Okay I’ve been wanting to post this a few times over the past few weeks, but stopped myself. But here goes:

My Christian Tumblr fam:


One more time in case you didn’t get me:


Not a kind response, not a harsh response, not an explanation, nothing.

YOUR BLOG IS YOUR BLOG. What you post on it is your prerogative.

Anons do not get to call you out, give you unsolicited spiritual advice, say you’re complaining too much about your problems, tear you down under the guise of “uplifting” you, etc.

The people who get to convict you in that way are IN YOUR REAL LIFE, and/or the fellow online brothers sisters in Christ who, you know, TALK TO YOU, CARE ABOUT YOU, WON’T HIDE FROM YOU.

I’m sick of seeing this. If they can’t come out from behind those glasses and talk to you off anon, AND if they are not your friends, they DO NOT have the privilege of speaking into your life. Case closed.

I am a very sympathetic, warm, open, compassion person, but don’t you think for one second I’m gonna put any stock into what a cowardly stranger on THE INTERNET is gonna think or say. I mean it. You look far enough back in my blog you may see a negative anon or two, but even then I’ve just posted it with no response. Either that or I’ve deleted it. You know why?

Because no constructive criticism about who I am as a person is going to come from someone who will not make themselves known to you, who sees what I post on a WEBSITE about my thoughts, feelings and emotions as opposed to, you know, the REST of my personhood.

They KNOW they are on anon because they either DON’T know you well enough to criticise you as they are in an OPEN manner, or they do NOT want their words traced back to them. Don’t fall for it, there is no love of Jesus involved there, or at the very best it is a gross expression of it. And I’ll say it again: COWARDLY, and how dare they act like the wonderful name of our Lord is behind them.

I’m sick of seeing my online brothers and sisters stress themselves out over dignifying cowardly strangers’s opinions and analyses of what they post on THE INTERNET (which we all know is such a wooooooonderrrrrrful barometer for one’s relationship with the Lord. ughhhhhhh)





And if we talk and such an anon is really bothering you, HIT ME UP cos I WILL GET BEHIND YOU.

Enough of this BS Internet pandering to you strangers who don’t care. We’re each Jesus’s and you don’t get to talk to us like any part of us of our content is yours to tailor. Keep it coming to my friends, if you will, anons. They gonna catch that “support” from me and hopefully you gonna catch that “delete”!





“I talk fast and I edited the lighting cos I couldn’t see myself and I’m new-ish to this I was excited and I don’t know what I’m doing and this poem isn’t about anything specific and it’s random in places (hence why I called it ‘A Slam’) and overall fairly abstract but i did it for me and i really like it and want to share it so enjoy


Sometimes attention fills me like lembas bread,
while other times it drains me like liposuction:
the first - step for my stead -
versus the second - effortless shape and side effects.

Neither you nor I would be divine for the former,
nor satanic for the latter.

I just am.

You just are.

We just be.

My eyes are closed.
Sometimes ego will open my eyes to the movies,
going from black and white to glorious Technicolour,
while other times it will refuse to admit
that adding colour to an image
does not automatically preclude its sequence
from making a terrible, TERRIBLE flick.

Some shelter can conflate the two.
Some obedience can conflate the two.

But attention just is,

and energy just is.


Empathy is a gift, and sometimes receivers are like little pigs.
I myself have been a piglet, I’ll admit it.
I have played the mirror image and not the magnetist.

The magnetist -
he, they or she
of magnet artistry -
understands that sometimes there is neither mirror nor prism,

just magnetism.

There is nothing to manipulate,
or even make, necessarily.
Not all energy you receive reflects you sincerely.

Sometimes there is irony.

'I attract manipulators - so I must be broken or manipulative.’ - you think.
Wrong, dear - you might actually be so straightforward,
so beautiful, so wonderful, so handsome, so pretty, so non-binary in your simplicity,
that some cannot but seek to make you crooked.

What will you do - reshape yourself to make yourself unshapeable?
You cannot preclude this from the manipulator without doing so too for the magnetist.

Why would you do anything for the manipulator anyway?

Well, I guess it is because you are an artist too, dear, and as such you will create.

But a manipulator will not create back for you.

But he will make it seem like you do for him as he does for you.

He will try to create back, front and any other dimension and direction he can get his hands on from you.

He will say he got these dimensions and directions for you, the way a 'gentleman’ might boast to you of the roses he bagged for you, not mentioning that he clipped them from your back garden.

And you will wonder why so many of your roses have gone missing,
and yet not suspect a thing.

The truth, dear, is that, real roses wilt.

All real things do, including intentions.

It’s the thought that counts, for sure,
but it’s the life that lives.
And how will he who claims to love you live when the rose clips are no longer cutting it?

Will he still be a gardener?

Will he still be an artist?

And more importantly, will you?

A fellow artist who loves you will have no desire to shape you,
but to look at you with not just one loving eye,
but two
(unless there has been a sincere turning out of lights),
and you will find that the love in their gaze helps to shape you.
And how wonderful if it is to involve some else in your shape,

but to have the ultimate making left to you.

For you are not a neat positive or negative correlative, dear.
But more than neutral,

You are true,

true to you.”

To they who say “I don’t feel like living anymore...”

I don’t blame you. Living feels like pushing a boulder up a hill, huh? Feels like if you stop pushing it, the boulder will just go on, and it’s like, so what’s the point in pushing it any longer?

I can’t answer that, but I can tell you this: there’s a difference in whether the boulder moves or goes on without you.

The difference is when you’re the one moving the boulder and not nature or someone else, your movements are weathering the boulder in a way that nothing or no one else can do.

And the crazy part is, the boulder may or may not be worth its own weight, but you are.

You’re not the one worthy of the weight of the boulder: life isn’t some test for you.

You’re the test for the boulder, for life, and it’s only worth it because you are.

Your life is more than food, and your body is more than clothes.

It’s not that you have to matter or last: it’s that you do.

I’m not gonna tell you to keep withstanding the boulder: I just pray that the boulder keeps withstanding you.


The more I just sit here and marinate in the Love that has been afforded me, the more I want to cry and follow, out of gratitude. I am loved, and my love is not dead in a grave, but alive and present, here with me, in spirit and in truth, there where spirit and truth are one and the same.

I’m sick of trying to pull Jesus down from the sky to help me, as if he’s some distant deity, when he has left me his Spirit right here on earth to guide me into all goodness. Enough.

I don’t know how to let things end, and because don’t let things end, I will not let them become new. Enough.

He is alive. Enough.

Me: “Lord, here are two swords: my prayers and my insecurities.”
Him: “Friend, you don’t need to fight anymore:


I’m Sorry I’m Like This

I didn’t realise until therapy how much of my life has been apologetics, most namely apologetic for being myself. Feeling the way I feel: explaining it so no one can hate it. Thinking how I think: foreknowing so no one can reject it. And as for my heart? For as much as I’ve opened it up and let it out, for as much warmth as I claim to have given out, I think I’ve only seen the tip of an iceberg.

A Golden Circle: Kingsman At Your Service.

Another name change. From gift-enough to a-golden-circle.


@freshairandspearmint and @thegoldenhourr and Jesus. That’s why.

It’s a lot to do with how my friendship with each of them has gone quite specifically, and only we will know about that, so I can’t give you the full explanation unless Sara and Sarah want to tell it to you like I told it to them.

But basically the name change is in honour of the four of us.

The idea of the golden circle is that a circle is complete, though it’s impossible to know where it starts or ends, and the golden part is about sunshine and shining light and being the light of the world (as well as the salt of the earth), and in our cases through attractiveness, artistry and combos of the two.

The whole thing hits home more if you’ve seen both the Kingsman movies, and if you haven’t seen them I don’t want to spoil it, so I’ll also say that the idea of being a Kingsman is also to do with me being a man of the King (Jesus, in case that wasn’t clear), and to do with the promise that a golden circle would represent (if you think a little about the idea of a circle representing a promise, it should click even if you haven’t seen the movie).

It’s not something I planned. I watched the second movie cos Sara of them wanted me to (that’s another story in and of itself) and by the end, there was a part in the movie where one character speaks to another and it really felt and I really believe that God was speaking to me too. And on the way home, the example of these friends of mine were all I could think about. 

Their golden circle-hood. And His. And mine.

And it comes at quite a time: the day after I, for the first time, began to fully register a series of sexual assaults and harassments done to me over about eleven years, countless times by many strangers - men and women. No rape, but a lot of inappropriate touching, catcalling (honks, ‘hey sexy’s), sexually charged physical intimidation, most if not all of it to do with being a black male.

And now, after seeing this movie and honouring my friends, I see that I am as much a black man as I am a circle, as I was a black man when I was a void.

And thus name change.



Yooooo this feels very ‘Shadrach, Meschach and Abednego and fourth man in the fire’ and I didn’t even realise until after writing all this. OMG! 

And then golden circles in fire??
Attractiveness, visibility (or lack thereof)?? 
Refined by fire??

OMG this is getting biblical and Tolkienesque. Mannnnnnnnn!

Do Not Reblog Please, But Oh Boy Here Goes

Okay so in case you’re new to following me or just don’t know, I just want to say something about myself that I am becoming less ashamed to disclose. Not totally there yet, but becoming:

I am asexual.

I’ve had a bunch of anons ask me in the past, and a bunch of my friends know. But like I’ve been acting like it’s not important to me to say. And it is.

I am asexual.

I don’t know how often or how much I’ll be comfortable talking about it on this site.

I’ve even said it once before, but very off-handedly.

But now I’m saying it, though not in a way that’s as ‘out’ as I ‘want’ to be (still figuring that out).

Asexual. Demisexual. Heterosexual. Sapiosexual. All spectrums applicable to my sexuality. (Not gonna go into romantic and sensual lineations just yet.)

I’m unlearning both obligation and I’m unlearning shame about all this. And that includes the need to write an essay to back myself or explain myself or prove myself or be comprehensive or even in-depth about it.

No, I have no intention of putting it in my bio either. I have no intention of making a statement for it, or being the token queer friend, or being your representation of asexuality. Cos I’m none of those things.

I’m just a guy who loves Jesus, who’s inspiring said guy to open up just a little bit more.

Idk if you know about “Lazarus, come out!”

I feel the Lrod been “Matthias, come out!”-ing me quite intensely lately.

And it scares me but I love it, and I love Him more than my fear.

Some here I am. Out-ish.

This isn’t comprehensive. This isn’t a forum for discussion. I’m just walking out of the tomb, taking off the grave clothes and going. Whether this appears in the story of my gospel again, I’ll never know.

But it’s here now, so here I am out, even if it’s only for a moment. Even if only ish.

So if I talk about it anymore or don’t talking about it anymore, it’s my choice.

But yes:

I am asexual, and it feels good to say, even if I might never say it again.