How to Become a Sponge

She absorbs her surroundings and calls it nourishment.

She absorbs her meaning in her mother’s broken promises.

She absorbs her identity from ghost with no context.

She absorbs light from lack.

She absorbs indiscriminately.

She absorbs strength from the sickly.

She absorbs through open sores and calls them scars.



…for the art of it



Tangled Here


Here at the bottom of my existence I sit comfortably uncomfortable.

Here locked and bound and free, this gilded cage comforts my thoughts, my dreams, my misinterpretations of misunderstandings.

Here I wait for you to catch me. Will you sink low enough? Can you?

Here tangled and unbothered we wait for…

Say It Slow

What the hell is Say It Slow? Well truthfully it is a challenge for me to see if all of the little closeted freaks out there will come out and share some of their kinky thoughts with me in a sexy room called the Grotto at the Rendezvous in Seattle, WA. (2322 2nd Ave, Seattle, WA 98121)

Say It Slow flyer (1)-1

Why, well mostly because I like writing erotica, and feel I would write more of it if I found others who also enjoyed it. Now, this is a VERY broad definition, this “erotica” that I speak of. Sometimes it is a simple poem about eye contact. Other times it can be a play by play of your adventures from the night before that inspired you to write a song. We all have those thoughts written on napkins then tucked away deep in the corners of our wallets, only to be remembered as a thought. Yes, bring those, bring all of those.  Oh, you don’t have anything written, but you want to come and play anyway, NO PROBLEM. Starting at 5:00pm I will be hosting a guided writing happy hour upstairs in the Velvet Lounge to get you all lubed up for the show! So if nothing else, come out and have a drink and write with this guy…


This monthSPECIFICALLY I am super excited that my friend and writer crush Anastacia Tolbert will be our feature “erotiq specialist” (said in some sort of accent). Through one word conversations she inspires pieces like this little gem:

Dirty Chai.


I find pleasure in foam

the topping before the hard shit

Before the bitter sting

the spicy do-nots and dos

the unmistakable blend of just right and right now

with lingering coffee grinds and cinnamon waste

I waste not

so I tip my tongue in room temperature temptation

finding simple pleasure in complex aromas

Slowly I release my senses

and dive into dirty chai.


Yep, that was T-TOTALLY inspired by the subtle flame that is Anastacia. She will be reading from her newest book Answer (Me).



Anastacia Tolbert

So join us this Wednesday September 27th with your lusty and loving stories, poems, and songs to Say It Slow.

Ooh Ooh Ooh I forgot one thing. Advance tickets are only $5. So, yes, go on and get them in advance, they will be $10 at the door.

Say It Slow Tickets



Revisit,Rewrite,then spill

I often get inspired by the photographers that I work with. Sometimes I visit their work and wish that the photos were not of me, but taken by me, so that I would not look so egotistical by surrounding myself with them. I honestly get bored of looking at myself. Anyway, when I am not “being over” myself I get inspired by minute details of a photo that I may have missed before, or a line from a random “napkin poem” makes it’s way to my consciousness, while updating my portfolio, then PADOW! I’m newly inspired for another five minutes and I try to catch it and this time, fortunately actually blog it.

So, that was a lot of build up for my “napkin poem photographer envy,” but here is the result. I forced myself to write the first sentence of the book, poem, script, I am going to write. This was it.

“Northwest Invasive Plants” -this is a working title lol

Black chipped nail polish lazily slathered a top mermaid blue, also chipped. Half shadowed by manicured evergreens, an invasion. Northwest black beauty, blackberry. Thorns red, and blistering into shiny tips awaiting a frail lacey breeze to tangle, squeeze, juice the sweetest ever tasted, spilled drop by drop onto  own leaves.

She Spills


Shout out to Byrd Waters for a random rainy day photo date.



…for the art of it

“Whitewashed”- A new act

Last week I had the honor of performing with Sinner Saint Burlesque at Theatre off Jackson, in “Revolution.” When I was approached about doing a race piece with a primarily white burlesque group, I thought it would be a great way to open up some honest dialogue about race. Though as I began to create the work I began wanting to talk and “process” less, and just wanted to go through the experience of being constantly bombarded with whiteness as if it is my cultural norm right there on stage. What imprint do you leave with someone when you make it clear that who THEY are is “other” and they should adjust accordingly? Well that is what this piece “Whitewashed” is all about.

Artistic Description:

This race thing, this abstraction of identity, this white as right, this Becky and pumpkin spice, this fetishized, this held down, this stolen exotic, this thick is healthy, this privilege, this Mr. Master, translucent truth, this reflection, this here and now not then and there, this them not me, this race thing.”

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All photos by Mandy Flame

…for the art of it

Erotic Beginnings

I am challenging myself to write more. I say that I want to, but rarely do I actually it down and take the time to do it. Usually I give myself about 30 minutes of concentrated time, and whatever comes out during that time period is all there is. No edits, no revisiting, nothing. So I figured I should commit to one style of writing for a week and see what happens. So for the past few days I have been writing erotic stories and poems, just to get my juices flowing, pun intended. It happened to actually be the beginning of something really nice, in my opinion, so I thought I would share. It is truly a work in progress and may or may not be extended, cut, or turned into a performance piece at a later date. Enjoy!

Cargo Shorts and Boxerbriefs

Her “get it girl” thunder striking pavement like matches, she’s breathtaking.  I have never seen a twitch of hips so elegantly downplayed by vegan boots, she’s stunning. Her Aura cascading around her, and interrupting my breath.

Catching it only to loose it again as I sputter some nonsense about the weather, I mean her eyes, I meant to say, hi.

Her uncomfortable laugh somehow untying my tongue, and we find common language amongst awkward beginnings. Somehow this was endearing. Somehow, her “get it girl” and my “sorry I spilled my drink on your shirt” were moving off the pavement.

Her thunder molds soil into promises then washes away her tracks before I notice we have taken another step. In sync, I think. She’s staring at me, through me actually, but not past me, definitely through me, to me.


Way past greetings, but I feel I have been reunited with my _________ from another life. I believe we may have been different parts of the same leg, I believe, I ‘m talking to myself when “get it girl” thunder is gracing me with her presence.



I was heading to a coffee shop to send off some emails, but none of that seems nearly as important as the pressing deadlines would have you believe. I am pressed nonetheless. Thunder is usually a sign that it is time to stay still for a moment and let the storm past. Thunder is the sound of hunger in my belly when presented with a delectable offering, so I’m staying put. I’m famished.

Off the pavement, the grass is sparse, but effective. We ground effortlessly, mindfully, intentionally, deeply, we ground deeply. She talks in a heavy whisper that I have to lean in to hear. Her breath of beets and celery, salty and sweet…deep. I inhale deeply, and she moves in with  my breath.  I start to fidget with the pockets on my cargo shorts, seeking a distraction, she’s to close. She’s to close, and she doesn’t know, and she will be disappointed, and I can’t keep up this charade. Her thumb on my third eye brings me back into this grounding on sparse grass.

She smooths the frown lines from my forehead and closes her eyes. I watch her take her time to connect. I watch her see me. She sees me. Now understanding, she takes my hand and puts it on her heart. It is on fire, my hands turn red from the intensity, and it sends a buzzing sensation up my arm. When I try to remove my hand she arches back so that it floats down her sternum. The silence before the storm is beautifully maddening. My fingers rest on the belt loops of her baggy jeans, and I give a playful tug. It’s clear neither of us have ever been on this side of the fence.

I quickly release my grasp of her reality and search my pockets for distractions again. As I finger through loose change I dip into a softness I am embarrassed to recognize and even more embarrassed to retreat from. She senses my shift of consciousness and leans over to investigate. Before I can readjust the source of her intrigue, she slips her hand in my pocket and smiles. I look away shyly as her hand vacates my pocket. When I turn to face her again I am greeted with melted dark chocolate dipped fingertips to my lips, and without thinking I lick them. When she does not pull them away immediately, I return to lick them again, more intentionally, more leading. She traces my lips leaving behind chocolate covered possibilities. Before her fingers depart I gently take them into my mouth and hold them lightly between my teeth. Licking between each finger, around her nail beds, and suckling away residue of reason, of our venture into where the grass is sparse.

More like my reflection than my partner, I am not sure the two can coexist. She assures me they can, and should, and are about to, with a knowing glance. We both bring thunder back to the pavement and walk with purpose to the abandoned building around the corner. The vandalized walls and deteriorating doorway give a preeminent danger warning. We climb through a boarded up window that clearly spoke to other explorers before us. Inside, the day peeks through the holes in the roof and sends lattice shadows across her face. She looks at me through the solar display and licks her lips. We are no longer what we are perceived to be. Her broad shoulders soften and her gait sways as she walks towards me. I lean against an old refrigerator and she traps me there with hands on either side of my head. As she leans in, two primal beings reveal themselves.

I grab her locs and pull her head back forcefully as I take her neck between my teeth, my lips, then teeth again. She growls and I pacify her with a kiss.

She is not use to being taken.

I lift her by her thighs so that she straddles my waist, and we kiss our way to the rickety table in the corner. She pushes me away forcefully. I went to far, comfort does not conform readily. The silent space between her shoving me away and her quick spin to turn and lay her chest on the table with her arms sprawled out in front of her seemed like a lifetime. Maybe it has been a while.

I part her locs with prayer hands and wrap each handful around each hand for leverage. Pelvises mirroring white water rapids, I’m glad I thought ahead, “leverage.” Her arched back strong , thick with muscle, and flexed expertly like an aimed bow and arrow. She shoots, and hits her target again and again, she is cruel and relentless, and I like it. A trickle of sweat begins to collect right above her boxer briefs, and the weight of her hips bounce the droplets down around her waist.

Synchronized. I know longer need reins to navigate through her terrain, I release her locs, and she melts back onto the table. She turns around and pushes me again. This time harder, this time repeatedly, this time I push her back. Shoving becomes grabbing, becomes wrestling. she pins me to the floor with her knee at my throat and each of my legs gripped between each of her her biceps and forearms. I resist,  but I don’t want to escape.

…for the art of it


Sketchbook No. 7

Prince, my first lover.

He didn’t mind being she, so there was we.

And we were magical.

We caught hate between our teeth and sang it into love.

When we laughed, we, he,me,

were toe to toe, clit,head, shaft, lips.

Her was strong and he was soft, perhaps both they.

They were in love, were in awe of each other’s

more, less, yes, no, magic, science,bio, metro, ooh’s and ahh’s.

Sitting pretty in the middle of the kinsey scale,

so let’s call it a pass or fail and commit to not knowing.

Never knowing.

My he, his she, us, we.

This  energy.

Rest in Peace.


…for the art of it.



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Byrd Cage


My chest is too tight

so leave me to my own unraveling.

Your single thread hold has nothing on my decades of  undoing

of self, from the outside in.

Charmed into your vortex

disguised as maturity, mistaken for care,

reminded of all of the __________ before you.

My chest is too tight and my breath is short.

I don’t need your help dying

I know how deep to cut, I’ve done this before

Your dull blade is cruel.

You insist.

My chest is too tight, my breath is short, and you are heavy.

I hold this weight in my throat,

careful not to swallow, not to regurgitate.

Choking on the tight, short, heavy.

Cutting the string with the dull blade.


Byrd Cage

Photo Credit: Byrd waters



…for the art of it.

Namii Returns to Seattle

It has been almost two years since I last stepped foot in Seattle, and I am too excited about my return. I must give most of the credit for my return to Sinner Saint Burlesque. They sought me out after hearing about my one womyn show, “Swing,” that debuted in 2014. They had been following my work and invited me to perform for their Forces of Nature show!!!!


Since I am going to be in Seattle I figured it would be a great opportunity to work with two collaborators that I absolutely adore. Imani Sims and Briq House! Imani is so awesome she even offered part of the proceeds of her Afrofuturism show to go towards helping out Earth Pearl Collective.

Tuesday TeaseWait, wait, wait, that’s not all! I am super excited about another show that I will be doing while I am in the area, Tuesday Tease. This show will give me the opportunity to perform with a live band. Whaaaaaaaaaat?!?! Since I have the advantage of live music I have to bring you some Broadway to the stage.




Now I could not come all the way across the country and not stay for a few extra projects, so I am also booking several photoshoots and figure drawing classes in the area. I do have a few slots left, so if you or someone you know is looking to do something new, please hit me up!


…for the art of it.