So. Yesterday I was in conversation with some dude who calls himself a Dom, and I basically freaked the shit out of him.

First of all he didn’t like the fact I am a Switch at all.
He said: ‘A Switch is okay to me, but I will never switch.’

So that makes me wonder why he’s talking to me in the first place, right?

In general my experience is that for some reason these Doms seem to find it necessary to question my Switchdom/hood/ness (how I am I supposed to define this anyway?).

My wildly educated guess is they see some kind of challenge in me, let’s put it like that.

Next thing you know is I’m telling him about this previous lover of mine who took a hike in total fear (he was almost about to scream) from the graveyard we were visiting.
It must have been my witchywatchy shamanic superpower he felt somewhat chased by, and the guy couldn’t help himself but to keep running away, leaving no less than 400 meters between us.

Please note it was broad daylight.

Next thing you know is I gave this guy I was talking to yesterday some insight in what could possibly happen if we were to meet up for real, and I felt the necessity to confront him with above anecdote. 

Plus the idea that, if we would reach ‘those certain higher atmospheres’ during ‘ceremony’, he shouldn’t be surprised when spirit power kicks in with me ultimately, making him see his grandmother’s face shine through me for example, and that, before he knows it, I could start conjuring up personal information about her and point out paintings previously owned by her hanging on his wall afterwards under her guidance.

Now, I am not sure if these paintings are actually present in his house (these things happen also very often), but I also mentioned the idea he would probably become aware of my spirit guides gathering around us, keeping an eye on the situation, making sure I am safe.

And he said he considered himself to be open-minded, but this was going really too far to his taste, and he called off the idea of going on a date.

My guess is he realised he would be screwed anyhow if he would go too far, even in the case of leaving me for dead, tied down in chains.

Whoa yeh.


By the way: did you know the pre-releases of my upcoming album ‘HOMECOMiNG’ are out now on Shamaniac Records?


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.



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.

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?’
‘Where’s Rombout?’
‘Still in bed.’
‘Okay. Haha.’
‘Yeh. ‘Haha’.’

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.



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!

And I thought:
‘Oh. There it is’.

Not much left of it, it seems.

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.
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?


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.



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— Kiki Toao