I’m bipolar. I’m clear on this.
I left #KingKiwi’s spot about an hour ago. Star Trek is great, but I can’t get into Deep Space Nine. But I promised #Kng I’d be back to sit through an episode and work it all out. We parted on a good note.
In the meantime, I am in my domicile, lonely, listening to Hi-Tek and reflecting on my relationship with love. I sacrificed the most for *drKiwi*. I treated *drKiwi* the worse. I learned the most from *drKiwi*. I was disappointed by *drKiwi*. I came into the music business with *drKiwi*, hoping to be the Gothic Dick Van Dyke.
That part.
I’m very conservative. Yeah I like drugs and good company, but I am not that rachit. I entertain it (peace to Sexyy Redd), but it’s not a lifestyle I live. That said, in 2012 I was VERY rachit. Doing drugs PUBLICLY (in Harlem specifically), walking around funky (I still do that), …as far as talking to random strangers, I been dooin that since day one. But I had a woman. *drKiwi*.
Someone recently made the comment that whatever bag I was in during #ThePinkLavalamp, I need to return to. Ima keep it real with EVERYONE… if I haven’t exceeded that album in your eyes already, it’s not gonna happen. I had *drKiwi*’s head every night, *drKiwi*’s box on the side, and Demevolist witnessing the whole thing. I barely speak to any of them. And my thoughts have expanded past pouring my heart on a track. I’m more eager to apply all that I read into music.
But it’s true. I don’t have a woman in my life. My contact list is BARREN, b. I scroll through it hopelessly, knowing what each conversation would be like. Still I dial, knowing that hurt is what I face. I place my spirit into God’s hands. Guide me in the field of love. Show me how to love properly. Preserve my love.
Or come down here and bag me, bitch!
#Super!
