thoughts

What is Life but a Disaster Movie

What We Love is of Hate

There’s always a pressing matter to discuss. A war, a struggle, a death or thousands of deaths. The world is a big place so surely something will go wrong.

Think about how the best stories are always the most tragic. We love disaster movies that take place after society collapses and the human population has been cut in half.

And why is that?

People tend to come together after a natural disaster takes place. Will it ever cross our minds that if we came together before the destruction we’d have a better chance to defend against it? When watching a disaster movie, this is what I think about: If the characters came together before the storm, would they have escaped disaster sooner?

If this is the case, the movie would be over in the first fifteen minutes. And we can’t have that, can we? Hollywood needs to make money and the audience must be entertained. The reality is that we love tragedy. Suffering breeds character, right? It’s the creed that we live by. So why do we fear death? Why do we act like we’re not in love with carnage?

What We Romanticize is Everything

It’s always a fight between good and evil. I ask myself how is this true? History has never been born of memory. War is never fought between heroes and villains, but two opposing sides. Those who win the war are the story-tellers of what caused it.

This is why war films are conflicting to me. Disaster movies with the soldier as the main character—everything that happens is from their point-of-view.

But what about the civilians? What becomes of them when telling someone else’s story? When it’s their homes that are battleground. When they become as meaningless to the government as are buildings to a bomb. We let them become foot-notes or simply forgotten.

What is History is Determined by Those Who Survive it

Life is similar to disaster movies. Everything we own is threatened when valued by someone else. It’s easy to take advantage of other people. We’d put our lives in the hands of someone who only knows how to handle a weapon. Is this why love leads to heartbreak? To protect someone, they have to be more valued than a gun.

War is chess but played like checkers. We think having the most pieces on the board means we’re winning. Sacrifice is easy with this mindset. The more you have makes it easier to give something up. In other words, it’s not a loss if it can be replaced.

Politics seem so simple when we think like this. Have enough people on our side and we’ll call it a victory. We no longer question what is being fought for as we’re too concerned with fighting against something. For once, I want to feel like I’m going somewhere rather than leaving a place. Even if the destination doesn’t exist, I’d rather believe it does. It’s better that than always having to run from something. I’m exhausted from my paranoia that anything can be a threat.

What is Hell is Made Up of Ourselves

There’s always a devil, a sinister force, or a boogieman hidden in the darkest corners. So let’s shine light there and expose them. I’d rather see the devil’s true face than pretend we live in heaven because we can’t feel the fire. Don’t you?

We never cared for each other. Whether if it’s votes in politics or successes in work—we find no worth in ourselves. What we accomplish is more important than who we are. Love is earned and malice is given, when it should be the other way around.

The future is grim as is my excitement for it.

Fear, and not love, has dictated every decision we make. It’s a sickness that everyone is infected with. A virus of hate that has turned into an epidemic. We can’t retreat into ourselves as a quarantine forever. Eventually, we’ll have to discover a cure. And yet, I ask myself: what’s the point? Ignoring the scars makes the pain hurt a little bit less.

Advertisements
a picture of a book with sparkles of light shooting out from the pages as the book is opened
thoughts

I Have a Question for You…

There’s this saying, it’s better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.

Yet, with you, this doesn’t apply. You’re one of those people who always has something to say. There’s wisdom in your words. You say those quotes people love to put on their Instagram. You speak in such a way that even the world slows down a bit. It’s like the wind is trying to get caught in your voice. Even the sun shines brighter, wanting to give you all the spotlight. The world makes way so you can have your moment.  

Don’t be silent. Your words must be louder than your actions. You must speak because you’re the only one being listened to. So why don’t you speak the truth?

When it comes to convictions, whatever you believe in, you must know what to say. If the truth isn’t heard, how can you expect any action to follow? So what is your truth? You must have one if you want to survive this world. When you die, what is it that you want to leave behind? You care about a legacy, right? Then what story are you trying to tell?   

It always starts with a question: Who are you?

The words beat into your head. Creates a migraine you cannot shake. It’s like a virus how it seeps into your skin. Makes a home in the spaces that’s always out of reach. Imagine it as an itch you cannot scratch, even as you peel the skin trying to find it. The scars you leave behind is how it mocks you. It’s as desperate as you for an answer.

So what do you say to it? How do you say nothing without feeling like you’ve betrayed yourself? You run away from a mirror as if the reflection is a monster. And maybe it is. Maybe the reason you cannot answer the question is because you’re afraid of what you might say.

Some questions demand hard truths.

For instance, did you know the body can be a cage to the soul? The heartbeat is the sound of someone banging on a steel door. You want someone to find you. Sadly, self-discovery in the place where you’re lost isn’t likely. You’ve long forgotten where it was you were trying to go. Did you ever know the purpose of a road? That you must create one. This means, you must know the destination. It’s impossible to find what you’re not searching for.   

How foolish of you to think you could. You want a prison to escape itself. How do you demand what doesn’t make sense in any context?

This question is always presented as an interrogation. You committed the crime of being someone you wasn’t. The universe has a strong need to expose liars. Do you think there’s power in your name? Eventually, you’ll be tested on that belief. Are you someone of worth? Watch as everything crumbles all around you. Not many can build kingdoms from ruins. So answer this: what do you have when you lose everything? What you say should humble you.

You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep. You’ll never be for someone else what you aren’t for yourself.

A friend you never were. How can you be a diary of someone else’s secrets? I’ve read every chapter of the book you’ve written. No one has ever called you trustworthy. The words printed in your handwriting is sloppy as if you’ve rushed to finish it. Did you think the reader would do the same? Skim through each page, ignore the grammar mistakes, and not ask questions when the plot makes no sense. I see now what has you afraid. The truth is, you have nothing to say because there’s no story worth telling.

Is there?

a picture of a planet exploding. the planet is surrounded by fire.
thoughts

Scapegoat: the Sky is the Reason for All our Sins

I hate when we preach for non-violence. And no, it’s not because I’m against peace. In fact, it’s the opposite. I crave for peace like the memory of a dream once I wake up in the morning.

What I hate is the exaggeration of it. Nothing about world peace is deliberate. It’s like a New Year’s Resolution: a goal that we don’t actively pursue.

We want to save the world while we’re destroying it. Is this arrogance or stupidity? Maybe both. But does it matter? My beliefs of heroes and villains are dead.

They’ve died on populated cities turned battlefields. I’ve long buried my hopes of peace in the same graveyards where we bury innocent victims of war.

This is who we are. Human nature is ruled by greed. We’ll scorch the grass and dirt in search for gold. The green of money means more than the green of Earth.

So why do we act like we hate chaos? We love fire as long as it’s not too close. Water is cool until it becomes too deep. What I’m saying is, we love violence.

It’s a spectacle. A way of coming to age. To be man. To be God. To be anything other than what we are now. What death brings is change. We cannot rebuild anything that isn’t already in ruins.

Think about it: the world is burning. Literally, burning. And I’m not just talking about global warning. Or, the onslaught of destruction that spreads across this nation and outside it.  

Even California is being plagued with fire. It’s like the prettier the green, the brighter it burns. All this devastation and we’re still looking for the scapegoat.

So let’s blame the sun. How dare it shine without giving us warning? Or even asking for our permission? What makes us human is how we can take a thing and make it do what we want it to.

Even if it goes against its own design.

Instead of spending billions of dollars on solar energy, we’ll build weather machines. That way, we can make the sky do as we please. Who cares if we abuse the o-zone layer?

The rain aren’t tears. Look at the clouds too long and you’ll never see a face. Not that we’d care if the sky can elicit genuine emotion. Science says, the sky is only blue because air scatters particles to make it that way. So blame the air too.

Surely, the earth has no feelings.

But let’s say the earth can somehow voice its depression. Foolish, I know. Still, let’s just for shits and giggles believe the earth should be taken care of.

We cannot be blamed for its suffering.

There’s always a scapegoat to be found. Just point to the sky and blame the clouds for its pollution. Yes you, Cumulonimbus cloud, how dare you turn a darker shade? Not even the sky owns the right to love its color.

Mother Earth or Mother Nature—still a woman. Emotions are a biological flaw and not what makes something human. It’s always that time of the month. Say women are prone to be too emotional and then we can ignore it.

But have you heard the saying, Hell hath no fury than a woman scorned. The irony of that particular quote. To see all this fire and not think “yeah, maybe there’s some truth to it.”

Still, there’s no reason to fear. We’ve learned to tame fire like a dog domesticated of its animal. As soon as we put fire into a gun, we craved war. It’s stupid to fear what cannot kill us, right?

That is, until that gun is pointed into our own heads. Now, we want to control the gun and not the hand holding it. It’s similar to what we want of the sky. To control its air and not the pollution we created.

#poetry

Affirmation

I know nothing of cave diving
but I’m an expert at escaping.
& this is all I know. not poetry

so I tell myself, I’ll learn how to write
this poem, but until then I’ll teach
myself how to breathe.

say my body is mine as I am to it.
remember we work in one accord.
we are one & not a collection of parts.

though I forget how a machine works,
how the loosening of a screw can make it
malfunction. I’ve become a builder of things.

my hands stay dirty & my fingers coated
in scorched earth. I learn that everything
has a place, including what has been abandoned.

even a building was a home to someone.
once, I was a house. this thing to be taken care of.
love was carved into the walls & cabinets & carpets

but never the backdoor. I tell myself
there’s nothing out there in the yard
but an exit. sometimes, an escape is

only used by cowards. I wanted to stay
but told myself that leaving isn’t my fault.
how a broken window can make a house

less a home? why am I concerned
of people thinking my house is beautiful
when they don’t live here?

I want to find god. this is why I stopped
writing poetry. I teach myself how to pray
as easy as breathing. oh lord, can I be an offering?

can I be someone worthy of prayer?
the only congregation I have
are the grass & rock under my feet.

do you see how they dance in the wind?
is this breathing? did my lungs hear me say:
this body is mine as I am to it?

had it always been this easy?
be in control by simply being.
this is how I’ll start my poem

by finding home in words unspoken.
tell my tongue: this body is mine
as I am to it. force my teeth to listen.

I’ve always been a cave.
inviting despite the darkness
one enters & can never leave

sometimes, to escape we must go back.
understand fear & how we become afraid.
of it & of everything else.

why is the night the only darkness
to hold stars? is my skin not worthy
of being night? I long forget its beauty.

so I want to find love again. to tare down
all these walls & experience land.
it’s not fair how a home is a place

that can be entered & not a feeling
everywhere at once. sometimes,
to escape is realizing we aren’t caged.

this is how I learn to write this poem
as easy as prayer as easy as breathing
by saying: this body is mine as I am to it

& believing myself.

thoughts

The “Proper” Farewell to The Black Panther of All Panthers: Cliff Huxtable

Disclaimer…

As a black boy living in America, I just want to come to the table with some insight. Considering that I can’t cook greens or chicken without burning the kitchen down, it’s the least that I can do for the black community at large. I want to tell you a harsh truth—something that’s been on my mind for a few years now. This article is going to give you a glimpse of how I feel about my fellow Wakadians or Wakadans or Wakas or whatever black people called themselves in the Black Panther.

The Eulogy of The Greatest Black Man to Ever Live

Bill Cosby is going to jail and I feel a bit “sentimental” about the whole thing. I remember watching the Cosby Show, and I thought that Fat Albert was a great movie when I was younger (Kyra Pratt was in it which made the movie even better.) So as the justice system takes another black man away from us, I thought it appropriate to remember the man the way he should be remembered.

Truth be told…

Sometimes, the black community really disgusts me. While the constant need for white acceptance is one thing I can tolerate. This thing where we have to support everyone black is even more aggravating. There are too many coons and ultra-liberal black people using black suffering and black activism to further their own causes for me to support everyone that has melanin in their skin. Not even my self-esteem is low enough to where I’m accepting any form of “wokeness” out of desperation. cliffhuxtable

Again, I’m a black boy. So I know how America loves giving white people the spotlight. Hollywood, especially, tends to give roles of directors, writers, and movie characters to white people. Therefore, black people have to demand and fight for positions that we’d be overlooked for. Which only adds to the anger and protests during the award season that most of these award shows don’t really care about. Too often, most of the nominations are given to White people. And even more frequently, they win these awards.

As a community, our need for the spotlight seems unhealthy. It’s like we can’t shine without someone else putting that light on us. What we should do is find power in shining on our own. Instead, we want those who’d rather keep us in the dark to illuminate us in some way. It’s to the point that we’ve become blinded to a lot of things that shouldn’t be ignored. Especially, within our own community.

In this case, it’s the rape case of Bill Cosby.

The Man that was Cliff Huxtable

It took 60 women (where only ONE was believed) and two trials to finally put Bill Cosby away. And yet, there are black people out there who are still trying to excuse or defend what he did. I see way too many times people bringing up Donald Trump, Harvey Weinstein, or some other creepy old white dude rapist with Bill Cosby’s name. The reason is to show the racial component to the severity of punishment for black rapists and sexual predators compared to their white counterparts.

And I would like to be the first one to say how stupid it is.

Yes, the way the justice system treats black people is unfair, wrong, and extremely racist. As a black boy myself, I understand it. I’ve seen racism and experienced it just like every other black person across this country and outside its borders. The blackness of my skin is like the boogeyman to most white people and institutions across the world. Which is probably why the spotlight for most is important. The light keeps the big, bad boogeyman far away and out of reach.

The First Killmonger…

Bill Cosby remembers Cab Calloway during memorial services

Still, I understand why we admire Bill Cosby. He’s had success within the Entertainment industry from stand-up comedy specials to hit television shows. And just like with any black celebrity who finds success in the white dominated world of Hollywood, we flock together to support him. Bill Cosby had become a beacon, showing us that we can stand in that spotlight too.

However, I no longer care for that spotlight. My apathy towards the spotlight is similar to Bill Cosby’s apathy towards black people in general. Which is why I’m even more confused by black people’s sudden rush to defend Cosby.

The man didn’t like us. At all.

More than a decade ago, Bill Cosby made the “Pound Cake Speech.” A speech that should’ve had his Negro Card revoked and the word “Coon” branded in the middle of his forehead. In this speech, Cosby demonized poor black people for their problems and harsh living conditions. The reason he shamed black people, I assume, is because racism didn’t exist during that time or something. According to Cliff Huxtable, black people had failed to live up to the promises of the Civil Rights Movement.

Therefore, with all due disrespect, Bill Cosby is the modern day Willie Lynch. A wannabe Martin Luther King spending his life looking to be accepted into the White Man’s kingdom. And yet, I’m expected to be outraged that he’s going to jail for being a rapist? Well, I’m not. In fact, I’m happy for his victims and hope that all 60 women find some form of justice and peace.

One last thing…

Let me also say this to those black people bringing up the racial disparity in Cosby’s rape case: Why are you standing up for a man who was looking down on you? Bill Cosby isn’t the “hill I’m willing to die on.” In fact, he’s nowhere near the hill. To be even more clear, Bill Cosby isn’t even in the valley in which the hill rests.

Just because white America is okay with their rapists  being free does not mean that I have to support rapists because they are black. Not all skin-folk is kin-folk and that is doubly true when it comes to rapists and sexual abusers. Black Lives Matter cannot extend their message to these criminals when Black people who are victims of rape and sexual assault within our community don’t receive this same level of support.

So fuck Bill Cosby.

And I cannot wait until R. Kelly suffers the same fate because he’s disgusting too.