Last night as I watched Lupita Nyong’o approach the red carpet, her mother, father, and brother in tow, I was enchanted into silence. There she stood - skin black like ours, hair tightly coiled like ours, wearing a headband on her flat top in a ‘Nairobi blue’…
“Artists shouldn’t kid themselves that most people give a fuck about them directly. At least not at first. People want what you’ve made, they don’t want you. You have to seduce them into also wanting you. And you can only do that by making more stuff that they want, and hopefully attaching yourself to it in the minds of some small percentage of its fans. This is branding.”—Clayton Cubitt (via austinkleon)
the thing about the ultimate cosmic meaninglessness of man is that you can either wallow in your insignificance and the attendant pain that brings in a culture so obsessed with fame and being important,
or you can fall in love with literally everything and everyone in a dozen small ways because everything still exists despite the statistical unlikelihood of it all and that’s a goddamn miracle
I Created The Sloppy Heart Club (Mostly In My Brain) After Years Of Watching Love’s Leftovers Go Unappreciated. I’ve Seen A Lot Of Good People Get Knocked Down, Looked Over, And Dumped Because They Couldn’t Live Up To The Superficial Qualities That Someone Else Wanted Them To Harbor.
I’ve Seen A Lot Of Good Guys & Girls Get Systematically Shitted On (Stories You Wouldn’t BELIEVE) Because It Was A Popular Choice To Go Out With Someone Who Filled A Void Of Lust So Fast That It Blinded Them Into Thinking It Was Something Substantial.
And Let’s Be Real: The Game Of Love Is A System And We’re All Just Looking For Our Place Amongst The Caste.
I Created The Sloppy Heart Club (Mostly In My Brain) For Those Same People Who’ve Experienced The Inevitable Heartbreak That They Just Had To Know Was Coming When They Got Into A Relationship Of That Magnitude. No Matter If The Relationship Was Real Or Just A Cat x Mouse Game Of Hard Crushin’.
Mainly Though, I Created The Sloppy Heart Club (Mostly In My Brain) For People Who Would Rather Settle For What Feels Right, Rather Than What Feels Right Now. Some People Call It Being Picky. I Call It Being Carefully Selective. This Method Doesn’t Necessarily Lend Itself To Sid & Nancy-Type Unions Where A Love Trail Can Be Traced With Cocaine And Washed Down With Whiskey, But It Does Lend Itself To Surprises You Wouldn’t Have Otherwise Known Existed.
So, [Once Again] This Is My Open Call For Anyone Who’s Ever Been Looked Over By Love, Bullied By Lust Or Betrayed By Seduction.
For Those Who Have Put Your All Into Something That May Have Only Given You Back An Eighth.
For The Many Millions Who Hold Out Hope That Hope Didn’t Skip Their Turn.
For Those That Got Mad Love To Give.
This Is For You.
This Club By No Means Carries A “Fuck Love” Sentiment, (But What The Hell, If You Feel That Way, You’re Invited Too). I See This As The Holding Place For People Without It, Until It Swings By When You Least Expect It, When You’re Ready To Be Fully Accepted.
There’s Only So Long You Can Go On Frontin’ On Yourself Sayin’ “Well At Least I Don’t Have To Buy Someone A Gift For Valentine’s Day” Because Eventually (If Not Right Now), You’ll Be Yearning For Someone To Buy Something For.