embezzled a lot of the money he gave me.  He got fired from two different jobs for stealing money and giving it to Black women.  Not me, but he had a fetish for Black body builders, that was his weakness.  It wasn’t as if he was giving women his own money, he was stealing it from the companies he worked for and giving it to women.  CJ has given me some money, certainly not a lot, and only in attempts to show me that he was sorry for fucking up and paying for the opportunity to try again to show that he could be a half-way decent human being and not fuck up again.  He failed time and time again.  I was never worthy of his money.  He never gave to me because he wanted to impress me, I filled his secret lust bingo card, on the board with paying black women to dominate me box. 

Ramy has a fetish for giving Black women money but only poor, dumb, ghetto Black women whom he manipulates, lies to, and make them fall in love with him and then he abuses and degrades them.  He gave me money, about $4K on our first few calls, thinking he was going to manipulate me.  When he figured out that I wasn’t some dumb Black chick he could toy with like a cat plays with a mouse, the money stopped.  When I got him to freely confess to his psychotic serial manipulation, rape, and abuse of Black women, he blocked him and I haven’t heard from him since. 

 

Lee, has been the only with man who has given me money with no strings attached.  It’s not phenomenal amounts of money but every penny when you’re broke is worth more than gold.  I want to talk to him about it.  I want to explain to him that I’m eating bread for meals and that there are days when I don’t have anything but coffee and tuna.  I want to explain to him that whatever money he gives me is spent within minutes because I’m behind on rent.  I don’t.  I do thank him.  I make sure to let him know that I appreciate every penny he gives me. 

 

When white men say, “I’m broke,” they mean, “My savings account is down below the threshold that I’ve set that I can’t go below.”  I haven’t had a savings account in 30 years.  Not because of the choices I’ve made.

 

I chose AfroerotiK.  Every time, I will choose AfroerotiK.  I choose my creativity.  I choose speaking my truth.  I choose art and beauty and authenticity.  I choose Scottie Lowe over corporate/capitalist slavery.  I have believed in the concept of AfroerotiK since it came to me, since I saw the vision of what it could be, of what I know it was destined to be.  I have never given up on the concept of In Loving Color, and knowing that it was going to be the vehicle that leads us all to healing the lies we’ve been told.  I’ve never once waivered from my belief that I was born to create social change, to educated and enlighten, to lift the consciousness of Afrikans born in AmeriKKKa, and to break the chains of mental slavery. 

 

The other incident that triggered this writing is a white man posted some shady status update about me and said I was begging for responses on my writing.  For the record, I’ve never done that.  I don’t even post tags on my writings because I don’t give half a fuck about likes or followers.  I called him out on it and he said, something to the effect of, “Perhaps you care to explain your March 4^th status update.”  There was lots more he said but I didn’t read it because I was really just glancing at it while I clicked on the Block button. 

 

But he made his intent clear enough for me.  I was supposed to feel ashamed because I posted a status update that said, essentially, if you value and appreciate me, consider buying me sushi.  That was supposed to be shameful.  I was supposed to feel inferior because I asked people to buy me lunch if they appreciate my work, my effort, my time, my art.  No one bought me lunch.  No one ever does when I ask.  I’m not ashamed of asking however.  I contribute my art for FREE.  I contribute my academics for free.  I don’t think it’s too much to ask the people who benefit from it to compensate me.  But, he chose to try to shame me.  I’m sorry, but he’ll have to try a little harder because I’m not ashamed of asking for help.  The only ones who should be ashamed are the ones who didn’t think I was worthy of their money and who refused to pay me when the promised they would.  The only one who should be ashamed are the ones who had money and didn’t buy me lunch or call me on Nite Flirt, or give me a tribute because they didn’t feel like I deserved their money.  The white men who KNOW I’m the best fucking erotic writer on the planet, who jerk their little dicks raw reading my stories, who have fantasized about me because I’m such a great writer that I’ve invaded your soul, and you’ve never given me a dollar, you should be ashamed.  Not me.  I will not be shamed for asking. 

 

White men.  Hear me and hear me clearly.  Neither your opinion of me, nor my bank account balance, reflect my true value in life. 

 

My father is a Black man.  He has made some horrible choices in life.  He and I have a horrible relationship because of money.  He is of the belief that I’ve made poor choices in not being able to support myself as an adult.  I am of the belief that he’s made poor choices in fathering a child and not raising it, not caring about it, not loving it.  I believe he’s made horrible choices in his lies he’s told and truths he’s hidden, and I am the physical evidence of his manipulation of women for his own sexual gratification.  I believe he’s made horrible choices in valuing money over even getting to know his own child.  We see things differently.  To say the least.  I tend to think that my loving and nurturing heart has value.  I took care of my grandfather for six years.  I babied him.  I spoiled him.  I loved him.  I bathed him, I cleaned up his poop.  I made sure he wanted for nothing.  I protected him, I was there for him when he called.  I made his life better.  That, I did for free, because of my profound love for the greatest man I’ve ever known.

 

My father is not the greatest man I’ve ever known.   

 

I want my children to be happy, not rich.  I want them to know freedom in their self expression.  I want them to have access to the world, to get to know themselves, to learn and grow and heal from the abuses this society has placed upon them.  I want my girls to know that they are PRICELESS.  Whatever little money I get, I share with them.  Even when I’m broke, even when I only have $250 to my name, I make sure that they have gas in their cars or I take the kids off their hands for the weekend and give them a little break from the stresses of being born into a system of racism and poverty and dysfunction that they made no choice to be born into. 

 

My dream.  My greatest fantasy. 

 

We shift to the Black New World Order.  I reign as God.  White men see how accessible and down to earth I am, the same white men who gave me nothing, who never gave me a penny, the same arrogant and obnoxious white men who assumed I would want to dominate them just because they showed an interest in me, the white men that never invested in belonging to me, the white men who read my requests for donations and never even once considered giving me a penny, I want those white men to REGRET their choices.  I want them to say, “Fuck, I had access to the Goddess, she gave me an opportunity, and I didn’t give her any money because I didn’t think she was worth it.  I didn’t see her as anything other than a thing to get me off and I looked down on her as a fucking sex worker who was beneath me.” 

 

I know my worth. 

 

I know my value. 

 

I know who I am. 

 

I am not one of the women who can have men give her money just for being beautiful.  My beauty is on the inside, not the outside. I’m fully aware that the package I come today in isn’t reflective of the beauty standards that society deems valuable. Some find me repulsive. I don’t give a fuck about shading and contouring my nose to look like Michael Jackson.  I loathe Spanx.  Expensive shoes are nothing more than capitalist manipulations to get women to value themselves based on the amount of money they spend on external validation of beauty.  I’m not a slave on the plantation. 

 

I’m the best writer of the 21 century.  I’m the Black woman who will be responsible for taking us to a new world, a world of equality and peace, love, and unity.  I’m the best mother fucking psychological Black Domme that is, was, or will ever be.  If you didn’t see my value, if you didn’t think I was worth your money when I offered you the chance to be my submissive and you refused, you’re going to have to live with that choice. 

 

I have been ashamed of the amount of money in my bank account but no more.  I’m breaking these chains that oppress me.  I’m freeing myself and in doing so, I’m freeing all humanity.  It is my generosity that will save this planet.  It is my compassion and empathy that will heal this planet.  It is my love for the Earth that was usher in a new day.  My eternal soul is wealthier than any man who has ever lived. 

 

Oh, and one last thing.

 

I would be remiss if I didn't include my PayPal and CashApp in this writing. I think I must. It is my way of saying to the manipulative powers that be, that I'm prepared for my abundance. I'm prepared to see, feel, taste, touch, and smell a world of my abundance and to share my wealth in building a better society for us all.

 

If white men give to me or not, if anyone sees me as 'less than' because I don't have a bank account with lots of zeros, it matters not to me.

 

I know the outcome is assured, I know that I will have my bank account reflect my truth, I am the Source of all.

 

Cashapp $Scottie Lowe

PayPal afroerotik@gmail.com

My heartbreak and growth story

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