BORDERS

Where are my borders?
Do I have any at all?
My borders are kind of Toodle-Loo.

‘HELLO!’, the fucker says.
Demanding attention.
Poking my ribs.
Seriously.

Apparently I’m not responding quick enough.
Don’t even remember what it was about.
I am trying to ignore him.

He is saying something silly.
Happens all the time.
I have turned my back on him.

What is this male spirit doing in my living room?
Instigating me to do naughty things, of course.
What else.

‘Are you alone?’
‘No.’
‘Where’s Rombout?’
‘Still in bed.’
‘Okay. Haha.’
‘Yeh. ‘Haha’.’

Really.
Things will only get worse from here on.
I promise.

I am wondering how to get rid of it.
Blowing tobacco smoke in its direction doesn’t seem to have any effect on the pestering entity.
It doesn’t seem to give one flying fuck, and I am too lazy to get the white sage from the cabinet.

He is so full on.
Jesus Motherfucking Christ.

My hand is still lingering somewhere around my hip while I’m lying on the couch in broad daylight.
My eyes are turned at the sky and I am desperately seeking for help:
‘Dear God’, I pray.
‘Please, tell me. What have I got myself into?’.

He is complaining.
Saying my Batak spirit is being a real drill inspector with him.
Very good. Smurf of Death like a lot.
Bossing him around. Making him do stuff.
Whooping his arse, big time!
Whoa yeh.

I know. She is like that.
And I start giggling.

‘Yeh GO ON then.
SMiLE for me’.

My right leg pulls itself up in a hysterical reflex and my arm twitches in some kind of pusillanimous attempt to defend itself.

Da FuQ?
The guy’s response is so fast and fierce, he’s giving me the heebie jeebies, you know?
Together he and I are ADHD squared.

Good God.
Madre Mia.
We’re on one here, ladies and gentlemen!

I know exactly who I’m dealing with.
Been here before.
Been here forever.

Right now I feel the need to play Massive Attack’s album ‘Mezzanine’; one of the best albums ever made, if you want my opinion.
So hot. So dark. So sexy.
But I will not; I’m afraid it will be too intense for me.

I need to set some borders.
And setting borders now involves avoiding intense emotions, to prevent panick attacks and other waves of psychological vertigo to occur, because these are the cause of my destructive thoughts.

I clearly remember one of the warnings I received during shamanic initiation:
‘You gonna be needing some real borders with this man, girlfriend!’.
I recall it to have sounded somewhat loud and melodramatic.
And I now understand what it means.

He’s the kind of guy who knows how to make me laugh, pick me up and lift me up so high, I lose control.

I have a feeling I’m gonna die a thousand deaths with this man.
And this adventure we’re on?
I guarantee it’s gonna be brutal.
Unlike the world has ever seen.

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

WORMHOLE OF CHANGE

I am going through a downright wormhole of change.
In my mind I keep hearing:
‘Welcome to The Telepaths’.
I imagine my mentor sitting at his laptop, reading my emails and stories, while thinking:
‘She’s either lost her mind entirely, or, it is what I think it is’.
And I’m hoping he is by now getting a little bit excited, because he is figuring out what this would entail for the future.

What is it exactly I am going through?
I have been tested and trained.
Just something I needed and still need to go through as an upcoming shaman.
And it’s scary as fuck, but I’m getting the hang of it.

What is creating an extra dimension to it is: for me there’s love involved.
True and outspoken, hot and steamy love.

My guess now is he was in charge of the whole operation himself.
First thought I had this morning was he could have been thinking:
‘If she truly is the love of my life, she will know who I am, no matter what’.

And if so, he was right.

What had struck me most, I think, was that I had not felt manipulated or abused by him; it had felt like a clean, surgical cut.
The most traumatizing was the discrepancy in realities, and the fact the contact had now been broken.

After receiving the email he had cut me off just like that, right in the middle of our text conversation, saying:
‘It’s over’.
I believe it was a Saturday morning, one of those when you’d just sit and hang around, and talk to one another while drinking coffee.
And then, all of the sudden everything had changed; I had been betrayed and crucified by three men.
The agony could have killed me right on the spot.

My astrologer had predicted ‘a skeleton coming out of the closet’ for that exact day, and I had actually been waiting on it to happen, because she was so damn accurate; it was uncanny.
And yes, there it had come falling out, with flabby rags of rotting flesh still attached to the bones, drenching me in horribly stinking sticky remainders of blood and surrounding me with the gassy funk of deceit.

It was my personal Hell on Earth, and it would remain to be for a very, excruciatingly painful, long time.

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

POINT OF SINGULARITY

I don’t know how I made it through.
I really just don’t fucking know.
My spirits said I managed to bring a whole new dimension to the phrase unconditional love.
And for once I agree.

Shamanism, the alchemy and magickal power of words.
I have wondered so many times if I was a total egotistical megalomaniac for believing in myself and my visions.
The truth is, it was time for me to show the decency and modesty to acknowledge the power I possess.
And stand for it!

‘You gotta OWN it’, is what is said.
Right?
Well, same goes for Shamanism.
Maybe even in particular.

So, what I did was:
I woke myself the Hell up, and I went against all the odds.
I went against my own (and other people’s) skepticism.
And I surrendered, that’s how I made it through.

Trust me, I made every goddamn sacrifice there was to make, in order to take a stand and make that Chicano U-Turn.
And now my life has almost reached the point of singularity.

I stopped searching.
For I know It, to have found Me.
And now I’m just waiting to cross the Event Horizon.

From my memoirs ‘TOBACCO – Curse & Blessing of a Shamaness’
By KiKi TOAO

THE SHED MY NEW SHELTER

So.
Painting the kitchen cabinets.
And apparently he’s also building a shed in the garden.
Right.

I just rolled myself the umteenth cigarette this early Saturday morning.
I am smoking way too fucking much, but I’m allowing myself to for now.
I’ll figure out a way to quit smoking again.
Or not.
But I just don’t care right now.

‘I want you in good shape when I arrive’.
Sure you do.
When you arrive?
IF, you mean.

Promises, promises.
I am fucking sick and tired of them.
Sick and brutally tired.

The number of men who made promises with me are countless by now.
Or actually not that countless.
Perhaps you wouldn’t think so, but I’m actually a pretty good girl.
There have been only ten men in my life.
And I’ll tell you one thing: I am done.
Done in and done for.

If this is not going to work out, I think I will move out of the country nevertheless.
I will not get my dreams ruined, by any man.
It’s a promise I made to myself.
You can all go fuck yourselves, you here me?!

Oh yeah.
SURE.
Riiiiiiight.
Let’s just make fucking plans for you to arrive to come pick me up.
Why the Hell not.
And yeh, sure, let’s make that the week before my birthday party on 24th of August.
What’s that, Tuesday 20 August?
Great.
Mm-hmm.
You’re right.
We’d have a couple of days to ‘get acquainted’ with one another before I throw your gut down the arena and have you deal with my friends.
I have a feeling you don’t really trust me on the idea that you are more than a 1000% welcome in my circle of friends and family, that you’ve got this idea in your head they will be waiting for you with machetes ready to cut you up and drink your blood.
But I know at least one friend who would start crying wildly herself if she saw me with you, happily united after all.
And yes, baby, she’s a black woman.
You got that right.
And she’ll be there for sure.

Who is this I am talking to anyway?
It’s all been one freaking fucking delusion lately.
And now this delusion is speaking with me and saying he is building a shed in his garden.
Isn’t that just amazing?
He’s saying his bachelor sized house in Los Angeles is too small to host me and my creativity.

My studio at home now is about 16 square meters, just big enough for a table with sewing machine, altars and a crazy amount of clothing, fabrics, other materials and shoes.
And that’s only half of it.
The rest of it, plus my paintings, beautiful boxes installation and what not, are stored in the attic.
And I’m not even talking of my studio equipment yet.
But supposedly I will get space for that on base?

On base.
Right. Excellent idea!
I think it would be best to have me take my job in a shelter then, because what about my banging techno music? It would only be a matter of courtesy towards my neighbours to have me work in the underground on my music production and DJing, right where it belongs.
And you’re absolutely right in thinking it would make me feel more comfortable as well, because I’m freaking tired of being harassed and judged by neighbours.
When in need of daylight, I’ll just come out of my dungeon – and it’s too fucking hot out there anyway, in the middle of the desert.
Would be amazing if I could smoke in there, by the way.

Again: sure!
I still think it’s an amazingly wild idea to just fucking move in with a U.S. fucking Marine in fucking Barstow in The United Fucking States, in the middle of the fucking freaking desert, of all fucking places!
WHOA YEH That’s MY idea of an adventure, alright!
I can totally imagine myself having my own office on base, and finally have the opportunity to unleash my untouched gift for mathematics in a controlled, supervised but most of all: applicable fashion.
Ah yes! That would be about time, man, phew…
It would be a total dream come true.

I have been dreaming once of a place, located on the corner of a street; lots of glass walls everywhere and surrounded by windows – a residential spot, and there wouldn’t be much of privacy because when you’d walk down the stairs, you’d end up in the hallway with doors to other people’s quarters.

That yours baby?

That was the whole plan, wasn’t it: me moving in with you at your quarters on base?
I clearly remember receiving all that funny information about your kitchen there; supposedly I had to bring some doorknobs and especially think about my need for proper lighting, because your kitchen would definitely be too dark to my taste.

You see me do it?
Move in with a U.S. Marine?
Just like that?
Well, I fucking do.

I remember one of my friends getting angry with me on the phone when he’d heard out about my plans:
‘OF COURSE, Kiki! Of course you’re just gonna move in with some fucking G.I. Joe whom you haven’t even met yet!
GOOD FUCKING IDEA!’.
The dick’s the kind of guy who goes sailing half way Europe and defies the fucking Gulf of Biscay on his own, but I guess he just didn’t see me doing something similar.
Well, that’s just too fucking bad for him.

You should know I have been waiting for six years for this man to arrive in my life.
One of the first things I said to him was:
‘I’ve seen you coming’.
Because: it was fucking predicted.
And I happen to be the kind of woman who blindly trusts on Spirit guidance.

But you know, let’s just say things have been ‘rather difficult’ lately.
And I am definitely understating that.
If I told you what we have already been through, you wouldn’t believe it.
You have my word for it.

And we just imagined ourselves to sit back to back on the floor, both exhausted to the bone.
And we would laugh of relief, and say:
‘Shiiiiiiiiiit, dude. What the Fuck was THAT?!’.
The vision makes me smile, against my better judgment.

Apart from the lack of space in the house, the dog is also a consideration.
Imagine what a three feet tall German shepherd would do to my dear, poor, lovely shoes.
He would love to pull the lacy bits of my precious costumes and maybe even choke on some bead for my jewelry creation.
I can imagine him go crazy ravenous on my fetish boots.
NO WAY, Lance!
You’s a bad boy.

So yeah. Makes total sense to build a shed.
Thank you baby?
Nah. Forget it.
I’ll do the thanking later.
If at all.

So.
Doorknobs.
Yeah, I’ve got a whole collection of old style porcelain doorknobs, the kind you wanna die for, so beautiful.
A couple of nice hand grips also.
Apparently your kitchen is in typical bachelor’s condition, baby?
And what it takes is a woman to arrive in your life to have you fix it, because you’re all:
‘Well, it opens and closes, doesn’t it?’ about it?

Sure baby, makes total sense to me.
And guess what?
I fucking packed the grips and knobs already.
And yeah, they’re still all in place and fucking ready to be transported on a fucking plane, indeed, goddammit!

Those suitcases I bought last summer?
All still here.
Wouldn’t even DARE to bring them back to the store.
Yeah, I fucking unpacked them alright.
What do you think?
I need my fancy clothes on a regular basis.
I even bought YOU a freaking suitcase, you know?
Yeah, one of those stupid posh motherfuckers for a suit to go right in for travel, neatly tucked away on a coat hanger, and come out ready to wear.
But you know what?
Don’t worry yourself over it.
It was my pleasure.

Maybe I’ll make that a birthday present for ya.
If yo lucky.

Dick.

I nearly killed myself for being so forthright, you know?
You should have seen the fucking place in here, it was a goddamn warzone on itself.
It was God Damn MOTHER-FUCKiNG brutal M.A.Y.H.E.M.!
For the second time!

But hey, you know what, I consider it to have been a rehearsal packing.
I am that awfully practical about it.
But I trust you can imagine me to be somewhat cynical about the whole thing.
Just a tiny little bit, baby.
Just a liiiiiittle bit.

But anyway.
The doorknobs.
One I recently bought is a beautiful pine cone shaped wooden doorknob.
Really gorgeous, and I think it would indeed fit perfectly on the door of my newly built studio:

The Shed, My New Shelter.

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

BLACK LEATHER BOOTS & OFFICER STICK

My mind is obliterated.
I am actually believing all that I’m experiencing to be real.

My shamanic mentality is stubborn like a colt on a leash.
I was just wondering where my fear has gone, and I imagined how a very tiny version of me was wildly enthusiastically jumping up and down with her fists up, somewhere on the right bottom of my brain, yelling fanatically:
‘Bring it on, motherfuckers!
BRING IT ON!’.

And I thought:
‘Oh. There it is’.

Not much left of it, it seems.

Fuck.
That’s all I can think and think about at the moment.

I am experiencing some kind of meltdown, and it’s not even that hot today.
I’ve lost my mind and found my heart, that’s for sure.
And trust me, it’s banging like crazy.

It’s ridiculously hard to focus on anything.
Half of the time I’m just looking around my Smurf of Death headquarters in utter dumbfoundedness.
My wit: nowhere to be found.
Toodle-loo wit.
So long for that.

All I can think is that I must be in love or something.
And it’s true that I have been in love before, but this time it’s a whole different ballgame.
This man is a whole different ballgame.

What a headfuck.
This morning he painted me a picture of himself, wearing large, rough, black leather boots, and suggested adding a black officer’s stick to that.
If that would turn me on, he inquired.

Yeah, well.
Ehm.
It for sure would, baby.

And now I can’t get it out of my head; the image got already stuck on my retina while I haven’t even seen it yet for real.
I’m sure to faint when the moment comes.

Thanks a lot, baby?

Shit.

I’m considering making a drawing or even a painting of it.
The picture shown in here was my very lousy attempt to make a first sketch.
That’s how bad it is.
Like I said, mind obliterated.

Creating is the only thing that seems to satisfy and ease my mind a little bit.
I’m trying to keep my head cool as fuck, and that’s working out relatively well, given the circumstances.
However, every now and again my attitude takes a freaking hike and a somewhat nervous and heavily amused burst of laughter slips away from me.

The other day I paid his website a visit, and gave a good laugh at his picture.
‘HAHAHA’, is what I said out loud, pointing my index finger at Mister Ridiculously Handsome.

It had quite a grounding effect on me, I must say.
And I’m just happy I refound my faith and confidence.

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

GULLIESH PUPPY EYES

[12 August 2018]
I am giggling.
Speaking of gulliesh puppy eyes.
You should have seen the smile on his face, when I was floating right before him, in that truck.
I had managed to make the jump through an out-of-body experience.
It had happened spontaneously during meditation, while sitting with my eyes closed at my desk and thinking of naughty things.

All of the sudden I had ended up in the vehicle, which had probably been filled with soldiers but I hadn’t seen the rest of them, because my focus had been right away on Mr. Blue Eyes right there.
His face had transformed from a focused calmness into a bright, shining grin from ear to ear when my ethereal presence came into his awareness, and I had amusingly observed how it had left him in a state of total astonishment and bewilderment, clearly thinking something like:
‘What the Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck?!!’.

I think the most beautiful thing I had seen in that were the recognition of my presence and our mutual love he was feeling, and the emotion had simply been radiating from and dripping off his smiling face.

Bright sunlight had broken through the window behind him; and had I seen mountains or hills?
I figured the truck must had been driving through the desert, while he and his colleagues were preparing for their mission.

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

GOLDEN CABINETS OF FAITH

I have been having a strong notion of already getting to know this man, his daily attitude and behaviour, temperament, sense of humor, uplifting presence, knowledge and caretaking mentality, plus the sacrifices he is, in his turn, already making:
Painting the kitchen cabinets.

His insecure indecisiveness about whether to choose gold to cover the typical American pinewood doors with.
This man knows an artist who is very, VERY particular about home decoration will be living with him very soon.
Admittedly very cute, but terribly annoying.

I was laying with my head flat faced in a pillow while Rombout was sitting on top of me, and I thought:
‘Yeh. You know what?!
SURE baby, paint the fuckers gold.
For God’s sake. JEEZ!’

What to do with the decorative elements.
‘What? Do it yourself!’
Nooooooo, he wanted me to do it.
He insisted.

I received a mental projection of Japanese style painted branches and leafs, with colored accents in black, red and white.
I agreed it would for sure look amazing on the golden doors, and yes, I admitted I am the one who knows what she’s doing.
But you know, I was kind of in the middle of something; Rombout was now twisting my right arm in a somewhat uncomfortable position, and my shoulder cracked.
The negotiation was going so fast, I at first hardly recognised it for what it was and especially, whom with.
I was being overwhelmed with this image of very ugly kitchen cabinet doors, however, and I recognised them from the pictures I had seen on his Instagram account.
And I thought:
‘Seriously.’
Usually he’d inquire first what I’m doing, who I’m with, etcetera, or he’d just drop in unannounced, out of body, la-dee-dah-dee, just like that as if it’s the natural order of things, and then just start meddling with everything as if he fucking owns the place.
But now I was just seeing those damn hideous pinewood doors with my third eye, and the issue seemed kind of very urgent:
A man in distress about what colors to pick!
Oh dear!
It all went so fast I failed to be assertive and tell him:
‘Baby, you are disturbing just a tiny little bit because I am receiving a Shiatsu massage right here, about, – how far would it be? -, 10.000 kilometers away from you?
Could it just please wait until a somewhat more convenient moment?’.
But you know, he’d probably have said:
‘NO’.
Because that’s what he’s like, so that wouldn’t have made any difference at all.

Sigh.
Anyway.
I gave in and said:
‘Sure. FINE! I’ll do it!’.

For crying out loud. Really.
I started laughing.
Rombout inquired what was so funny, now folding and stretching my legs, and I said I would tell him later.
I was in such a relaxed state, I figured the dialogue was not just something coming from my wishful imagination.
And I am used to these mental projections coming in so strong from or enhanced by Spirit communication, so I thought it must had been real.

Reinvigorated by Rombout’s massage I was afterwards lying on the couch, letting what I had experienced sink in.
I giggled joyfully amused and felt humorously irritated, and I considered taking repercussions.
A shaman woman’s gotta do what a shaman woman’s gotta do!
Rock’n’roll.

I told Rombout about my experience, and his first response to that was concern, to which he added this wasn’t good for me at all.
But when I told him about my naughty little plan he immediately started laughing out loud and said:
‘Good idea. Go on then.’

For quite a long time I had been simply frightened of even thinking about visiting his Instagram profile again, but now I felt more than a hundred percent confident, and challenged to the max.
I thought about it for an extra thirty seconds, then took a deep breath, and went for it.
I had to unblock him first, then I sent the following message:

‘Could you please do me a favor and make up your own goddamn mind about the color of your kitchen cabinets?
I was just receiving a good relaxing massage’.

After, I blocked him again, and tested with Rombout’s phone if people still receive your messages if you block them.
They do.
Check.

And so, there you go, I just broke the mold by solving an average daily domestic issue, partially telepathically through the spiritual ether, partially through our so beloved convenience of social media texting.
A harmless leap of faith this time. Phew.

Main reason for blocking him is that, even if he would respond to my text, I don’t want to be communicating online with him anymore;
I am so done with it.
I want him on my doorstep, for real, and nothing else.
My self respect and borders as a woman are overruling my longing for acknowledgement of and proof for my ideas about what’s going on, for that matter.

And just now, the morning after, I was contemplating my optimism, faith and loyalty, and I have to admit I am awfully amazed with myself, with how I am expressing such strong motivations by my seemingly premature, however clearcut, decision making and open communication.
Because here’s a woman who has made up her mind, – a year ago already! -, and nothing, absolutely nothing, has changed in that.

For my willingness to live by the principles of unconditional love and trust in Spirit guidance, for believing in love at first sight and taking responsibility and action out of sheer enthusiasm, I have asked myself so many times during these past twelve months:

‘Am I weird for being this way?’.
To which I received a straight up, blunt answer this morning:

‘What makes YOU so goddamn unique?’.

And I imagine this kind of rejoinder to be coming straight from him.
Typical Leo.

And while I was just smoking my tobacco roll up I thought:
‘He is so right’.
And I am positive we would both agree on the idea that this is exactly what we would both describe as ‘God in ourselves’, that’s giving us the power, courage and strength to go about our lives in such a manner.

From my memoirs ‘Tobacco – Curse & Blessing of a Shamaness
By Kiki Toao