Type 1

You know how many people have been waiting for me to write something that’s ultimate, final—really say what I need to say? I decided not to post anything on the website in the meantime. But what is that, ultimately?

I think I’ve got a great—great—slew of enemies. I have an enemies roster. And ultimately, there will always be white nationalists as long as we allow them to exist, to have jobs, to live like humans, and to hold positions in government.

I already have to complete the Coachella project, but you know, that’s taking a lot of my energy. There’s too much other stuff—this thing and many other things I’m not going to speak about. But I’m deciding to change the website into a different format where I sell prompts. I’m going to sell prompts—not for AI, but for artists to make stuff. And pretty much, it’s gonna be fun. Imagine that creativity—that’s the future of Mk Mzodern.

In light of many different things, I just want to speak about how every time I get involved in anything, it’s about a person—it’s about their sexuality, about them sleeping with tons of women. Pretty much, that’s not people’s business.

I don’t understand the level of racism. I think you have such privilege, such entitlement to these ideas—and control over a person you don’t even know—just because you don’t like Black people. Ultimately, you’re a piece of shit. You don’t know me, and you don’t own me.

When I went to that college, people thought they had a sense of entitlement to me. That’s just not fair—that they assume certain things about me that aren’t true. Refusing to even grant me humanity, to ask me my opinions—just coming up with some bullshit because you’re too afraid and too racist. Yet you feel entitled to your own viewpoint.

Thinking you have some means to white superiority at this college, doing things to enforce that control—it’s sick and twisted, and it shows you’re lazy and deeply ideological in your hate. People so caught up in themselves, so entitled in their little comfort, that they can’t get out of their own f****** way to see that life isn’t great for other people. That when you’re having the time of your f****** life, other people are struggling, suffering—and you can’t even see it.

You dare to dote on me—on someone who doesn’t even exist. You don’t own somebody you will to exist just because you want to be part of some white-centered supremacy space, trying to use me as an ingredient in your fantasy.

This is a diverse reality.

I realized, ultimately—while I was suffering in 2015—what were those girls I liked doing? Just having the time of their lives. Never bothering to check up on me, never sending a Facebook message, never daring to call me—even when some of them had my number. Just letting whatever they wanted me to be live in their heads, so they could justify their racism, justify being evil, and refuse to give me peace.

Instead, they go on tangents about what some old lady wants them to say—acting like peons. Honestly, I don’t even consider them normal people. They’re not. They’re lost souls who don’t understand the massive shit they’re in.

I’m trying to accommodate people who want me gone—who want to erase me from the face of the Earth. Period. I kept hoping people weren’t that racist, that it wouldn’t go that far. But then this thing I called Calamatia happened, and I was put in my place. I realized these people could never have loved me. They want me gone.

And ultimately, they’re racist—and the only thing they saw me as being good for was having children with them. And then what? What happens to me after that?

Their whole hype is built around sexualizing me—around some corrupted idea of the future. But that’s not what normal humans do. People get married, they have children—you don’t toss people away after some imaginary expiration date. Especially not because you’re influenced by some 70-year-old who shouldn’t even be in anyone’s romantic or sexual business.

These people have no idea what they’ve cost me in my life, just for their silly-ass power. They don’t have shit to offer the world. All they’ve given is nonsense, confusion, and disrespect—especially toward Native American culture and any culture that isn’t white and European. Spitting on other people’s spirituality, on their way of life.

And let me be clear—when I say “white-minded people,” I don’t mean white people in general. I mean anyone who chooses to uphold white supremacy, anyone who wants to harm people of color—even if they’re Black themselves. You’re not anything but an evil human being.

I find that my ideas—meant to uplift culture and create something meaningful—were subverted by the very people I wanted to share them with. Betrayed so hard that these people think they’re doing the Lord’s work, pretending they can play both sides.

But once you choose that ego-driven, white supremacist nonsense—that’s not me. That has nothing to do with me or anyone else just trying to live without dying in a f****** ditch with their dreams destroyed.

I’ve always been careful about my space and who I give it to. But when I realized people were using my work for their own supremacist goals—I don’t live for that. That’s not me. I don’t know why anyone would think that.

That’s just people putting words in your head, in your heart, and assuming I believe it too—because you want to live in some La La Land. No. I’m not that. I will not have children with you. Period.

These people were never my allies. When I was suffering in fall 2015, they were having the time of their lives and didn’t give a f***. They contributed to the wrongs of that time and never even realized it.

They’ve said horrible things to me, wished death on me, and think it’s secret—like no one will ever know, like it’s cute.

Honestly, you just need to f*** off. Leave me alone. And what I’ve written will help you do just that. It will help you understand the power gap between us.

Your sheltered-ass life will never be me.

Some people think they’re the main characters of life, when really they’re still babies. If you think like that, you’re naive. You’ve never been knocked down. You’ve never truly done anything.

I left 2015 exhausted from all the bullshit at that school—med school, whatever—and tired of having any attachment to those people. Honestly, I wish I never met them.

The burden to expose them fell on someone else—but in the end, I realized no one else could do what I can do. That’s why Mind Games was made—and later Shark on Campus, Technogothica.

The worst part is I didn’t have my method together to make comics back then. But over 10 years later—as this blog shows—I’ve changed.

None of them—Allison, Ash D., Ash S.H., Ash C., Brianna, Ruby, Victoria, Aurora, Jackie, Angie, Nora, Lauren, Sarah, Sarah B., Kira, Kayla, Camille, Jenny, Miriam, Catherine, Noor, Thais, Gabby, Veronica, Animi—were ever there for me when they could have been. They chose to be evil.

And ultimately, you picked a side—and actions have consequences. Especially when you keep trying to put meaning where it doesn’t belong—when you hindered me. Period.

All I wanted to do during Calamatia was work on Mind Games and my other projects. I was waiting for the weekend—but honestly, I shouldn’t have. People anticipated that moment and jumped on me, refusing to leave me the f*** alone, acting entitled to my time and space.

It’s all bullshit. You built your life on bullshit, never had a backbone, let people f*** with you—and think I’m going to feel sorry for you and accept you back? No. Period.

At that time, I could’ve been married. I could’ve been happy. I could’ve been in a better place if you hadn’t toyed with me. But no—you had to do all this shit.

And in the end, it’s not worth dreaming about people who are jealous of you. Some people do creepy things, prey on others—even in death.

I had so much hate for them, but I realized they could never act on it—and I won’t let them force me to act on it either.

I just wanted to make art. And I realized waiting for the weekend was the worst decision. Everything became fake—there was no clear path to make comics back then. It was all illusion.

People are racist. That’s real.

But I’ve come to my senses—I wasn’t doing enough back then. Now I am. Every day is a new challenge.

That chapter is over. I will never again be that trusting of trashy people who see what you see but will never do what you do.

Only I can treat myself right. I don’t need a girlfriend. Not at all.

They thought I’d stay silent—but I won’t.

During my recovery, when I made Mind Games, Shark on Campus, Technogothica, I was rebuilding. And I learned how to make things better. I learned to accept the past—and that maybe I couldn’t tell the story the way I originally wanted.

It came from a f*****-up place to an even more f*****-up place. And honestly, it’s kind of embarrassing looking at people in Houston. What is there to be proud of? Who the f*** could be proud of this shit? Not me.

Back in Spring 2016, I had the idea to chronicle my adventures in a reality TV-style format—but everything got f***** up. Maybe that’ll just stay as blog posts.

But with so many people against me, I have to be cautious. I don’t understand what’s wrong with them—stringing me along, then treating me like shit.

Sure, go ahead—have pride in that. See how far it gets you.

I’ve said it before—you’re about to see what happens when I return from that community college era. When I finally stand on that—and actually win.

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