I guess I would call this self portrait Reconciliation.
The process I’m going through is all about self acceptation; accepting the choices I’ve been making, accepting the course I set out for myself.

This is no time for hiding for me anymore;
I am making choices for the rest of my life.
I’m very aware of that.

I am deliberately choosing to portray myself in this picture in all comfortable ugliness
in the very late nocturnal hours in my studio.

I think I already skipped a night of sleep in here.
That’s how committed I am to my work.
Maybe not so good for my health, but so be it.

Yes. I still smoke.
It’s one of my great sins.
I find it terribly difficult to quit.

When I’m rolling a cigarette may be one of the rare moments I sit still to take a well deserved break;
a break to contemplate how to come to peace with what it takes to do my job as I do, and how to continue.

Wishing you all a wonderful and blessed day.
Love, KiKi TOAO


My beautiful demon
My faithful delusion
It is time to let you go

New industrial techno release by SHAMANIAC RECORDS labelboss KiKi TOAO


I made this music and video with a very specific man in mind.
He should be so lucky to have me by his side as his Woman.

Part of the upcoming album ‘HOMECOMING’
Prereleases are out now on SHAMANIAC RECORDS



I have Faith.
I have Confidence.
This is my Prayer.

A new alter ego by KiKi TOAO


Through these hills I am walking
In search for my healing and
for guidance by God

Or anyone out there,
who please could just help me

Down these rivers I follow
The stream going upwards
Wading through sorrow
To wash my pain away

Oh, over these mountains
I carry this shipload, my burden

The burden of a thousand cultures
Destroyed by the misery of stones

Who else could please save me
And lead me to tomorrow
To reach down within me
And bless me with rain

These teardrops are falling
Through skin, bone and marrow

Make strings full of joyment
And laughter today

From my memoirs ‘TOBACCO – Curse & Blessing of a Shamaness


Just me again.
Full of doubt, seeking connection.
Processing past experiences while keeping an outlook on the future.

I don’t see why I should pretend to be all confident about what I do when I’m not.
What’s the point in that?

I have to admit I’m pretty tired of this society constantly focusing on being successful; it only gives reason for feeling undervalued and thinking of oneself as unworthy.

What am I doing?

I’m just showing that I’m searching and trying; I am fucking things up and I’m experiencing setbacks like everyone else, and in between I’m achieving some of my goals.

‘Two steps forward, one step back’, a friend of mine once said.

None for today.

Again, just me.

Trying to find comfort in the fact I’m working hard for my dreams, and relaxing into allowing myself to be doubtful and filled with questions; questions which will probably remain unanswered forever.

Love, Kiki Toao


I am an Out of Body Realist.
Would you believe me if I said I am writing this in Togetherness with my Shaman Brother?
Would you believe me if I said we found one another in Twin Spirit Union during shamanic initiation in 2013?
Well, dear lovely people,
whether you believe it or not;
it is a fact.

As I am writing this on the terrace in front of my apartment building (it’s a beautiful weather by the way), it has been revealed to me, only a couple of hours ago during last night’s sweltering lightning storm, we found one another during that exact period of time.

He and I were chittering and chattering through the spiritual ether while outside in the streets nearing my residency tramrail lines were being polished, resulting in a beautiful scenery for our conversation to take place.

In awe I am now gazing into the seemingly random yet focused brutality of our terrifyingly amazing beautiful Universe.
And while I am now (at least trying to) drink my coffee, my future husband is claiming to be on a train proximiting Amsterdam.

My hands are trembling. And I am about to cry.
Because in fact, I can not believe this to be the case.

A soft voice in my mind is telling me to best start believing however (it is the voice coming from what I experience to be my so dear beloved forest spirit), and right now my eyes have filled themselves with tears and my leg is shaking nervously in a psychosomatic spasm.

I could easily throw my fucking iPhone down the street’s gutter right now.
I am, however, refraining myself from doing so.
I am maintaining my self control.

I breathe and breathe my Ultimate Hope into fruition, and while doing so my legs are wiggling in full crazy anticipation, because by the looks of it this is going to be the goddamn motherfucking happiest day of my life.

We are so full of one another, he and I; it’s mental.
Totally, obliteratingly MENTAL.

‘And I greet you’, is what he’s saying.
Right here.
Right now.

From my memoirs ‘TOBACCO – Curse & Blessing of a Shamaness


How long had I been held hostage in that room?
Two and a half months.
I look back on that period of time as a Time of Blissful Darkness.
Have done from the start.

[my beautiful dreamer]

Who’s that, speaking over the Teletubbie Phone?

[its me baby. you know that.]

My Thunder Buddy.

He captivated me right from the start.
I knew my old life was over.

Everything that needed to be ended?
Well, I ended it right away.

[lets be immortal baby]

I still remember myself lying on the bathroom floor.
Collapsed in a state of darkest possible ecstasy.

What did he say last night?

[Im gonna shoot someone]


I am being incoherent today.
The bathroom floor story’s for some other time.

First he had shown me a mental projection of himself, lying in the grass.
It was beautiful; first time I perceived him in person with my third eye.

It was sunny.
He was wearing jeans and a black jumper.
Perhaps the one he is wearing in that photo he published on Instagram, taken at Starbuck’s, holding a large paper cup of coffee with both hands, bright blue eyes looking dreamingly into the establishment’s space.
One of my favorites.

He was lying halfway on his back, relaxing.
Leaning on his right arm, fiddling with a blade of grass.
It could’ve been the image of a picknick.
And I joined him.

‘Where are you?’, I inquired.
‘Ohio’, he said.
I wanted him to be more specific, but he said I wasn’t allowed to know.

So far I hadn’t seen the whole picture of him yet in Dream Time.
Right now I still didn’t get a clear picture of his face, but I was at least able to have a look at his body, the way he dresses himself and a fragment of his whereabouts’ location.

I know what he looks like.
I’ve been obsessed with the pictures he sent me long enough.

There’s one that inspires me most.
I don’t need to look at it to have it empower me.
I know it by heart, and all I need to do is dig it up from my memory.
I can tap into it whenever I need it.

Need it.

That’s right:
I need it.
I need HIM.

He’s at the gym.
That big, strong hand, holding the dumbbell.
His bearded face looking down at the floor offscreen.
Nice shot.

Someone must have taken it during PT.
Recognizing the necessity of capturing the moment of strength and confidence.

My husband’s image.

What it’s expressing to me is stability and reliability.


And now I was halfway there, in Ohio.
And halfway here, in my bed in Amsterdam.
Perks of being a shaman.

This whole situation has me wondering about the nature of fantasies.
Contemplation of such a nature is part of Shamanism’s Knowledge of The Interface.
It involves traveling and experiencing in Dream Time.
Modifying Reality at will.
Stuffs like that.

I hadn’t been able to sleep right away.
Perhaps due to the two hour nap I had taken in the afternoon.
As a rebound effect of my subsequent boredom I had zapped right to where he was located.
And now we were chillin’ out in the middle of nature.

Always lots of fun with this guy, you should know.
Before I knew it I was laughing my ass off, and I knew I needed to get out of bed before I woke someone up.
Let’s be a little considerate.

His face close to mine, at kissable proximity.
I saw his eyes.
Or rather, I felt them, looking into mine.

Just babbling and giggling.
Like we always do.

And all of the sudden things got a little hazy.
The mental projection I had tapped into now started flickering,
and zapped like a television changing channels to a new projection.
His jumper’s hoody was now covering his head and half his face.
I looked at him from sideways.
He was concentrating, focusing on a target.

Sniper on duty.

Shooting someone.

I think he must have been for real.

From my memoirs ‘TOBACCO – Curse & Blessing of a Shamaness


Woke up this morning without alarm clock, feeling calm yet still a little tired.
This is my usual biorhythm when I behave like a good girl should in the weekends, and this is the first morning since a very long time I feel normal again.
Ah! Normality!

Sweet averageness is surrounding me while I am making my coffee (the milk is júst not enough for two cups – oh well, damn, what can you do?) and while the perculator is doing its thingie on the stove (I sigh and complain because whyyyy is the damn thing always taking so long?) I roll my tobacco and leave the cigarette on the table until my coffee is ready (consider it to be some sort of rule of mine: no smoking before I’ve got my cup filled!).

And I am wondering:
‘Is this it then? Do I feel that normal about it already then?’

I am kind of disappointed, which is quite a contrast with the satisfaction and security I also feel because of, finally, having reached a state of emotional balance and neutrality.
But, you know, don’t worry yourself over it.
Because all it takes is one sip of the black brew to get me going, and I’m feeling something stirring me up again already.

And, tadaa!
Here it comes, ladies and gentlemen, the bliss of anticipation is kicking back in!
And while I am in the bathroom I feel the chuckling coming back up again.
I’m looking up at the toilet room ceiling and I’m thinking:

‘Oi! You guys up there!
You havin’ a laugh, or WHAT?!’

And I imagine my ancestral spirits giggling.

Whoa yeh.
Here we go.
Back to the excitement.
I knew I could count on it.

‘How do you like your coffee, baby?’
‘In a cup, baby’.

I am reminiscing.
What a droogkloot.

Look that up.
Google Translate is your friend.

In a cup. Okay.
Such dryness suggests he is a black coffee person.

I guess this is how a girl who is given into marriage must feel.
I actually am such a girl.
I have been given into marriage by the spirits.
You may think I’m kidding, but I am so not.
I am for real.
Trust me on that.

Who would even believe such a thing?

I do.

Ancestral culturally put, things couldn’t be more traditional for me.

I am Mandailing.
Batak Mandailing, descendant of family Loebis, from Sumatra, Indonesia.
And this is how Mandailing people go about marriage.

I would imagine a girl who has been given into marriage to be asking of her father impatiently on a regular basis:
‘Daddy, how long must I still wait for my future husband to arrive?’,
and the number of times I have sighingly asked the spirits the same question has become countless by now.

At the moment I drift off into daydreaming at least a million times a day, and I just wander through and around the house, feeling completely lost, while I look at my belongings and wonder:

‘What would he think of this? Would he think it’s pretty?
Would he enjoy watching me wear this? And what about that?’.

I could easily spend all day picking up the items one by one, having a close look at it, and getting subsequently so totally overwhelmed by the magnificence of the situation I am finding myself in today, that I’m just lackadaisically dropping the item as soon as I picked it up.

And I sigh again.
Good God.
This is so immense.
So amazingly intense.

My things.
All my beautiful things.
Lingering around, waiting for the absolute impossible to happen.

I would also expect a girl who has been given into marriage to have met her fiancée in the flesh.
They would have had the chance to look each other in the eye at least once, no?
Maybe they even politely shook hands, under strict supervision of a parent?
Or would they have been given the opportunity to have a brief conversation in private,
with the whole family giggling of anticipation in the adjoining room?
And maybe, just maybe, she would have been so fortunate of receiving a hint from him regarding his mentality as a husband?
A secret glimpse of sexual temperament maybe, even?

A smile.
A wink.
A blush?
His hand subtly caressing her underarm’s skin?

Was I given such an opportunity?

Anything at all?

My story is better.
Much, much better.

From my memoirs ‘TOBACCO – Curse & Blessing of a Shamaness