DJORDJE CODES

Coifed is the mood before you step out.
Not rushed. Not reactive. Aligned.

It takes time. Sometimes much time—
as it should. That silhouette you see in the mirror deserves indulgence.

We must refine our precision, darlings.
And precision requires intimacy with self.
It asks you to know who you are.
To evolve.

“Ready” means now.
It means presence.
It means indulgence in the moment.
The moment when your self-esteem, rhythm, and being have merged into one.
That’s the sensation you’re getting dressed for.

Attune to your engine.
Learn its parts well—so you know how to repair it gracefully when misalignment begins.

In this heritage, we are of our word.
If we say we arrive at 17:17, then we do.
Not racing in. Not apologizing.
Present. Poised. Prepared.

Address your haphazardness in your presentation.
Fully. Honestly. With Reverence.

It will teach you true timing.

Nephew, ease up on the gas with the “Black” thing. We’ve been niggers, coloreds, boys, girlz, and every other lazy label they’ve offered to reduce us. We've been called everything but what reflects our depth. Our inheritance.

Cousin Christopher is most offended. “Lil George” was the last straw—he morphed into the Superman model of nigga. Tailored. Postured. Clean. So you can observe how to shape language and linen clear enough for them to finally hear what we mean by masculinity.

You’re going to need to sit with George Djordje in the study to breathe through that. Bring your chest. Don’t speak until your spirit does. We’ve made provisions for your unraveling. They’re exactly what your body, mind, and soul have been craving. It’s not pain—it’s a recalibration. The most sacred form of submission: truth, received without flinch.

“Black” will become Blaque soon. And when it does, dress accordingly. It doesn’t require anger, but it does require style.

Christopher is the reference. He’s generous with his inspiration—just be sure to cite him, darling.

They’re welcome to the gathering.
Be gracious, children—

Your heritage has mastered self-awareness, honor, and integrity.
We will not tolerate any shrinking of you.

We offer grace as a demonstration of how mankind ought to treat one another. We do not coddle. We exemplify.

Lead with lineage, not rage.
The reparations will be paid—
in grief, in recognition, and in time.

When our garments touch their skin, they’ll feel it:
The weight. The work. The woven history.
They’ll feel it like the whips once did.
They’ll know—even if they don’t say it.

Our tailoring speaks in tongues.
The stitching alone is enough to stir a reckoning.

We are generous in our forgiveness.
Our frequency is unchartable.
And when you tap in, you’ll feel no threat, no resentment—
only the invitation to rise in spirit.
Cannons aren’t released here.

The Bishop has filled the pit with the finest cuts of pig loin—
seasoned not for show, but for welcome.
We have abundance, and we share it lovingly.
We no longer meet the energy that once met us.
We have transcended.
And now we sit, peacefully, beside our Creator.

Nephew, fix them a plate of oxtails.
Our queens are still moisturizing their décolletage, preparing to present their fullest beauty.

Be generous with the gravy—
So they understand what sauce really tastes like.

It all begins with an idea. Maybe you want to launch a business. Maybe you want to turn a hobby into something more. Or maybe you have a creative project to share with the world. Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.

Cousin Christopher is our representative, darlings.

He accepted a job none of you would’ve done for all the money in your lifetime. And he’s doing it graciously—for free.

Let that settle in your spirit.

He’s expensive.
Truth be told, we couldn’t afford him if he charged what he’s worth.
But he’s offered his gifts freely to the lineage—because his heart is unmatched, and so are the provisions we’ve laid out for him.

You’ll pay him retail. Humbly and graciously, while treating he and his staff respectfully. Expect no handouts. He is divine at administering resources to the aligned.

His oxtail recipe is spiritual. It’s not to be rushed. His great-grandmother fixed his plate and she commands that her grandson be well-fed. Touch nothing of his plate. It’s kind of him to let you admire it.

This man is transitioning our lineage into the heritage it deserves. He pedigrees mixed breeds. You know him, he’s simply draped in spiritual couture. It requires study to comprehend, not criticism. His sense is what we yearn to be more common amongst the lineage.

Be easy, darlings.
Despite the generous provisions, he’s still slighted. He’s treating you to elegance you didn’t earn.

My nephew is first class, even when the rest of us don’t want to be. We brew a special vintage of our spiciest pig roasting peppers in the case of his disrespect. There is no masc on his masculinity. Remove the dirty filter you ignorantly placed upon your cousin and thusly have on yourselves.

He sauced at our heritage’s 1st Family Reunion in 1712. You weren’t refined enough to recognize his blend. You didn’t know your ribs were dry. He passed you the plate and allowed you to blissfully stay in your ignorance with no judgment.

He is our gracious one. Submerge your energy in respect before you lean his way.

Clear direction.

Remove the Z’s when you reference him, darling. That’s not his letter.

He restrains against the most ignorant of baby daddy. His charm is not meek. It is mastered. Clarify your confusions before you attempt to proceed.

He’s a demonstration. Lower the hum of your engine and mimic his presence the best you can in your lifespan. The generosity of his inspiration will not be taken for granted. Peacefully remove yourself from his table when you feel the breeze directing you out and admire how he eats from afar.

We still have grandmothers who beat children first and ask questions later. Violations will be redirected to the study with Grandaddy.

Trust.
You would’ve preferred violence.

But, you’ll be grateful for the reposture.

Our Kendrick spoke from our frequency in a tone you could comprehend. And still—many of you did not heed.

You’ve heard the direction clearly. Yet you proceeded.
In our heritage, we call that a hard head.
Your grandmothers gave clearer instructions than this.

Sons. Daughters.
Lower your brow and your pinky.
Lay down your ego.

The race for the Rolls has distracted you.
But there are provisions—tailored for each of you.
And some of you? You don’t even want to drive.
You crave the serenity of hammocks in our palm groves.
We’ve provided and you don’t rest amongst the harvest.

Humility is attractive.
It’s not timid. It’s aware.
It’s confident in restraint and gracious in recognition.
It performs for no one.
It doesn’t posture.
It simply is.

Avoiding your ignorance places a ceiling on your growth.
It lets you sit proudly atop an anthill.
It sends you sprinting toward the sun with no preparation.

Your callowness is apparent to everyone but you.
And it’s making others work double to accommodate your self-neglect.

You must do your fair share, child.
You must excavate.
You must explore your pain.
You must face what blocks your own reflection.
That wall you built? It’s just a veil for your insecurities.

Your ancestors are still praying for the day you realize:
you can put the bags down.
You don’t need the labels.
Not husband.
Not wife.
Not daughter.
Not son.
Strip them away so you can see self.
That’s where we are.

Tap into the frequency, darlings.
In alignment, joy won’t be chased. It’ll rise to meet you.
You won’t need to perform.
To seek.
To prove.
To avenge.

You’ll be home.

Cool it on the Rolls Royces and Gucci children. There’s a place for that, but it’s not all the places. That’s not what you’re here to reach for. We’ve always adorned ourselves richly. Those spare pig parts they threw us have come divine gourmet dishes because of our touch. There is divinity in your stroke. The rythym of your wrist is what makes the grits so good, not the salt.

Specificity is taste. Specific requires you to reflect on what you want. When you reflect on you, you’ll find that you don’t want steak and lobster every day. There are likely more of your days that call for rice and gumbo.

Sass is cheap.
It’s easy.
It’s skim from the top of milk.
It’s your ego’s knee-jerk attempt to defend itself before it’s even asked,
“What’s the real problem here?”

Don’t show them your slip, darling.
You’re wearing 1712 couture Djordje. Act accordingly.

The ancestors said they’ve got the fire covered. They’ve been beaten, pissed on, erased, and reborn—over and over again.

You don’t need to weaponize our heritage heat to roast a small batch of potatoes.

Darling, our elegance has sass built in.
No need to contort it to fit the keyholes folks wear on their insecurities.

They’ll feel the heat of your restraint on their bones as you await your car service back to the Maison.

Embody our Naomi’s strut as you swing your hips and sprinkle first-class dust on your way out. Beyonce Djordje is one of our finest darling. Shoe must always be divine. It’s the last impression. Cousin Christopher has the recipe card.

Let the comment go.
Let the baby momma have her attitude.
You won’t be having it with her.

You’re not ignoring.
You’re sparing.

We revere the strength and restraint that live inside us. We understand we must often be the responsible one in the interaction—

not because we owe it,
but because we know what we’re carrying in our back pocket.

They don’t.

And it’s not our job to explain it. It’s our job to embody it.
Great-grandmother says it’s in poor taste to use our cannons on fleas.

Reduce your heat to a smolder. They are to only catch our smoke, not our heat. We use that for recipes.

See, darling—we don’t clap back.
We reveal.

Cousin Christopher has roasted a sumptuous pig in The Kitchen if you need a reference for lethal annihilation. He’s generous with his inspiration, be sure to cite darling.

I recommend spending some time in Veronica’s quarters if you need to tighten up your restraint, in style.

Our tone is tailored.
It’s addressed—

addressed again.

We then dress it.

The heat you feel? Intentional. A refined blend of our pig roasting spice, delicately placed to reposture your ego’s faulty palette back into alignment so you can hear us.

Forgiveness is exhausting work, children.

Yet still—we rise.

Extend your forgiveness before you attempt to wield the heritage heat. It is brewed concentrated, so it may disperse evenly among you—not hoarded by one. Be gracious, darling.

“Darling” isn’t petulance nor condescendence—it’s reposturing.

We don’t sully our lineage with name-calling or ambiguous insinuations.
Our great-grandmothers refined their posture long ago,
so the energy in the room would always announce itself.

Our vocal liquor is not for reckless pours. It’s rich and expensive, darling.
Relish in the aroma of it before you serve it in a coup. It needs to breathe. Our peppers are the hottest of the earth.

Serve as necessary— not always.

Drink for taste, not to submerge your flame. Lower your heat to a chic smolder so they may experience the essence of our smoke as they could never stomach the taste of our peppers.

Darlings, your flagrance is disheartening to our heritage.

We burned candles for a centrury of scoresso you could have electricity.
Turn off all those lights. You don’t need them. They’re preventing you from seeing who you really are.

Your lack of awareness makes us feel
you’ve taken your ancestors’ prayers for you in vain.

Excess is not elegance. It’s callowness.
It’s a mirror of your scarcity mindset—
the anxious belief that your inheritance is conditional or temporary.

It’s your need to show others what you’d like them to think you’re worth,
instead of embodying what you already carry.

You perform.
You spend.
You rush to have, forgetting that you already are.

Our progeny has already performed — we’ve suffered greatly.
You’ve been permitted to rest.

The provisions for the heirs of this lineage are plentiful.
The buffet is sacred—laden with delicacies you can’t yet name.

Take your time.

Indulge your senses.
Develop your palate.
Learn what it is you actually enjoy—
so you can recognize quality
before you pile everything onto your plate out of fear out not having enough.

A lime green Bentley does not honor the soul of our rhythm.
It does not whisper legacy.
It shouts insecurity.

Seeking for the sake of “just so I can say I did” is not rooted.
It is ego with a costume change.
Reposture, youngin’.

You haven’t outgrown your milk.
You’re not ready to select from the cellar.

Refine your taste before you make selections with your wealth. Wealth does not come with taste built in. It’s what you cultivate from your specificity and self-worth.

Not everything expensive is ancestral.

Ask yourself:
What am I seeking?
Why have I convinced myself I need a button on my water faucet?

We worked the fields.
We carved dignity from despair.
We turned injury into ingenuity.

Not for attention.
For legacy.

You are not meant to sprint.
You are meant to choose.

And to rest your laurels—
with intention,
with clarity,
and with reverence.

It all begins with an idea. Maybe you want to launch a business. Maybe you want to turn a hobby into something more. Or maybe you have a creative project to share with the world. Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.