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 4th
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