Dear World

Please Kill Me,

There’s a calm that takes over… a spark of ambient yearning that bursts into a comforting flame—illuminating the darkest corners of my mind and brightening the most luminous traces of thought with such detail that I could almost see it. 

I CAN FEEL IT. 

I CAN TASTE IT. 

It’s all laid out in front of me like a buffet of ideas that stretches to the razor’s edge of my purview. I chase that nearly blurred edge with the patience of a predator, carefully studying the appetizers and entrees along the way—noting the jagged edges, creamy textures, vivacious smells, and the spectrum of colors so vast that I must make new names for them. 

I study that buffet of creation until I reach the end—only to find that there’s more to be served, more to explore, more sensations and flavors and textures and colors just waiting for me to find them. To taste them. To smell them. To feel them collapse into my wanting maw and articulate them as they’re masticated and processed through my bottomless gullet…

—this is THE FOCUS. The FLOW STATE. APOTHEOSIS. MY ZENITH. MY PEAK.

It’s the feeling I get when a new idea arises—having marinated in my subconscious, simmered in my mind, and come to a voracious boil that burns away all other thought. That’s when I know that it’s time to write (…or, for the sake of the metaphor)—that’s when I know it’s time to cook. 

When I first began, the ideas felt like a flood, until I’d sat down to experience them. Any writer worth the title (having been at it for some time) knows what this phase is like. It’s when we learn that ideas themselves are not the meal, but simply garnish—parts of a recipe that we’ve yet to decipher—salts and peppers, powders and flourishes, accoutrements and accompaniments. 

That’s just the beginning. 

That’s how we’ve all begun. 

If you spend enough time in that ‘kitchen of mind,’ you collect an itinerary of various ingredients—a plot beat here, a character there, some dialogue that feels right (…or could if you cook it that way). 

Nowadays, as a chef with some burns on their fingers, more than a few nicks and wounds, and enough time in not to need a timer, those ingredients arrive in their proper sequence, when the moment is right, when the oven is ready, when the recipe becomes clear—when the meal is fully in my mind and simply awaiting my experienced hand, depth of thought, and fearless blending of the forbidden, forgotten, and fortified. 

THAT’S WHEN I COOK!!! 

The world could be collapsing, crumbling, and cracking in half around me—I press on, almost mechanically, with nothing but the recipe in mind and an eagerness to explore the many methods of enhancing the dish. THIS IS WHAT THE FOCUS FEELS LIKE.

It’s being a well-worn chef in a battle-tested kitchen with nothing but possibility and endless potential. I know not the meal. I know not the name of the dish. I know not the ingredients that will be cast aside or thrown in the pot.

What I DO KNOW is that the buffet is calling…AND IT’S TIME TO COOK.

As I have before…

As I will again…

I hope you’re hungry.

Until Next Time,

—Antwan Crump

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Kwame Nyong’o is trapped between worlds…

In the streets of New York, he faces the harsh, material realities of a modern city. However, in his blood lies an ancient duty: a spiritual calling passed down through generations, marked by vivid visions, recurring dreams, and violent seizures. Under the demanding guidance of his eccentric Uncle Mosi, Kwame is trained to navigate his visions and wield the tools of his ancestral mantle… but legacy doesn’t pay the bills.

***SPOILERS***

Desperate to ease his family’s mounting financial and medical burdens, Kwame uses his gifts for profit—the consequences are swift and profound. As supernatural forces threaten to destroy his life, Kwame must expel his demons while paying the price for warping his soul.

From the author of Apostate, Butterflies, and The Suicide Pod, Veal explores the intersection of the modern and the ancient, weaving an intense and unforgettable narrative that’s sure to leave a scar. For fans of Black Mirror, urban fantasy, and psychological horror.