Meeting Tremaine Emory

Serge Becker introduced me to a lot of people personally, including the iconic Maripol (read: Serving Looks, Serving Maripol) and Supreme’s creative director Tremaine Emory (then they’d sit in my section for me to serve them). Tremaine, Serge, and someone I can’t remember, came for dinner. When Serge introduced him I had NO idea who he was, or what he did. Tremaine was polite, jovial and instantly took a liking to me, complimenting my look. Perceptual, it was my style and swagger that made him guess I’m a native New Yorker.
“You from here aren’t you?”
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“I could just tell. I’m a native too.”
“Ahhh that’s rare nowadays,” I replied.
“Yeah it is. Where’d you grow up?”
“The Upper East Side.”
“Oh wow. I’m from Jamaica Queens. You’ve been there before?”
“Yeah, to go to the airport.”
“Never to hang out?,” he asked.
“No, I mean…what would I really be doing over there, if I’m not going to the airport? It’s mad far and there’s not much to do…” I trailed off. Looking back I see why Serge wore a nervous expression, I kind of dissed where Tremaine came from. However my tone and candor sent Tremaine roaring with laughter.
“You right,” he said genuinely doubled over, laughing from his gut. Taking his cue the rest of them followed suit, myself included. Real talk there’s nothing going on in Jamaica Queens, for me to travel hours to hang out in a known ghetto. Like what…

Throughout the night he carried on conversation. He spoke to me as if I known him. I think he, like Serge, was happy that the greatness of New York’s old school, art, socialite, rock n’ roll, hip hop, cool kids, didn’t go extinct due to gentrification. The luminaries, the visionaries, that make this place great, are still being churned out, passing on the culture.
I found out Tremaine is major af during the pandemic, upon seeing him appear in photos with all these people. He left a great tip (unlike some), and I’m honored to have met him. Thank you for calling Kanye the coon out. He is gone, no longer a black leader, or idol, but a soulless vessel. He sold his to the devil, after joining that racist coven (Kardashian Jenner’s, Kekel Kardashian was real). He’s a completely different person now. May we mourn what was, while I destroy what is. Via: Eyes Mag

Teaching Manners, Respect, Boundaries

Karma always comes, I’m going to learn you all. Sometimes you are the lesson and need to teach people lessons they’ll never forget. When was the last time you taught someone manners, boundaries, respect? Via: Pagan Potions

The Devil Always Comes To Collect

But Addie knows too well now, knows that these stories are full of foolish humans doing foolish things, warning tales of gods and monsters and greedy mortals who want too much, and then fail to understand what they’ve lost. Until the price is paid, and it’s too late to claim it back. Never pray to the gods who answer after dark.

Via: Daily Mail

The Elusive Anna Wintour

“Anna Wintour lives next door you know,” Kelsey, the big haired, big breasted, stout cashier informed me.
“Shut. Up. You’re lying!” I replied astounded. The Anna Wintour, of Vogue Magazine, the first and last word in fashion.
“Yeah, I’ve seen her a few times and she always just stares at me disapprovingly. I feel so self-conscious every time I see her, she always looks me up and down frowning.”
Noted, my level of anxiety skyrocketing at the prospect of being on the receiving end of a fashion don’t. She’s notorious for her unyielding critics, but I hadn’t figured it transferred off glossy print pages to pedestrians. The Devil Wears Prada scene where Meryl Streep drags Anne Hathaway (over a cerulean sweater) was a real moment for Kelsey, a look saying it all. The scars remain, heard in her intonation as she told the story.

One.
The first time I saw Anna Wintour I was heading over to Melvin’s Cafe from the main restaurant, Miss Lily’s. There she was standing on the sidewalk as I walked in her direction. Wearing a white floral dress and signature shades. Rocking one dangling gold double triangular earring, a maroon skirt with slits on both sides, and a sleeveless black and white vertical striped shirt, that buttoned downed to tie at the bottom, a gold necklace, that had pendulum shaped pieces hanging, I freak out internally. Upon seeing me she moves back in surprise. It was a wordless exchange, her face conveying shock. Not only because she approved of my look, from bantu knots to heeled booties, but that I worked at such an establishment. Unable to control my facial expressions my eyes widen with joy. A sign of the future friendship I always imagined.
Pulling the door to enter Melvin’s, I take one last look in case I never get the chance again. A man exits his vehicle, handing her a package. Taking it, she enters her townhouse.
“OMG,” I screech seeing Kelsey behind the juice bar counter, “I just saw Anna Wintour!”
“You did? Told you. Did she give you a disgusted look?”
“NO! She liked my outfit!!”
“Oh, wow,” Kelsey says disheartened. In all fairness Kelsey in her Hawaiian shirts, loose fitting clothes and plain face made no effort, which is part of why she was relegated to the cafe as a cashier. She didn’t have the look, sexy, colorful, skimpy, to be a server at Miss Lily’s; the hierarchy was real. Despite not seeing eye to eye, the owners and Anna agreed on Kelsey’s ranking.

Two.
I’m in a rush. Although my tardiness had no consequences, I hate being even close to late. However, I ran out of eyeliner as I was about to start my second lid! Meaning I had to make a pitstop at CVS, where the line was too damn long. It’s the dead of winter, the sidewalks are runways with room for only one person to walk at a time. A strip of dry pavement is exposed, both sides covered by frozen, mounted snow and garbage. Lo and behold, as I’m about to traverse this obstacle course, Anna Wintour is pacing back and forth at the end of this makeshift runway. As if breaking in these over the thigh, leather, heeled boots weren’t enough, I have to walk for Anna without busting my ass. Not only would I be humiliated, I’d have to walk pass her afterwards.
Pairing another floral dress with a white jacket, cellphone to ear, shades on, Anna senses me and what does she do? She fucking stops to judge. Standing at the almost end of this runway, she faces me. Glaring. My heart literally seizes, then pounds against my ribcage. Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Only. Fucking. Me. Thanking God for throwing on my oversized Chloé sunglasses on a sunless day (had she seen my uneven eye makeup I’d be mortified), I walk, having no choice.
Balmain fur over a red dress that connects in the front, with a cutout back and sides, I catwalk for her eyes only. She stares. Starts to smile. Catches herself. Goes back to stoic. Then as a gesture of her approval, she makes room for me to get by, sans stepping on piled snow. Had I failed she would not have done so. This is a moment I’ll cherish forever. An actual highlight of my life, unlike some, I didn’t have to pay a million bucks for Anna’s validation (hi Kanye).

Three.
Halloween 2019. I finally left the apartment Genc Jakupi setup to have me spied on. I hated everyone there, especially lying, delusional, talentless Mallory, the girl I sublet from. His former The Box employee. Mallory who got us temporarily evicted, spending our rent money on a music video she made for Youtube. Had I not gotten word, we would have come home to locked doors the next day. She owed $5000. I made it so we could take what we needed while the issue was resolved. I digress.
Celebrating the thinning veil, Nani and I are dressed up. She’s an angel and I’m Dominque Deveraux. A wig, a skin tight, cream dress, backless, braless, a crossed string drawing attention to my spine. Walking down the street I see a woman dressed as Anna.
“Yes bitch, you’re Anna Wintour! You look major honey, major down to the bob. Work bitch, workkkkkk, yasss. You nailed it!”
The woman laughs, gripping my arm and tells me, “You look beautiful, absolutely beautiful,” she squeezes my arm while appraising me.
“See Anna I told you going out would be fun,” a scantily clad brunette says emerging from their shared cab, a blonde lady following behind her.
“Wait what! OMG you’re actually Anna Wintour!!! Omg stop!!!! I can’t!”
My eyes are bulging in pure disbelief. She’s literally wearing a bobbed wig, dressed up as herself. The color two fractions lighter than her own, her attire a dress and a dark caramel coat. She touches me a few more times, laughing her ass off before entering Indochine. Third times a charm, we were meant to be.

So I thought. Now I realize she tokenizes us, or is she just evil? Meeting her in person, meeting her standards, then seeing her allow the gutter rats known as the Kardashian Jenner West family to lower her standards. A family built on sex tapes, black magic, lies, an empire made of cards, no talent, no style, Kanye paid for her to care. To hear and experience her racism…there’s a great chasm between the two and I’m trying to fill the void.
Wasn’t L’wren Scott your friend? Why were you aiding big faced, small brained, ungrateful, mediocre, jail and hell bound Georgia May Jagger?
All I know is it’ll be handled accordingly. I’ll love those moments forever, then again I adored all the people who are now enemies. Via: Miss Lily’s





Normalize You Inspire Me

Stealing, imitating, trying to be, taking bits of people’s personality, then pretending it’s your own while disrespecting, hating, or throwing shade at the same person is weirdo shit. There are people I know who confuse my cool with their own just cause I’m in their presence, people who wouldn’t even be where they are had they never met me, and still have the audacity. When someone inspires me I tell them, I thank them, that’s the difference. You see it in my blessings, which your jealousy can’t stop. Start giving people the credit they deserve. Only herb ass weirdos pull the aforementioned behavior, the truly mundane, provincial, unoriginal. Boring and basic is not the vibe, which doesn’t mean you steal from stars pretending their light is yours. Can’t stand it, won’t tolerate it.

As a culture, this is all black people experience. People calling it ghetto then ripping it off. When you see other black people aiding these clowns, or following their behavior it’s abhorrent. Uncle Tom’s are the reason they think it’s okay to treat us as subhuman. When in reality we’re the blueprint of humanity. It’s unacceptable and will be handled. The slaves who tried to keep us on the plantation were the most dangerous. Name three people to thank for helping you be you. Via: The Very Black Project

Educate The Idiots

Teach these kids, some ignorant commenter asked, “Can you even name five Prince songs?” Nigga…I said are we including songs he’s written for other artists, or just the songs he performed? Like little boy, know your place please. Are you out of your mind? That’s Prince, the icon, the innovator, the legend. How dare you? There aren’t anymore stars, just spectacles and stars yielding to spectacles. That’s why I told VH1, E and MTV to remind this dingbats of their iconography. Thank God I’m here to save the dying breed of what little smatter of stars we have left and right these wrongs. That’s why there’s no originality, especially due that trash satanic family, the Kardashian Jenner West coven and friends. You hoes are finished.

Give me Michael Jackson dangling Blanket over the balcony, give me James Brown driving with a busted tire across two states, give me Whitney Houston crack is cheap…these spectacles are boring, manufactured drama is lame. I’m the only one delivering, that’s why they’re copying me. I’m going to give you a show you’ll never forget. Bye influencers, talentless hacks and the idiotic talent who followed behind them. This is Armageddon, spoiler alert I win. They literally have you dressing up like demons in all black and face masks. The absence of light, look at Kanye’s Gap collection (I miss the old Kanye, that was a star). They’re taking souls to hell, believing they’ll be rulers, the rulers are set, you’re just another tricked batched of idiots. Enjoy your time. Amber Rose was peak Kanye.

The people are gonna love me, now I know why two of my spirit guides are such, people loved them too, both were compassionate. I digress. Can you name five Prince songs, artists he’s written for included? Via: Lost Boys And Girls86

My History With Terell Ephron AKA Asap Relli

Just perplexed. As you know I’ve been working smart not hard, spending two plus years documenting evil Hollywood’s cruelty towards me. Shout out to my nigga Mr. Marino, RIP. In my first legal battle (against Blue Smoke) he taught me paper trail everything. At one point my sister and I spent every day in his law office on the Upper West Side, Marino & Veneziano in elementary school. Mostly we’d sit in the basement watching Full House episodes. My stepdad worked for him in renovations and construction. Other times on shorter visits we’d sit upstairs like clients, listening to the attorneys around us, flipping through dark mahogany binders with large rings, filled with legal jargon. I know those times taught me the UWS over anything else in New York City architecture, to Howard Roark’s chagrin. The Fountainhead protagonist, a hero of mine, would much prefer Hudson Yards, or Via West 57th. I think those days also instilled a love of law, now that I’m writing this. Wow.
His advice changed my life on numerous occasions.

On July 3rd 2021 I wrote on ASAP Rocky’s now archived post regarding knowing mutual people. Naomi Campbell lied on behalf of Genc & Binn Jakupi, my former Miss Lily’s bosses, disseminating false information about myself. Pretending to know me she spread malicious lies that I was a call girl, older than my 33 years, didn’t grow up on the Upper East Side and God knows what else (read Genc Jakupi, Naomi Campbell & Jordan Barrett (2/2) & Karma Alway’s Comes Featuring Miss Lily’s). Terell Ephron aka ASAP Relli, was one of the names I mentioned in my comment above, under my instagram name itsjqboo. He lived in the projects of Yorkville, The Issacs, which my friends and I walked avenues down to hang out in.

Julia Fox wasn’t lying when she said from penthouses to projects, the cool kids hung out with the other cool kids no matter where, in search of endless adventure.

I first met Terell in tenth grade when he came up to us in front of Delizia 92, one of the many pizza places we frequented. He had on circular glasses like Arthur and the most outlandish, superfluously large, and bright orange bubble jacket any of us had ever seen. He handed us a business card with a dime bag stapled to the back, proffering himself as our new drug dealer. He was nerdy af, but nice, as he became more successful his swagger and ridiculousness increased. Long story short he was about fuckery. Like truly the worst drug dealer I’ve ever had to this day. I have flashbacks of him wasting hours, upon hours of our time, waiting as he told countless lies. At first he was great, then he started smoking weed, turning into those melted Truth commercial couch creatures.
“Terell where are you? I’m here.”
“Yo what’s goody? I’m on the corner.”
“No you’re not, because I’m on the corner looking at all four corners and I don’t see you.”
“Hahahaha,” he laughed in his monotonous stoner idiot voice “Ight, I’m coming now.”

30 minutes (to an hour sometimes) later…

After repeating this cycle in a series of phone calls, from multiple people, he finally appears brushing his waves obsessively. He had an unrequited crush on Paulina, my amazonian Polish friend, try as he might she didn’t like him. Until that summer hanging out at Nick’s (the Soho House Killer) penthouse apartment he hooked up with my other friend Lauren, a beautiful black girl. This prompted Paulina to do the same. Terell caused a civil war, all of us siding with Lauren until it was resolved.
“Why did you bleep his bleep?” Lauren asked.
“Honestly, because I was jealous,” Paulina answered.

Wowwwwwwwwwwwwww……what do you even say to that? It was fucked up, but her candor was major. Amends made, Terell and Lauren carried on with him wasting her time and her acting insane. Dickmatizism is a real addiction. Her entire day revolved around this nigga, singing to his window from across the street while we looked on, stalking him and ducking behind cars when we inevitable found him with somebody else, him refusing to commit, pregnancy scares, then the college years her refusing to commit, becoming a lesbian…ENOUGH, ENOUGH!

Like honestly you guys don’t even understand. Just reminiscing I hate them both, but especially him. This is why we made her steal weed from him. Terell is a central figure of my youth, I ran into him last summer.

When Lauren showed us the exclusive Purple Swag video at Barnes & Noble we didn’t believe Asap was a genuine artist, despite Lauren’s pleas, because of Terell. So why Asap Rocky would try to murder him four months after I told him I knew him boggles my fucking mind. Did you do it to disrespect me? To spite me? Because you’re stupid as fuck or something? You’re hanging on by my love of Rihanna. I’m the only divine, you’ve seen my work. I’m wrathful, yet I’ve let many of your antics with Kanye slide because of Rihanna. Whatever you did to him, you better fucking fix it. Murder…? Someone I know? I’ve shown you nothing but kindness. Then for these insolent uneducated street rats to say he’s snitching, because you betrayed him and tried to kill him, shut the fuck up. Are you fucking insane boy? I’ll be posting about Terell and the Soho House Killer tomorrow. Via: Asap Rocky Instagram

Alvin Bragg Is A Felon

Case: Melanie deformed Hamrick, brings screenshots of messages I sent to multiple troll accounts she was stalking me on, paying Alvin Bragg to press charges for stalking, harassment and threatening her life. Why pay? Between Trump and this there’s no way he isn’t getting money. Why else would he risk his career and freedom? I, as a goddess of justice knew Melanie, who I blocked, would do this. I set her up for what she did to L’Wren Scott, in fact there was a feather in the room next to me at the precinct. Feathers are signs from the heavens of protection, that you’re on the right path (amongst other symbolic meanings). Confirmation that Melanie uneven chin, thin lipped, ugly eyed, deformed nose, with no body, no career, no style Hamrick, was going to jail. As I promised her. Good things come to those who co-create and wait. I needed to confirm these accounts were hers, since she confesses slash incriminates herself for murder, stalking and rape. Indeed she did with this case.

Alvin Bragg I was told by my lawyer (who I kept to keep an eye on), panders to celebrities. Now he’s realizing Melanie is a nobody, and he’s going to jail for it on the following felonious charges:

1. Failure to disclose exculpatory evidence: anyone investigating be it a detective, or lawyer, is legally required to share any evidence proving the defendant innocent. It’s all over my Instagram, Facebook and blog, that she was stalking me from Spring 2021. I documented it publicly. These are the same sources they used for the case, there’s no excuse. Furthermore, when I was interrogated not only did the detective not read me my Miranda rights (meaning anything I said is inadmissible in court), I told him those were all troll accounts and I blocked her. He didn’t ask me to show him, knowing Insta allows you to have several accounts (since he made sure to get both of mine) and allows you to block people. He’ll also be sued and imprisoned.
After I told him, Melanie went back and he still didn’t investigate properly, by asking which accounts my messages were sent to. Nor did he ask why she didn’t block me. When you dm someone the top of the screen shows who you’re speaking to. Knowing you’re allowed multiple accounts on Insta, it’s their job to do their due diligence by asking for the bottom part. You know that little circle that shows which account you’re logged into upon receiving said messages.

2. Misconduct: he mismanaged an investigation and was negligent. It’s his job as the district attorney to investigate properly and throughly, as you can see above he didn’t. He tried to set a protected citizen up. He’s a fat felon like detective Gustavo Paul. He also refused to subpoena Melanie’s accounts, although she admitted the troll accounts are hers. He had enough time to research that Min Jin Lee is one of my favorite authors, but missed the evidence of my innocence on the same blog. Criminal.

3. Violating my civil rights: as a black person and a woman I’m a protected citizen. Meaning he’s in deep shit. I was not treated fairly. Their jobs are to do an unbiased investigation, not listen to a white woman lie, then try to force me to plead to something I didn’t do. Clink clink big boy.

4. Deformation Per Se: Alvin Bragg charged me based on false evidence. I’m suing him, that ugly bitch Melanie, the arresting officer and the city for this one. You tried to make people think an innocent person was a criminal. Defamation is ruining someone’s reputation with false accusations, per se is added to the definition when an innocent person is implicated in illegal activities aka charged. C’est moi.

5. Malversation: when someone in a position of trust, usually in public office, abuses their power. He did it with Trump, he did it to me, he did it to others and if the universe didn’t send him my way, he’d do it again.

6. Violating my first amendment rights: the first amendment gives every citizen the right to free speech and press. I can say whatever the fuck I want to someone who is stalking and harassing me on troll accounts. Melanie isn’t doing business as under these accounts, they’re made to stalk and harass people like me and Noor. I did my part by blocking her, stopping her from communicating with me and my friends (who she started ating). Furthermore, I never threatened that soon to be dead murder rape baby. Not only did I let Mick Jagger decide his fate by asking him to get custody, I simply stated the terms of Melanie’s deal with the devil. That boy was created out of a soul sell, murder, rape, he will return from whence he came. I can say L’Wren is going take him if I fucking want you fat fuck. Btw she’s not, he will not incarnate again. He’s hell bound like the others, with a shortened lifespan. Which as evidenced here I tried to prevent, but Mick is a misogynist and thought me an idiot. Now look. If the evidence I uncovered were lies Melanie would have been able to sue me for defamation, but she couldn’t. I got her to incriminate herself. Who the fuck are you to tell me I can’t tell the truth? That I can’t have free speech you Uncle Tom? You pander to black people for our votes and our money like Kanye, then you Emmett Till us.

7. Perjury: submitting false evidence or oral statements to people in official rankings, to the court, to the cops, is illegal. Had she been doing business as under those accounts, where anyone who stumbles upon them know it’s affiliated with her that’s different. Had she blocked me and I kept making accounts to harass an ugly loser that’s different. None of those things happened. They were made aware that I never messaged her since he went to Instagram on May 12th, saw that I blocked her and still tried to build a case. Once he realized he didn’t have one, he stalled avoiding trial, thinking I’d be pressured if he threw in jail time. Nigga, I been trying to go to trial from the beginning. Had you had real evidence you would have already done it. You tried to add duress in order to frame an innocent person. When I refused his prosecutor Jesse Williams walked passed me in the court hallway so pissed off. This was his last hope in saving his ass, I called his bluff. You must be the dumbest person thinking you’d get away with it. He also lied in court on May 30th saying he wasn’t aware Melanie was still stalking/communicating with me violating the protective order, thank God I tagged him, the governor, and many others before that date documenting he did in fact know.

8. Accessory to murder: since Melanie admitted those troll accounts are hers, and she admitted to murdering L’Wren on one, Alvin is now an accessory to murder. This whole time he’s been trying to cover up the murder of L’Wren Scott. Boy is he gonna be serving time.

9. Violation of privacy: due to my social media accounts and blog being public, all the evidence there can be accessed by anyone. He had no right to subpoena anything. He publicized me in a false light and unnecessarily violated my privacy.

10. Duress: meaning you try to coerce someone to go against their better judgment, or freewill using force. He illegally tried to get me to sign a plea deal by threatening me (qualifier of duress) with prison time, to a crime I didn’t commit. Knowing I have PTSD adds a psychological pressure, another qualifier of duress. Looks like the only person doing jail time is you, Melanie, Jesse Williams and Detective Gustavo Paul. All of you are going to hell with shortened lifespans. Thank Melanie and your negligence, or you would have known. Enjoy your time, the way I’ll enjoy your money and imprisonment. Remember the devil always comes to collect. Via: The New York Times

Storing It Gets Heavy, Speak Up!

Since childhood I’ve had trouble using my voice if it means protecting others. Even if they were bad to me. I didn’t want to upset anyone, ruin families, friendships, careers. I thought this toxic trait was dismantled, but it’s not. This lesson was necessary, I never put myself first. These people don’t deserve protection, I DO. They don’t give af about my needs, why should I care about their’s? That’s done now. The therapist said stand up to what’s causing this. I’m not ruining their lives, they are, by being predators, racist, bullies, sexist, complicit…I cannot wait until this is over, so I can be alone, go on vacation. Always taking care of someone else, always saving people. People put me on the back burner, because I put me on the back burner.

True colors is what I’ve seen. My objective in therapy is to get over my PTSD, mainly my concern this will happen again. For years now I’ve been trapped, no one should feel this way. No one’s going to steal my joy, replacing it with trauma. May you all burn in hell, but before you go I’ll give you memorable moments. You will all rue the day that you fucked with me, or aligned against me. Good luck. Athena. Are you standing up for yourself, or storing it? Where does it stem from? Artist: Sky Banyes

I Am Not Your Mammy

Mick Jagger told me I’m more powerful than him, and do more for this world than he did. I didn’t believe him. Now I see. That’s before he changed. I’m not anyone’s mammy, or accessory. I’m a goddess and the star. If you don’t want to be exposed don’t racially troll, or bully people, don’t abuse people or align with it. It’s my time to rise in this season of karmic justice, if I show you mercy, you will do my bidding in the future, appearing when I ask, where I ask. May all women, especially black women, feel empowered by breaking the chains of patriarchy. May all people, especially the oppressed, break the chains of the oppressors. Freedom is a human right. What happened to me is unacceptable, I have a disorder due to it. I will hold all parties accountable. There will be no peace in death you are hell bound. I never wanted to be famous, the way people obsess over me scares me. I have no choice, at least I can get security. I give and give and save. Now it’s my time to think about myself, my vacation, my legacy. Now you see what’s to come, where did you align? I’ve given enough time. Times up. Via: VivienLeighLegend