Innehållsförteckning för Rage från SULAAH

I wasn’t going to write an editor’s note. I wanted the work to speak for itself. But I’m learning how to be more present—and that’s not easy when you live so much of your life in your head. Still, I feel I must address the elephant in the room: the delay of this magazine. These photographs were taken at the height of COVID in 2020—when fear gripped every corner, and stepping outside felt like a risk. Rituals of unmasking, sanitizing, and holding our breath became part of daily life. And yet, in the midst of that fear, a few brave souls showed up to shoot with me. I believed the last shoot would wrap in 2021. I would like you to honor these folks in this magazine. They came and…

Scan: The Visual Sory What’s your ballerina story? Solace was forced upon her, an unwelcome companion born from survival, resilience, and a yearning for justice. Amidst the cacophony of voices in her mind, only a few Solace in Silence dared to surface, battling through the chaos. Her mind darted to the futility of rearranging deck chairs on a sinking ship—a testament to the erratic nature of thoughts in solitude. Initially, she sought help, but the world silenced her cries. Between Predator One through Nine, she learned to scream silently, her pain echoing in the void. Perhaps it was the art of control or rage deferred. Now, her mantra is ‘Engage only when necessary.’ Silence is her weapon, a shield against a world that refuses to listen. If circumstances were different,…

Chikara Japanese for “strength.” In this haunting account, Rebecca Taylor Bratland takes us through the underbelly of Tokyo’s dark side—where survival wasn’t just about running, but about remembering who she was. From modeling lights to the shadows of the Yakuza, hers is a story of betrayal, loss, endurance, and the small miracles that kept her alive. This isn’t just a tale of trauma. It’s the reclaiming of voice, power, and purpose. As dusk turned to night, I settled down to sleep under a row of bushes where I was safely hidden from public view. There was no comfortable way for me to sleep these days, I’d lost so much weight that only a thin layer of skin cushioned my bones from touching the ground. With me were the only three…

NO CHASER By Sulaah Bien-Aime I wasn’t asking for salvation.I was doing what women like me were trained to do:hold broken shit and not let it fall apart. Don’t you daredon’t you everlet the manipulators,the professional gaslighters,become prophets. The kind of dumbasswho learned just enough to sound deep.Knows the ABCsAlways Be Confessing.Never Be Changing.Forever Be Consuming. Not healed.Not holy.Just loud. And I was the onedoing all the workfor someone who was never coming. I see what’s broken. I’m not carrying it anymore. But I’m going to write it down, so nobody else picks it up.—Sulaah Bien-Aime “Delusions dress well. Temptation too. You know what? Never mind. Fill in the blanks…”—Sulaah Bien-Aime The Delusion Suite A study in performance, pretense, and projection Carl Wolf — Model & Writer Featured in “Chaos…

I was going to unmask you. But before I could do that, I had to look in ward first. I’ve become a numbers person—not in symbols, but in language. So I ran the numbers on why you are Predator 9. To do that, I had to look back. I had to name what no one ever helped me name. I laid all my flaws on the table—honestly. Because sometimes I ask myself: What did I do, exactly, except try to be a good person? Notice I use the word try. Because every time I’ve heard someone say they are good, I look at them sideways. Nobody can be just one thing. Now, I’m no martyr. But when someone who’s been preyed upon as a child reaches adulthood—the only thing they…

Noelle Kay isn’t here to blend in. With a voice that soars — rich, intentional, and unmistakably hers — the Bronx-born vocalist is rewriting the rules of R&B. Rooted in testimony and laced with power, her music isn’t just heard — it’s felt. From spiritual awakenings to avant-garde visuals, Noelle’s artistry challenges and heals in equal measure. In this exclusive Zoom conversation, we talk about faith, legacy, and the power of showing up fully. SULAAH: Hi, Noelle. How are you? NOELLE: Hi, beautiful. Hi, Sulaah. Oh my gosh, it’s so good to finally meet you and see your face. SULAAH: Likewise! Okay, let’s cheers. What are you having? NOELLE: I’m keeping it super simple today—Rosé all day. A spritz, only 75 calories in the whole bottle. It’s a grapefruit wine.…

It started with silence Perhaps I should’ve chosen another theme. Caribbean Serenade was easy — nostalgic, beautiful. Every element felt heartwarming and pure. It wasn’t scary or intimidating; it was a soft haze that wrapped around me like a gentle cloud, easing me into a vivid world of warmth and memory. That issue pulled me in so deeply, it confirmed my decision to make every future edition thematic. Each theme — including this one, Rage — would bring its own unique challenge and reflection. In this issue, I explore the brutal realities of sexual assault, sex trafficking, and the long shadow of a predatory slave system. But we also honor resilience and sustainability. I followed Caribbean Serenade with Diversity and Strength, and that’s when everything shifted. Those issues showed me…

Are you safe? When have you felt safe? And if you’re on the receiving end of this conversation—do you think you are a safe bet? Men, would your momma think you’re a safe bet? Did she do the job to ensure you were a safe bet and not a social pariah? Those questions will burn, because they force you to look at yourself and reflect on the kind of human being you are. Hopefully, we can get some clarity through this collaboration with Dr. Tania Abouzeide as we explore the idea of safety through two different lenses. Dr. Abouzeide will offer insight beyond my capabilities. I’m a fixer—not to be confused with a martyr or a savior complex. I became a fixer when I had to learn the hard way…

Sulaah (Host): Okay, North, let loose. What’s up, North? North (Guest): What’s good, what’s going on, Sulaah? Sulaah: I’m good! I’m good! I’m so happy about this interview right now. North: Me too. Sulaah: We have a lot to talk about. Usually, I write down my questions, but I’m just going to let— North: You’re going to let it flow. Sulaah: Yeah, I’m going to let it flow. But, how are you? North: I’m doing good, just maintaining. Sulaah: So, why don’t you introduce yourself to the people? North: What’s going on, y’all. I’m North Star Da General, Common Ground—CG from the 305, representing all day. Southside Spinner. Sulaah: All right, so let’s jump right in. I want to start from your album, and I don’t usually follow this pattern…

Tribal Warfare: An Upcoming Series This is not just history repeating itself — this is strategy. A modern reprogramming designed to keep us distracted, divided, and at war with ourselves. While the systems rewrite our past, erase our stories, and repurpose our pain, we turn on each other — Frances who DeLancey benefits from the chaos. Tribal Warfare is an invitation to pause the fight within — and interrogate the why. But for change to happen, we must confront the foundation: “The Slave System.” Ask yourself: —Is sitting it out the answer? —How are you preparing your children for the world to come? —What legacy are we building — and who are we building it for? “I’m not saying I’m gonna change the world, but I guarantee that I will…

Before You Read This is a story about a girl who asked for help—and what happened when the help turned away. It’s about innocence interrupted, and the silent systems that protect everything but the truth. “Not all wounds bleed. Some teach.”– SULAAH The Horseman (A.K.A. The Horsie) An Ode to Predator 1 It was always a good time when the Horseman came to visit. He would sit her on his knees, arching his reject Payless sneaker-clad foot like a ballerina. His high-water, jean-clad knees created a hump that resembled the back of a horse—where riders sit, bareback or with a saddle. She squealed with wild abandon as the Horseman picked her up, sat her on his knees, and began to simulate a horse ride. She wouldn’t use any hands as…

You are the final straw—the one that shattered the camel’s back. Your cowardice reeks. A stench so vile, it clings to everything it touches, corrupting even the air around you. You thought I was easy prey—someone you could torment in silence. But you miscalculated. I think I miscalculated, too. Here I am, using the most eloquent language to document your degrading existence. And still, not a single word feels heavy enough to define what you truly are. To the audience—pardon me if the ghetto slips in. I’d like to think those fashioned for the socially free can be both eloquent and get down and dirty when bitches start to act reckless. I’m trying to contain myself. Let’s breathe. At first, Predator 9—this… whatever this is—was just for you. And maybe…

Sometimes, when the shades of black are drawn, you begin to see, feel, and think. It’s often harsh, devoid of remorse, and utterly unforgiving in all its dark and beautiful glory. You begin to process and develop a deeper awareness, one that startles as new discoveries emerge. It is here, when one is not careful, that the birth of rage takes root—fed by deep, unrelenting questions: wondering, analyzing, and reflecting on what could have been done differently. In full transparency, the answers lie within us. Those old wounds, fresh scars, and the nuances in between remain a mystery waiting to unfold. Shades of black demand sophistication—a drama steeped in mystery. And mystery, as they say, is good. It’s often said, never reveal your deck of cards too soon. There will…

“She cracked—just enough to shine rough.” “I’ve read every one of Donald Goines’ books. So as soon as I heard there was an opportunity for one of his novels to be turned into a movie, I jumped at the opportunity.”—DMX To the men who couldn’t hold me I want to say this while I’m still here—still soft-well notfully, stillhealing, still standing:To the men who couldn’t hold me—I understand now.I wasn’t just looking for love.I was looking for a partner who could withstand the fire.and still dance with me inside it.I don’t blame you.I don’t carry that anymore.I was built for something bigger.I just needed someone who could bounce back, too.And I found that — in myself. DELUSIONS DRESS WELL. MISTOOK THE MIRROR FOR THE MAN.—SULAAH “YOU DRESSED THE PART, BUT…

“NOT SPONSORED. JUST ICONIC.” “SOMETIMES BEING STILL DOESN’T MEAN YOU’RE QUIET.”—SULAAH “STYLED BY INSTINCT. SHOT IN SILENCE. SEEN BY THE BRAVE” JOSHUA LILHA PHOTOGRAPHED BY SULAAH BIEN-AIME THIS IS WHAT BECOMING LOOKS LIKEFROM THE SHADOWS OF OBSCURITY TO THE EDGE OF LEGEND JOSHUA LILHA ISN’T WAITING FOR THE INDUSTRY. HE HAS ARRIVED. “UNFINISHED GRIEF” This is what happens when no one checks in. When the grief grows legs and sits beside you. She’s alive, but only technically. This is what surviving looks like when no one’s watching. Even rage needs a ritual—a pour, a breath, a reckoning.…

Model: Emily Opper “After watching Griselda,” Sofia, you slayed… my daughter turns to me and says, “You could be a mob boss.” Before that, someone once told me I could run a country. But me? I just want to disappear into the woods—overlooking a lake, fireplace glowing behind me, writing about the ten lifetimes I’ve already lived. But since RAGE won’t release me, I suppose I’ll have to oblige. —SULAAH File No. 1: The Woman Who didn’t Flinch (from the Lost Files) “I took and I took and I took what you gave, but you never noticed that I was in pain. I knew what I wanted, I went in and got it, Did all the things that you said that I wouldn't. I told you that I would never be…

We have all been enslaved in one way or another—physically, mentally, or emotionally. For some, being trapped within a system built on oppression is a slow, suffocating death, one that demands either premature escape or unbearable endurance. Those who survive it become the Griots of the Hood, bearing stories of survival and resilience. Generations before us may have faced harsher conditions—or perhaps we suffer in different ways. Ways shaped by how we choose, or are compelled, to remain enslaved. The message of enslavement—passed down or imposed—is complex and layered. Today, rage, sensationalism, and the pursuit of relevance often overshadow the ability to form clear, independent thought. This piece stems from my experience living within the slave system: accepting it, resisting it, and bearing the scars it leaves behind. What does…

Before You Read This is a story about a girl who asked for help—and what happened when the help turned away. It’s about innocence interrupted, and the silent systems that protect everything but the truth. If you’ve ever trusted someone to keep you safe and they failed you… “I became the woman they abandoned me to become.”—Sulaah Weeks had gone by, and she was left thinking about the Horseman. Was it real? Was she overreacting? Was her body growing too much? Was it in the way? Was it real? The questions lingered; her thoughts plagued her day in and day out— The hands. The pearly white teeth. The disruption of her fantasy world. Her baths, once a haven of play. She would take the Ivory soap and run it under…

You thought my heart was black—a weakness. But this black heart burns. Not for you, but for every moment I clawed my way back from the wreckage you left—and the others that came before you. Love isn’t a distraction—it’s my armor. Kindness isn’t my downfall—it’s my weapon. You don’t own my pain. You don’t own my past. You definitely don’t own my power. I do. And this? This is just the beginning. By the way—if something happens to me, they’ll know exactly who to come looking for. So go ahead. Bring all your side soldiers. The snitches. The shadows. The power structure that enables you. I see you all. Because I’m not afraid of your network. I’m building my own. And where I’m going? Truth travels louder. Joy hits harder.…

Survival in the slave system is a dance with shadows—a constant calculation to avoid hitting the kind of rock bottom that strips you of everything. It’s a system designed to break you, one paycheck at a time, until all that’s avoid left hitting is compliance. Sometimes I wonder if I wonder the ones we if the call ones homeless we call are the homeless truly free. They’ve refused to play the game. But that’s another conversation—or maybe it isn’t. How far will you go to survive the slave system? How much of yourself will you sacrifice to claim even a fragment of freedom? I won’t lie to you—I’m still in it For now. But let me be clear I don’t stay down The system doesn’t own me, and it sure as…