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.

Advertisements
thoughts

No More Gardens of Eden: A Warning to Anyone Telling us this Food is Forbidden

There’s a war happening. Starvation is the motive and food has become weapons of mass destruction. And this is all your doing. You’ve created world hunger. In fact, you’re the one who designed the blueprint. You feel nothing from those who died. Instead, you build slaughterhouses on their graves.

We know all this, and yet somehow, we feel sorry for you.

When we were children, we truly believed you knew everything. I mean, how could we think otherwise? Who you were: the adults, the politicians, the parents, the teachers, the authority figures. So when we asked questions about the world, why did this evoke fear and anger?

The world is a big kitchen. You built its fridge, the cabinets, stove, and microwave. And even though they’re faulty and outdated, I should tell you we’re grateful. Truly, we are. That’s why, all we ask to know is how these appliances function. Through understanding, we can learn how to fix them. So they’ll be as good for us as they once were for you. Yet for some reason, you don’t tell us.

As if the bolts and screws are these delicate things we can’t handle. That our hands are too small to pick up the tool box where you’ve “conveniently” put on the highest shelf to be out of reach. You tell us, the world works the way it does because that’s how it is. What you really mean to say: the world can only work the way we say it does. And how is this fair?

Our childlike eyes must give you the impression of blissful ignorance. That we look at this stove and fridge as a toy. Like the way children look at pots and pans as drumsticks on rough surfaces. But as we’re taught—we can learn from suffering. When hungry, we learned the usage of pots and pans is to give us food.

You don’t think we can comprehend the reason of things? Even with little knowledge of a kitchen, we know it’s purpose is to prepare food. And the world works the same way. It’s here to give us a place to live. We’re alive simply because the world exists. So why won’t you tell us how this works?

I think you’re afraid to tell us. Because then, we’d know that you have no idea. The world is what it is because you’ve made it that way. The truth is, you need the world to act this way because you know no other way to live.

This is how it was when you were young and it must remain. Your fear is irrational and change turns into a phobia. For you, handing us the tools is like putting the crown on our heads. It’s giving us the keys to everything that cages you. What you’re afraid of is us.

Yet, can we blame you? Sacrificing power must be hard. You’ve found this kitchen and are expected to hand it over to someone fortunate enough to already have cooked food. If we told you what we wanted to do, would it help calm you? What we want to do is save the world. We believe nobody should be hungry. There’s enough for everybody and even leftovers in the fridge.

So why is there starving people? Those that live outside this house do matter. In fact, they’ve helped gathered the wood and brick to build this kitchen. And even if they didn’t, who are you to own this? This kitchen was preparing food before you became the chef. So you must hand over what belongs to us too.

Instead, you’ve placed menus on voting ballots. Read directions of a cookbook as a rousing speech. Had brunches and picnics as a celebration of a rebellion that can never be revolutionary. Eradicating world hunger was never your agenda. You understood: only hungry people brought food. It’s always been about making money.

Age doesn’t breed wisdom, but arrogance. You care for no ceasefire to a war fought by others that only you’ve benefitted from. This kitchen is only sanctuary as this house is the border walls to the war outside. And we see right through your façade.

So you’re not invited to the cookout—we’ve crossed your name from the guest list. If we have to do this without you, we will. We have. We’ve turned this kitchen into an open café with no price of admission.

And in case you see the “we’re open” sign on the front doorway, just know you won’t be welcomed here.

thoughts

Political Elections & The End of the World as We Voted

Election Day is the Worst Day Ever

I cannot wait until the midterm elections are over. At this point, I’m annoyed by the whole concept of voting. It’s not like we actually care about politics anyways.

Voting is like picking teams for basketball in elementary school gym class. We’re most concerned about being on the popular team that we ignore if the captain is an asshole.

This mindset that voting in the midterm elections is a life-or-death situation is fallacious. Voting for democratic senators who do nothing for us won’t stop the Book of Revelations from becoming reality. So why continue to use fear mongering tactics to get people to take part in the midterm elections?

The Definition of Insanity

I remember the 2016 presidential election just like everyone else. The feeling that we were only one congressional hearing away from cotton-picking will never be forgotten. And yet, are we really surprised at the outcome of that election? Regardless of the masks and disguises America wears to hide its bigotry, we’ve seen its true face. It’s old, white, wrinkly, misogynistic, racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, and everything-else-but-white-man-phobic face.

So why are we acting this way?

Guilt-tripping and threatening people to vote in the 2016 presidential election didn’t sway people to vote. So why would repeating these actions in the midterm elections be any different?

You should know a little fact: HILARY CLINTON DID WIN THE 2016 PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION!!! This means that people did, in fact, vote.

Let’s be clear of three important things: Hilary Clinton won the popular vote (even without 53% of white women’s support); over two million more people voted for Hilary Clinton than Donald Trump; Hilary Clinton has more votes than all other losing presidential candidates. And she still lost.

So with all that said, what’s the point in voting when the Electoral College’s decision means more than the popular vote?

Let me clarify one thing

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t vote. I do think voting is important in getting our voices heard. Issue voting in the midterm elections is a better alternative than simply supporting a democratic politician.

Still, voting cannot be the best (and only) method of getting results in our favor. To me, voting for candidates that are fighting for us is the smart way to go about fixing this mess of a government. We should care for people’s issues with the same passion that we have for their votes. Remember, real life people are dying because of real life policies made by REAL LIFE politicians.

 Surely, we’re smart enough to know that voting for the “lesser evil” will never bring about change that is for the good, right?

In a war between two corrupted political parties, I don’t want to pick a side. It’s like asking me if I want to die by burning alive or being thrown in a pool with hungry sharks. Neither option is good and we don’t have to choose either option. It makes no sense that my life rests in the hands of Democrats who care more about my vote than my well-being. Even worse, they don’t even care about my vote more than the support of right-wingers.

Nonvoters aren’t to Blame for the Government’s Mistakes

We should care about people despite their votes. Understanding why someone chooses not to vote will only help in the long run.

People aren’t doing great. Ignore the illusion of social media that makes it seem everyone is rich and happy. Don’t believe the government when they throw out facts and statistics to prove how great they are. Just because the economy is good doesn’t mean less poverty. So demanding poor people to vote to alleviate everyone else’s suffering is incredibly selfish. In fact, the more I learn about capitalism, the more I understand why people aren’t eager to vote.

However, if you do only care about people’s votes then you should act like it. The government has taken extra measures to restrict people’s rights to votes for some time now. Even with our right to vote, we should know as black people that our rights aren’t fully protected. Yet, I haven’t heard much fuss about any of these restrictions. Instead, the media is still talking about the Russian hacking as if the American government isn’t intervening in the midterm elections.

The Orange Devil with the Blonde Toupee

Donald Trump has truly brought the worst out of everyone. And I’m not just talking about Republicans. (Even though, they’re lost their minds.) The Alt-Right has finally succeeded in retaking control of the government. Not that I’m stupid enough to think they ever lost control of it to begin with. It’s just not hidden anymore.

If I wasn’t black, I’d say our government is trash. However, I do find relief that the bigotry plaguing America has finally bubbled up to the surface. If only this epidemic was bad enough that we focused on finding its cure. Instead, we force ourselves to keep feeding into the disease like it’s not going to kill us anyways.

The Revolution Must be Vaccinated

You’re not being entirely truthful if you believe voting will fix everything. To say that voting is the only way for our voices to be heard isn’t only inaccurate but historically incorrect. Organizing and educating ourselves on government issues are as important as voting. The more we know, the better off we’ll be. We must learn what neoliberalism, imperialism, capitalism, and fascism is and how they work. This way, we won’t keep being treated like pawns by the American government.

We must stop thinking that voting is the magical vaccine that will end the zombie apocalypse, especially when the government is causing the disease.

Despite the government’s role, I believe that people still have the power. And that power doesn’t come solely from a ballot box. Voting for a politician that fits our needs is where true power comes from. This is why I wish we were power hungry, instead of being overpowered by fear.

Let me by clear: I don’t hate the Russians for what they did. (Well, I don’t hate them as much as Democrats do.) I’m indifferent when it comes to this election hacking controversy that’s been all over the news.

America has been stripping away black people’s right to vote ever since we were given it.

Not only that, but I’d say what happened in the 2016 election was karma rearing its ugly head. After all, America has hacked into elections across the world. Now, all of a sudden, they want to say meddling into elections is a problem.

Why is it that everyone else is always suffering because of rich white men’s decisions?

The American Pipe Dream

Hasn’t America warned us not to put all our faith in politicians? This is not what Martin Luther King died for. And you cannot tell me otherwise. In fact, Malcolm X told us how we should use our voices and votes.

I refuse to believe our ancestors fought and died so we could vote to put old white people in charge of things.

I refuse to believe that Harriet Tubman was taking negroes to FREEDOM just so we can put old white people in leadership positions.

I refuse to believe that the Black Panther Party was packing heat and bringing war to the Ku Klux Klan for old white people to use our votes for their own gains.

Despite what black people at these Trap Brunches say, I don’t believe voting alone will take us to the Promised Land.

Is it wrong that I want my vote to matter? Like, really matter? And not simply vote just to spite Republicans.

I want to vote for senators that are actually going to help the people that are voting for them.

I want to empower politicians that aren’t money hungry and war mongering.

I want a congress that’s ran by the people and actually for the people.

I know this is a pipe dream. This sort of reality can never exist as long as politics are the way they are. A democrat throwing bread crumbs on the floor is the best I can hope for to get fed. It’s better to be a dog than starving at the kitchen table, right?

WRONG!

The right to vote is a reason to be depressed. One vote means one more person to suffer and die for the benefit of old ass white people. For this reason, I wonder if voting in the midterm elections or any other election makes me any better than the president I despise?

thoughts

The Silent Revolutionary and a Poem about Scrap Paper

 

Are poets revolutionary?

I’ve always wondered the intentions of poetry. Was it a representation of the world? Or do poets, through our writing, change the world to what it should represent?

Then again, maybe I’m thinking too big. I should focus on myself. An entire universe lives within my skin. Me as insignificant as the moon in a galaxy of stars.

I ask myself: can I write a love poem?

Not for anyone else but me. Would that be narcissistic even when devoid of love? I want to tell myself I’m happy and mean it. As opposed to feeling a sense of guilt. It’s like the words I speak are a blasphemous prayer to a god who must be overwhelmed.

If thunderstorms are temper tantrums, then a natural disaster is god having a mental breakdown. And it seems he’s having a lot lately. In fact, I think I should write about it. Find some similarities between the rain and me. Maybe then, I’ll feel this connection to god that has been a stranger. Being a poet is my way of reaching out to a forgotten friend.

But it’s not all bad. Through all the world’s ills, the most important thing I’ve done was love my poetry again.

For a while, I hated seeing my voice written on the page. Becoming so addicted to editing, I never wanted to show my poetry. And to think, I wouldn’t have created this blog or published my poetry book, had I allowed myself to continue falling down that long spiral to absolute nowhere.

If you ask me? I’d say poetry has been therapeutic.

And sometimes, I actually mean it when I say it. What I think poetry has become is a diary. I have a secret that I’m afraid to say. So poetry is how I express the words I cannot speak. This way, I can take something complex and simplify it. Make the unexplainable understandable.

Poetry is a language that is learned through the heart.

It’s not something to be read, but felt. A cry for help through humor or a comedy born of tragedy– poetry is only limited to how open the poet chooses to be. And from this, I’ve discovered my secret.

How I hate that poetry isn’t intended for the poet. Once it’s read, the words are no longer mine. Poetry is the heart and the poet is the body, poked and prodded. You focus on the poetry and forget the poet exists.

However, it’s not your fault. We’re taught to be careless. And in carelessness breads arrogance. We want to see ourselves in everything. Even in what doesn’t belong to us. Poetry is always taken from its owner. This is how a poet can understand the meanings of words that seem similar.

For example, the difference between a refugee and a wanderer is dependent upon two questions: why they left and where they’re going. That is to say, a poet finds inspiration from being lost or searching for something. Either way, the journey isn’t easy.

Of course, no one cares of a poet’s dedication to the craft. We uncover love through suffering– not all of which is our own. This is how we know that love requires sacrifice. We allow ourselves to be wounded in order to reveal the pain that needs healing.

And fear is born this way. When writing poetry, we know it must end. It’s like we write to obtain a sense of immortality. This way, we’ll be remembered even after the poem is finished.

I ask you: what’s wrong with being scrap paper? Or why does poetry have to be read for poets to be respected?

Since you value a good poem, we’ll fictionalize anything. Create ourselves as the protagonists we want you to love. Even if it’s at the expense of our own character.

For me, I’ve found power in scrap paper. It’s why I aspired to be a poet ever since I picked up a pencil. Writing is the closest I’ve felt to being immortal. I’m able to create anything I want from nothing. Tell my story using my own words in however way I want to use them. Instead of writing poetry, I’m able to embody it.

But the world isn’t as liberating.

Sometimes, I ask what’s the point of having scrap paper? A pencil running out of led is useless. And this is my fear.

Instead of an ending, I become afraid of not finishing. What happens to the poem if it’s stopped mid-sentence? Does someone continue where I left off? Is it possible to understand intent when it’s not fully written?

All I desire is to hold no meaning. I’m a radical in my thinking. Wanting to live in a world where worth isn’t depended upon anything outside myself. The more I write, I realize how selfish I really am. I hate how we define poetry: that it cannot be a poem if no one can decipher its meaning.

I’ve allowed myself to be limited. For too long, I’ve settled with being a pretty phrase in a poem. Someone else is telling me who I am. This is no way to live– a poet trapped in someone else’s poetry.

Why do I need to be defined? Instead of poetry, I want to be scrap paper. There’s limitless possibilities of what I can write in the white spaces. Finally, I can write a love poem and actually like it. Not because of the words, but simply because I wrote it.

So yes, poetry is revolutionary.

When I say I love myself, I want to

#poetry

Tsunami Waves

I’m not sure if it’s my jealously of the sky
that has me afraid to touch it
or my fear of drowning that makes me hate
swimming.

how does my body crave water?

grabbing the edge of a swimming pool
in a vice grip, I kick at the bottom,
desperate to find footing somewhere.
careful to avoid the deep end.

& I think this is fear.

struggling to lift a glass to my lips
without my fingers shaking.
my head hurts thinking about
hot showers &
don’t even tell me there’s a storm approaching.

I hide in my room under covers
when it rains. my heart beats as loud
as thunder. the darkest clouds always
look like claws to me.

is this what anxiety feels like?
being thirsty & everyone telling me
to drink water as if it isn’t poison?

if only I could breathe underwater
grow gills like a fish
but there’s a flood & I’m trying to make myself
into a boat & I’m sorry—

sinking is the one thing I’m great at doing.
my happiest is when I reach a shallow end.
when the tides take pity on me & stop attacking.
when I can put my toes into the water
& not have someone push me into it.

when they tell me this is how I’ll learn
to swim
even as I tire myself out flapping my arms
against the current.
when they tell me I need water to live
& I’m not sure If I want to
not if living means never being on land.

if only I saw this water a mirror.
its blue reflected of open sky
but the water, unlike a mirror, cannot break.
its surface only temporarily displaces when touched upon.
the ocean symbolic of me. I can lose myself
for a while, but will always keep coming back.
into this place
even if I don’t want to.

say my fear is generational.
passed down from ancestors I never knew,
or got the chance of knowing. when they were
stripped of their human
like their skin was old cloth. tattered
at the seams. stitched with bamboo
that was bonding them to their homeland.
now the threads have been cut.
replaced with chains.
anchored onto boats, taken into
a place I’ll soon call home
simply because I’ve only lived here
& I’m sorry

isn’t it sad how they were forced out
into water? had nowhere to escape but
under? I think I understand why now.

why they jumped overboard into the ocean,
birth blue their bodies. allowed the waves
to devour them whole.
escaping what they were to become
to avoid the memories of who they were before.

I discover no footprints within oceans
so when I say I want to go back
it’s only metaphorically.
I see the ocean as tears symbolic
of grief for what is lost. I can never find
what I’m losing—

ain’t no such thing as still water.
the tides are always moving
as if running away from themselves.
but ocean can only go where it’s allowed.
the strength of water means nothing
when something is blocking its way
so maybe the ocean is body symbolic
of what I want to sacrifice. I hope
to never find all that I want to lose.

as I hear the gnarling teeth of rushing tide,
this water at a distance at its most calm,
I think I was twelve when I discovered fear.
the news telling a story of a black boy–
still young but older than me– had leaped
into a creek & didn’t come back up.
a witness said he had disappeared somehow,
vanished, as if the water devoured him
& refused to spit him back out.

I didn’t follow the story long enough to know
if his body was found. on good days, I’d like
to imagine so. that the water found use for him.
that he was symbolic of Jesus
or Emmitt Till or some other dead black boy
we’ll never know because no one knows
is missing & I’m sorry—

I see the ocean as home symbolic
of being lost & I can never find
what I’m searching to find.

I want to ask the ocean
to swallow my body whole & spit me out
as something
other than tsunami waves
as I want to be part of the sky,

touch the blue that hasn’t threatened to kill me,
without destroying everything I touch
when I fail to reach it.

thoughts

The Grammy Award Winning Marketing Genius that is Kanye West

Attention, Attention, Attention

If you haven’t heard Kanye West is selling something.

I’m not entirely sure what that something is at the moment but I know that it’s something. I know because Kanye West is speaking to the people. This is always a special moment for the black community. When Kanye West speaks, we listen. Take in his words like a prayer that will get us through another troubling week. Even God stops his Heavenly duties to hear what his other begotten son Yeezus has to say. Kanye is this powerful.

It should be no shock to anymore. I’m a huge Kanye West fan. Or, as he likes to be called: “the artist formally known as Kanye West who goes by Ye.” He’s such an artistic genius, I doubt normal people like you will ever understand. Like, how my name was David but now I call myself “Id.” You know, like, one of the three psyches of the brain. That’s how much of an artistic genius I am.

Anyways, I can’t wait to buy whatever Kanye West is selling.

The Compelling Art of Trolling

Kanye West has the greatest marketing campaign ever. The way he’s able to make black people question the severity of American slavery in order to sell us something is legendary work. I never thought I’d see the day when black people would question the strength of our ancestors who fought to get us where we are today.

And it’s about time!

To think 400 years of slavery, rape, family separation, and inhumane suffering should be seen in the same light as 9/11 or the Holocaust is just disrespectful to all the real victims of tragedy. We are not our grandparents, indeed. If only Harriet Tubman and Nat Turner had iPhones to capture racism for consumption. Instead, they were planning revolts and freeing slaves. We’d be better off as a people if our ancestors just worked alongside their slave masters like black liberals work alongside politicians who endorse white supremency. Thank you Mr. West for opening my third eye.

Artistic Integrity

d6524ab4d97202710cc824a031e1192a

What I like most about Kanye West is his growth. How he went from saying George Bush didn’t care about black people to celebrating Donald Trump because he fights for black people. Have you seen the unemployment rate for African Americans? According to Trump’s twitter account, they’ve gone down because of him. Now we too get to work for minimum wage and poor benefits. Yay!

I remember Kanye West before he used Twitter. When he just made rants on camera like any normal “out of their mind” celebrity would do. Do you remember those good ol’ days? When Kanye West would use his tours to promo lengthy rants about all things celebrity instead of performing the music that his fans spent a lot of money to hear. If not, then let’s reminisce.

Today, Kanye West has learned a new marketing skill: the art of the mental breakdown. But I can’t give Kanye all the credit. I mean, every strong man has an even stronger woman behind him. So I’d like to give credit to the Kardashians for saving Kanye from the sunken place. Where would we be as black people without the Kardashian’s efforts?

The Kanye West Album Rollout

I know Kanye West has an album coming out. (Or, is it two albums?) One, I know for sure is Yandhi and the other I hear is Watch the Throne 2. The album Yandhi is apparently pushed back to November 23th because Kanye has to record the album all the way in Africa. You know, to be in touch with his blackness that people claim he forgot existed. Even though the album was delayed until November, he decides to wait until the week of its release to say he hadn’t finished it. Which is a very Kanye West-thing to do, if you ask me.

The second album, Watch the Throne 2, is what I’m most intrigued about though. I’m as excited for that album as Jay Z, if not more. I wonder who’s going to be the artist Kanye will collaborate with. Maybe Drake and him patched things up and will become friends again in time for the release. Or maybe, Kanye and Pusha T will team up to finish Drake off in a two-on-one beat down. Even better, Kanye could leech off one of the newer rappers like most veteran artists do, when their star power wanes a bit. With all these unanswered questions and built up anticipation, you’d think Kanye West was the new Dragon Ball Z narrator.

What Kanye West has taught me Image result for trolling money

Selling our souls for popularity isn’t that bad. This new way of marketing has made us gods to whoever we’re appealing to. Isn’t it great how doing antics and “going viral” has brought out humanity’s best? Who knew that all I had to do to be heard was to scream louder than anyone in the room. I mean, why should Kanye West use his platform to preach a good message?

The marketing is simple: sell integrity in exchange for clout.

It’s time to accept the reality. We’re no longer people anymore. Our worth is measured by numbers and statistics. In order to have importance, we must rack up a good online following. Otherwise, we’re nobody but a social media page. And who wants to be that when we can be celebrities? The closest to Godhood any person can possibly reach.

In Defense of Ye

So I’m not sure why people don’t like Kanye West. He’s done entirely too much good for the fashion industry to be disrespected. But let me guess, he didn’t do enough for Chicago? Well, Kim Kardashian said she’d take over Yanda’s House and do more for the community than the organizers that are there. And I believe her. If anyone can help the  black youth in Chicago, who’s better to save them than a Kardashian? Just look at the amazing work she’s done with Donald Trump to save the blacks from the racist prison industry. Who knows, she might free Bill Cosby with the hard work she’s been doing for the community.

Now, Kanye West has set his sights on the thirteenth amendment.

kim-kardashian-donald-trump-meeting-twitter-social-hp-crop-1527781336The amendment that abolished slavery and quite possibly the most important of all amendments that keeps black people safe. (Well, as safe as America will allow us to be.) I’m sure there’s a reason Kanye West wants to end the thirteenth amendment. Maybe Kim Kardashian explained how the thirteenth amendment empowered the mass incarceration of black people. And Kanye, being the black pioneer that he is, wants to destroy the racist prison industry. Surely, this must be the reason. Kanye West wouldn’t be so stupid to get rid of the thirteenth amendment for anything else, right? He is a genius, after all.

And as far as Donald Trump is concerned, I understand why Kanye stands behind him. The reason he wears that “Make American Great Again” hat is the same reason he wore the confederate flag. Kanye West is trying to bring black people together so that we can be great too. Like, how Kanye West is great. You see, it’s all a part of his genius: thinking of others before himself.

So again thank you, Mr. West, for making true liberation ba-lack again.

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.