Naming who has access and who doesn’t guides our efforts in challenging injustice.
Very much a sociological flowchart for social upheaval.
It’s all so sectioned and layered, like little sushi houses on the hillside. Tamped down suburban tapestries edging and lining round ‘hoods. The ironclad
community irons out the numbers. Fives and nines and yays of the committees, concluded quotas pity the false riche. Rotary clubs and sandy beaches privately wedged ‘tween overtaken communals, blank spaced re-unmolded earth, steam-cleaned flattened land freshly longing for plazas, open-concept piazzas, quaintly coiffed town square, with the clock tower facing outward.
Always a face out, facing opposite to differentiate, separate, sepiarate. Bring back an olde ways sideways from the main days. Throwback projecting capitalize on the rose-coloured capitalism. Shaded eyes, shady palms, wave hello to new Coconut Grove. Hello, I must be going.
Let’s just say flowers and bushes aren’t the only things white picket fences shield from growth.
Someone gives life
creates – unfurls – brushes colour into the earth
warm breath cascades forth mist-like
living longing – sentience
warm blood moving in and around a body of promise
Another takes life
eradicates the spark – hush out the warmth that could continue to grow
breath so warm so long
stomped, shattered, ‘neath the concrete
stealing a life
thieving more warmth from our bodies, from our hopes
dreams of good will
my feet bleed as I walk among the debris in another man’s shoes
lungs desperate for warm air
Hate myself today, but less than I hate all those people else
I am an asshole
Angry from the birth of shit
Why’s it so hard to be happy yeah yeahy
Hate so impacted in me
What happened to the fun-loving-self
Lovely good boy
The days when we had everything
Is it fiction
Is it nostalge
Where did my real happy begin
In the adult phase the real work is mist
To follow the normals is to commit to plastic bliss
Am I just plastic pasted exist
Are we just aimless rotten abscess
Help em find me
motherfucker Muthafucka muthafuka mo
do they love me
do they hate me
do they fucka fuck my hole
Love it love me hate it hate me
Blaze that hole
Burn that skoll
end to end just obliterate whole
“while I debate whether or not I ever want to have children because one day they might be the unarmed victim being shot down, or the promising young person whose life was shortened because they were in the ‘wrong place’ or were there at the ‘wrong time’, because they might be blamed for their own murders and deaths or assaults no matter how kind-hearted, intelligent, and respectful I raise them to be.”
It’s not important to everyone but it is important to some. Eventually this portion of our existence and thought process becomes a side dish, it’s on the back-burner while we eye it occasionally from the periphery if we get to otherwise it comes back to the front facial. It is a constant, sapping energy and mental/emotional resources and needing some salve to temper the anger and resentment; grapes of bitterness.
Few moments over the years I have had the luxury of not thinking about my status or position or skin in the current world. Brief pauses where I was just a person, nothing more nothing less. They tended to get muddied as some “person of whiteness” quickly found a way to remind me, often while I was minding my business. Many out there will not believe that but it’s okay that not every one likes reality, doesn’t dip their toes in the cold, harsh ocean surrounding us. It is forever an art of patience and cognitive distancing.
The mind doth wander when amidst the clouded air
The eye speaks truth when mouth is snapped
Inner truth is respite for these outer trappings
My body screams and wrenches
My mind does shriek for lacking measured words
I have no mouth and I must scream
In the media “white” guys are called out for their anger and racism. Real life Canada, so many scared people. They can never say anything wrong, they get defended and shifted blame again and again. I’ve been here like 30 years, it’s 2020 and still this silent complicity. If they’re annoying just say it. Stop excusing this stuff please. It’s like feeling crazy for noticing their bad.
Michelle Goldberg observed, “Trump’s weaponized disinformation” is proving “corrosive to democracy” regardless of its target, because it has eroded “the political salience of reality.”
Forever hearing bureaucracy and legalese and I must laugh so as not to scream. The mouth is yawed and clenched when hearing such blather and concessions after the fact. After years and months of twiddling tongues, of splitting hairs, of party lines muddying the sand.
These divisions and sidings of eventuality. Lesser of two evils; contrition and turncoating at the very breath of the fall; resigning partisans and pundits bowing just enough to save the face. Oh so much flopsy folly permeating the wiwaves and opinions of our surrounding peers. Such tripe such lies such dangling placating my ears sing for headphones and buds letting out the sweet elation and relief. Though escaping leaves me unaware and lost to new trickery and swindles.
So I’m stuck half and half tween worlds of fiction, fallacy, trite contrites and rhetoric rebranded. C’est la vie. Quel dommage.