I'm stepping off my pedestal this time. No diatribe on the ills of western civilisation, no political commentary on Babylon and the criticism of the American justice system. None of that shit. For this episode, number six of season one, I'm going to let you all peek behind the curtain.
Okay, you figured me out. The week is almost over and I needed a topic for a blog and I couldn't think of anything so you get this piece of shit instead.
Without further ado, here's four things you didn't know about me.
1) I love, read that LOVE, the Spice Girls. Somewhere between my lust for attractive girls, my sucker for an English accent, and my being a bit of an Anglophile, I fell a complete sucker for the five Spices brought together to take over the world with cheesy lyrics, great pop melodies, and perfect timing.
And when I say LOVE, I mean LOOOOVE. I'd buy all the special poster edition magazines. But I'd buy two! One was for hanging up on the wall, the other was to save like it was a collector's item. Ugh, I know, I was such a loser. My bedroom in DC during high school, one wall had the Union Jack hanging, and the other, the longest wall of my room, had Spice posters from corner to corner. I was Spice mad. I had seen "Spice World" four times in theatres, even dragging my dad once. Needless to say he hated it. I bought the movie the day it came out on VHS. In fact, I pre-ordered it from my neighbourhood Sam Goody! I had their live concert on tape, I had two tapes of their official video, I bought their trading stickers, their lollipops, even the dolls. Fuck me, I was such a pathetic teeny bopper. I've never liked pop music nor the teen bands, but who could resist the power of Spice?!
Oh and I still bring their albums into rotation. To this very day. Favourite Spice Girls track? Too easy. Who Do You Think You Are?
2) The smartest and best decision I've ever made was to marry Jessica.
I know, weird right? I'm like most men you see married on television. Get me away from the wife, and I can go on and on about how terrible being married is, how the wife is so silly or irrational, whatever else she may be. All of this may be true or may not be (but it's true), yet still, marrying her was is the highlight of my life to date. We're guaranteed a great marriage anyway because on our wedding day, Tottenham finally beat Arsenal after 10 long years of nothing in league play. I'd say that's a good sign.
So what? She's stubborn, opinionated, emotionally isolated, and likes to annoy me, and likes to do as she would not like done unto, but shit we all have our flaws, right? I mean, I suck at life my damn self, so who am I to judge?
I can tell you this: she's pretty awesome too. Where I'm an idealist, stick to my beliefs, and deal with theories, she's grounded and focused on where she's going. We're perfect supplementary angles. Sometimes we're both 90 degrees, but if one swings to 120, the other has no problem stepping back and being the other 60 degrees. When she can't do math, sure I ridicule her, and then step in and do the math. When I can't be the huggy, kissy parent, she comes in and does all that sappy shit. I sit through her boring movies, she sits through my Marlins games. I do the cooking in the house, she does the cooking out of the house.
Marriage is hard fucking work, people. There's a lot of love, and a lot of hate. Every day can be a challenge, and if at the end of it, you didn't kill each other and wanna do it again tomorrow, you've got a lot more going for you than a lot of other people today. So, sure, I love my wife, she's the best. But if you ever ask me publicly, I'll deny, deny, deny. It's just what us husbands are supposed to do.
3) Unless you know me personally and quite intimately, you probably didn't know I had an eight year stretch of being a conservative social Republican with a GOP only voting record until 2008.
Phew, feels good to get that dirty secret off my chest. I fell victim to a perfect storm. I moved to DC in'96, and went to a parochial school--Seventh-day Adventist, to be exact. I myself was a Christian at the time, but nominally. I was a pet project for a few teachers, a heathen that could potentially be brought to the feet of the cross. Looking back, I was nothing more than the African or indigenous American, only I was beaten with whips, I was beaten with love and kindness. Either way, the endgame was the same--get this guy to accept the Christ. I even had a teacher, my math teacher at that, say by the time graduation comes around, I'll have abandoned all teachings of Marxism I had and would be better for it.
Well after three years at that school, I had found the Christ, converted to Catholicism (which my senior bible teacher was none too thrilled about but was at least pleased as punch I believed), and was seventeen and part of the John McCain street team. There's the perfect storm. My senior year was centred around the 2000 presidential primaries, and with my new-found conservatism but with sensibilities, I'd thrown my hat in for McCain. From this moment on up unto 2008, I had hadn't voted for any non Republican candidate in any election. I voted for the second GW term (I was only 17 for the first GW term), I voted for Jeb Bush, I voted against even the slightest liberal amendments and propositions just to keep a fantastically clean voting record.
Finally, somewhere in 2008, I reestablished old principles and worldviews and luckily broke the shackles of that horseshit conservatism and of a faith that doesn't have my interests at centre (no offence to those who ascribe to either of those). I finally even voted outside the GOP and helped elect Obama. But don't think I'll ever do that again. I'm a third party guy, I stick to my guns and he's not with my guns. But yep, for eight years there, I was a real two-bit Uncle Tom ass brother. Let's forget that ever happened.
4) I have an odd fascination with death. It's one of those things I like about Mexican culture, the macabre isn't profane, it's often celebrated actually. I can't go a day without thinking of the many ways one thing can go wrong and I can die.
I can be in the kitchen cooking, and literally visualise the ceiling caving in out of nowhere and crushing me. When I lived in DC, I would sit on the Metro and could always visualise a passenger taking the seat behind me and simply blowing my brains out with a point-blank shot to the back of the head. No matter where I go, what I do, I see where and how I can die while being there and doing whatever.
Sounds creepy probably, but it's not so much a fear thing. It's not that I'm afraid to die. I just don't disrespect death and and overlook it or put some kind of positive spin on it. I'm going to die one way or another. The only thing I wish was that I didn't see it so often. I've started to relax on it, but it's not completely gone. The next time I get into a car, I'll see the fiery crash at the intersection. The next time I go to check the mail at night, I'll see the car turn the corner with its headlights off and run me down.
What can I say? I'm neurotic and shit happens.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
1.5 -- Troy Davis.
Troy Davis.
This isn't your typical blog about a man named Troy Davis, but then again, I haven't read any about him. This blog will not contain buzzwords and catchphrases like "fuck the system." This blog will not recant the chants of Black Panthers long before us singing, "No more pigs in our communities, fuck the pigs." This blog is going to come at you from the whole other end of the spectrum.
I believe in justice. I believe in law enforcement. Matter of fact, so do you all of you. If someone hurts your loved one, you're going to reach for your mobile and dial 911. If someone steals your car, you're going to reach for your mobile and dial 911. If you see someone in peril, you may try to help, but you'll definitely reach for your mobile and dial 911. So, please, let's cut the bullshit. It's not fuck the pigs, fuck the system, fuck the police. Wasn't it just 11 days ago we were thanking the policemen of New York City for being heroes? So let's get past that posturing already. It doesn't make you seem more revolutionary, it doesn't make you seem more countercultured or educated. In fact, it makes you look like a damn fool.
Now the system isn't the best. The system has flaws all over it. But then again, every societal structure has flaws. But let's not kid ourselves either; the system gets it right more times than it gets it wrong. For every Troy Davis that may have been, and we can only say may have been, imprisoned as an innocent man, there's 100 correctly imprisoned. We're not going to deal with the socioeconomic inferences of the population imprisoned, but let's not write the entire judicial system off, okay?
But let's get to the crux of the matter. This blog is dedicated to my fellow African readers, and primarily African-American. I haven't quite seen the same from the Afro-Latino friends I have. There's a lot of Al Sharptons on facebook and twitter. A lot of you niggas, and yes, I'm using the word now, are making statuses and tweeting all day and night about the injustice suffered by another brother. The system, the white man, at it again, fucking over another brother. When will it end? You niggas make me sick. This doesn't go out to my conscious friends, my friends who are about the causes of the the global community and equality for all. This isn't for those of the like mind who truly care about the plight of our people, other people, and all people. This is for you niggas who grandstand and bring out soapboxes and take the easy position and do it "for the black." If I were Fudge and yall were Malik and this was "Higher Learning", I'd say to yall, "Run, nigga, run." That's what all of yall are doing. You're not down for the cause. Sure, you think you are because you went to a black college or sure you are because you have one dashiki in the closet or sure you are because you have some books about Africa or ancient Egypt on your bookshelf. That's great. But what are you doing for the community overall? What are you doing everyday? How has your worldview influenced your actions, your thoughts, your compassion for your fellow man every single day?
All of you niggas are Al Sharpton and facebook, twitter, these are your cameras. You slick your hair back, you put on a sharp suit, and you climb on your soapbox and say the system was built to imprison our people, to keep us subdued, to rid the country of the black plague. And while there is merit to the argument, this is not about that right now. This isn't a black thing. This is a humanitarian thing. Troy Davis wasn't executed because he was black. Troy Davis wasn't imprisoned because he was black. If that was the case, a lot of us would be in prison now. And if not us, we all know at least three people who would be in prison right now. Now, the thing us black folks fail to realise often is just because something is racial, it doesn't always make the leap to being racist.
None of us know the details of the case. And if we do, we probably just wikipedia'd them in the last couple days and ran with it. We can come to the conclusion that the evidence was close to nonexistent and that there's a chance this man was imprisoned for being black and in the wrong place. And sure, we can say the witnesses could be lying and leaning to imprison a black man because the black man scares them. There's probably elements of truth in all of this. But to see so many saying, hmm, Casey Anthony goes free but a brother dies for a crime he didn't commit. The system is so fucked up. But I'm sorry, the two cases, not the same. One, no one came and said/lied/whatever that "Yes, I saw Casey kill her kid. People did come forward and say/lie/whatever that "Yes, I saw Troy Davis shoot that cop." That's gonna get you in prison and on death row 10 times out of 10. Two, and perhaps the main reason Anthony got off, the prosecution could never say, Anthony did this on Wednesday at 2:34 pm. That's always gonna keep you out of jail. But beyond that, if you're rationalising these two by saying one gets off because she's white and the other gets executed because he's black, I offer you the West Memphis Three. I'm not going to give you the history lesson about that case, go look it up and feed your own brain.
But let's say this was all about being black and the white man wins again and that the system is so fucked up and another brother died for nothing. Where do you get the right to take this man's life, this family's loss and trivialise it to something so primitive? And then again, let's go back to 1995. I'm sure a lot of you grandstanding, talk-loud-and-draw-a-crowd niggas were so happy that Orenthal James beat the system. Funny how that works. How can you justify both? Is the justice system fucked up or does it hate brothers? And he was a brother who won the hearts of America through his athleticism, his smile, his character in Hertz commercials and Naked Gun moves. Oh, did I mention he was married to a white woman!? The grand prize, the treasure, the crown jewel of the white man? If that nigga can get off after all of that, then can the system really hate brothers? And you, you tap-dancing nigga, how can you dap up OJ with one hand and throw up the black fist with the other for Brother Davis? Think about it.
The moral of the story is, yes, there are grave injustices in the justice system. But it's the system we have and it's the system we'd rely on if our mothers, fathers, children, spouses were killed tomorrow. Troy Davis may or may not have killed a cop in Georgia. He may or may not have been wrongly imprisoned. He's now dead. The blood isn't on the man's hands or the system's proverbial hands. The blood is on you niggas' hands too. Don't be pro-black when the timing is right and the camera lights are bright. Don't suddenly be conscious and aware on cue. Brother Davis isn't a person to memorialise for the wrong reasons of another black man defeated by the man. He's a person to memorialise because he's another human who appears to have suffered injustice and been wrongly executed. This isn't black or white. This is about wrong or right. Don't put up your black fist in protest. Put up your heart in protest. This stuff happens more often than you know. And a lot of times, it's not just brothers. And I'm a firm believer in the death penalty. I relate it to the principles of Darwin. But it has to be the right man or no man at all. Don't reduce Troy Davis to such trivial posturing.
I hope his case turns some of you niggas to productive members of the race, be it black and human. However, I'm smart, I know it won't. Sure, Troy Davis will trend on twitter for a day or two and be linked to articles all over facebook. Then the weekend will come. People will be at the beach, shopping, watching sports, listening to the new hot album on the streets, and Troy Davis will just be another nigga dead. But hey, at least you got to stand on your soapbox right?
Psht. Niggas.
This isn't your typical blog about a man named Troy Davis, but then again, I haven't read any about him. This blog will not contain buzzwords and catchphrases like "fuck the system." This blog will not recant the chants of Black Panthers long before us singing, "No more pigs in our communities, fuck the pigs." This blog is going to come at you from the whole other end of the spectrum.
I believe in justice. I believe in law enforcement. Matter of fact, so do you all of you. If someone hurts your loved one, you're going to reach for your mobile and dial 911. If someone steals your car, you're going to reach for your mobile and dial 911. If you see someone in peril, you may try to help, but you'll definitely reach for your mobile and dial 911. So, please, let's cut the bullshit. It's not fuck the pigs, fuck the system, fuck the police. Wasn't it just 11 days ago we were thanking the policemen of New York City for being heroes? So let's get past that posturing already. It doesn't make you seem more revolutionary, it doesn't make you seem more countercultured or educated. In fact, it makes you look like a damn fool.
Now the system isn't the best. The system has flaws all over it. But then again, every societal structure has flaws. But let's not kid ourselves either; the system gets it right more times than it gets it wrong. For every Troy Davis that may have been, and we can only say may have been, imprisoned as an innocent man, there's 100 correctly imprisoned. We're not going to deal with the socioeconomic inferences of the population imprisoned, but let's not write the entire judicial system off, okay?
But let's get to the crux of the matter. This blog is dedicated to my fellow African readers, and primarily African-American. I haven't quite seen the same from the Afro-Latino friends I have. There's a lot of Al Sharptons on facebook and twitter. A lot of you niggas, and yes, I'm using the word now, are making statuses and tweeting all day and night about the injustice suffered by another brother. The system, the white man, at it again, fucking over another brother. When will it end? You niggas make me sick. This doesn't go out to my conscious friends, my friends who are about the causes of the the global community and equality for all. This isn't for those of the like mind who truly care about the plight of our people, other people, and all people. This is for you niggas who grandstand and bring out soapboxes and take the easy position and do it "for the black." If I were Fudge and yall were Malik and this was "Higher Learning", I'd say to yall, "Run, nigga, run." That's what all of yall are doing. You're not down for the cause. Sure, you think you are because you went to a black college or sure you are because you have one dashiki in the closet or sure you are because you have some books about Africa or ancient Egypt on your bookshelf. That's great. But what are you doing for the community overall? What are you doing everyday? How has your worldview influenced your actions, your thoughts, your compassion for your fellow man every single day?
All of you niggas are Al Sharpton and facebook, twitter, these are your cameras. You slick your hair back, you put on a sharp suit, and you climb on your soapbox and say the system was built to imprison our people, to keep us subdued, to rid the country of the black plague. And while there is merit to the argument, this is not about that right now. This isn't a black thing. This is a humanitarian thing. Troy Davis wasn't executed because he was black. Troy Davis wasn't imprisoned because he was black. If that was the case, a lot of us would be in prison now. And if not us, we all know at least three people who would be in prison right now. Now, the thing us black folks fail to realise often is just because something is racial, it doesn't always make the leap to being racist.
None of us know the details of the case. And if we do, we probably just wikipedia'd them in the last couple days and ran with it. We can come to the conclusion that the evidence was close to nonexistent and that there's a chance this man was imprisoned for being black and in the wrong place. And sure, we can say the witnesses could be lying and leaning to imprison a black man because the black man scares them. There's probably elements of truth in all of this. But to see so many saying, hmm, Casey Anthony goes free but a brother dies for a crime he didn't commit. The system is so fucked up. But I'm sorry, the two cases, not the same. One, no one came and said/lied/whatever that "Yes, I saw Casey kill her kid. People did come forward and say/lie/whatever that "Yes, I saw Troy Davis shoot that cop." That's gonna get you in prison and on death row 10 times out of 10. Two, and perhaps the main reason Anthony got off, the prosecution could never say, Anthony did this on Wednesday at 2:34 pm. That's always gonna keep you out of jail. But beyond that, if you're rationalising these two by saying one gets off because she's white and the other gets executed because he's black, I offer you the West Memphis Three. I'm not going to give you the history lesson about that case, go look it up and feed your own brain.
But let's say this was all about being black and the white man wins again and that the system is so fucked up and another brother died for nothing. Where do you get the right to take this man's life, this family's loss and trivialise it to something so primitive? And then again, let's go back to 1995. I'm sure a lot of you grandstanding, talk-loud-and-draw-a-crowd niggas were so happy that Orenthal James beat the system. Funny how that works. How can you justify both? Is the justice system fucked up or does it hate brothers? And he was a brother who won the hearts of America through his athleticism, his smile, his character in Hertz commercials and Naked Gun moves. Oh, did I mention he was married to a white woman!? The grand prize, the treasure, the crown jewel of the white man? If that nigga can get off after all of that, then can the system really hate brothers? And you, you tap-dancing nigga, how can you dap up OJ with one hand and throw up the black fist with the other for Brother Davis? Think about it.
The moral of the story is, yes, there are grave injustices in the justice system. But it's the system we have and it's the system we'd rely on if our mothers, fathers, children, spouses were killed tomorrow. Troy Davis may or may not have killed a cop in Georgia. He may or may not have been wrongly imprisoned. He's now dead. The blood isn't on the man's hands or the system's proverbial hands. The blood is on you niggas' hands too. Don't be pro-black when the timing is right and the camera lights are bright. Don't suddenly be conscious and aware on cue. Brother Davis isn't a person to memorialise for the wrong reasons of another black man defeated by the man. He's a person to memorialise because he's another human who appears to have suffered injustice and been wrongly executed. This isn't black or white. This is about wrong or right. Don't put up your black fist in protest. Put up your heart in protest. This stuff happens more often than you know. And a lot of times, it's not just brothers. And I'm a firm believer in the death penalty. I relate it to the principles of Darwin. But it has to be the right man or no man at all. Don't reduce Troy Davis to such trivial posturing.
I hope his case turns some of you niggas to productive members of the race, be it black and human. However, I'm smart, I know it won't. Sure, Troy Davis will trend on twitter for a day or two and be linked to articles all over facebook. Then the weekend will come. People will be at the beach, shopping, watching sports, listening to the new hot album on the streets, and Troy Davis will just be another nigga dead. But hey, at least you got to stand on your soapbox right?
Psht. Niggas.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
1.4 -- Icarus.
I'm not Icarus. In this scenario, I'm Daedalus. I've escaped the Labyrinth and stayed my course flying to safety. Poor Icarus though. Flew too close to the sun, wax wings just melting. Crashing to his death in the aquamarine waters below. Ah well, so sad. The world keeps turning, life keeps going. If you've never looked Icarus in the face, allow me to introduce to John.
Unlike my arch enemy blog, Episode 3/Season 1, I'm not withholding names. His name is John. John is 19, of mixed race and with Dominican heritage on his paternal side. He's an odder looking fellow. He's not the ugliest bastard in the bar, but if there were 10 average men, I don't think he'll be in the first four you're looking to attract. He's socially awkward. He's clueless to most things, be it sports, history, politics, music, religion, and beyond. His opinions are usually second and third hand. There have been numerous times he has spitted out what he feels on an issue and it's often close to verbatim to what myself or one of my friends have told him. He claims to be a stud in history but he hasn't read a book in over three years.
That's just the tip of the ice berg.
For some reason, I talk to this kid a few times a week. I don't know what I get out of it. It's often torturous. Sometimes, we chat about soccer. I give my input on the same six questions he always asks, he says "I see," I expose him for a fraudulent fan, he admits it, and we'll have this conversation next week.
Recently, the kid can only talk about his girlfriend. Now granted it's his first girlfriend ever, and to wait til 19 to finally have a relationship--Christ. I contest that the girl is indeed his actual girlfriend, regardless of her committing herself to him. For months, all I ever heard from him is how she's so great, she's the hottest bitch ever, how she can make him feel like a man two days a week, how she's so curvy, how she's the perfect embodiment of a white Latina ever, or at least fairer-skinned, how her body is a wonderland, how he's so great at eating her out even though it took him months later to realise that clitoral stimulation is a key aspect to cunnilingus. O yeah, this is John.
I can say John, relax. It's your first relationship. It's not the girl, it's a girl. He was never able to understand that last sentence. I had to explain to him he's gone all of his teen life seeing friends date while he was taking girls out to movies and dinner and getting nothing at all. So now some strumpet comes along and pretends or maybe even has some reciprocated interest in him and he shoots off to the moon ready to marry her. I say, kid, look around at all the people you know. How many marry their first loves? But no, fuck that, I'm 28 and wrong. He's 19 and still breastfeeding but he knows best.
Smash-cut to the last couple months, and he finds out that she may have had a fling in a tropical location, she may have had a date with an older guy from her church, and that she isn't always there when he thinks she should be. I'd say to him all the time, no one likes to date down. If you're an eight, you don't like dating sixes. Now this girl isn't any dimepiece, but she's a decent five-and-a-half, six on a great day. Either way, she's quite too good looking to be in this relationship. So I'll say John, she's dating down and she knows it. She will wake up and see that no one is jealous of her relationship and she'll want out. Oh no, I'm wrong though. But ask him about the guy he's most jealous of and it's the early 20s, college-educated lad that's in her church. Sounds like a girl who knows she can date at her level or up.
Now all he can tell me is how shaken his trust is, how he doesn't know the real woman inside of her, how he's over all this shit. But tell him to break up with her and he's not having it. Of course not. This woman is the only reason he lives. And no, that's not exaggeration nor hyperbole. To prove it, he says if this relationship fails, he has to move out of Tallahassee immediately.
Icarus. You're flying too close to the sun. Cuidado.
As I said earlier, John is of mixed race. His mother is African, gonna assume African-American, but definitely Africa. His father is mestizo from Dominican Republic. Apparently, he doesn't see this though. All he sees is that somewhere in his father's family tree, someone came from Spain. Some conquistador or poor bastard emigrated from Spain and landed on Hispanola. Because of his pure Spanish roots, no matter how watered down before it gets to John, he feels a kindred connection to Spain. At the same time, because myself and my friends are so into the effects of Maafa, he tries to appeal to our senses by boasting his love for "Mama Africa." His words, not mine.
I don't know if you need a history lesson in Spain, but like a lot of the European nations, their relations with people of colour, sketchy at best. We can show him folders of evidence to suggest that his own mother would be a second, third class citizen if she were over there, but that means nothing. This kid has Spaniard blood! It should be celebrated.
At the same time, he identifies by heritage, as do most Latinos, not by race. That's cool. But his notion of Latino is so contrived and stereotypical, that as a person who can trend Latin myself, it's offensive. It's like for him to validate his notion of Dominican, he has to fly the colours on his wall, go blast merengue, and praise bachata as the world's greatest music. Oh, that and say, hey Rafael Trujillo, he's not so bad. If you need to know about the atrocities of Trujillo, I can sum them up in one action. President Trujillo once had his army forces go to the river border and just slay thousands of Haitians. The number killed was so large that their blood flowed down the river, turning it red, and ever since, the river has been named Massacre. But then again, his grandfather liked Trujillo, so he's great! (Second-hand opinion, again.) By the way, did I mention that Trujillo was part Haitian and even painted himself with make-up to appear white? Yeah, great guy.
Work with me here, I'm bringing this full circle. The nature of race in Dominican Republic is touchy. Most of the population has African in them, but their census would do everything to dispute this fact. So I understand the complexity involved. But then again, the kid is from here and with an African-American mother. So his head shouldn't be so fucked up.
So again, he loves the throne in Spain, he also loves Mama Africa. Seems slightly contradictory when you boil it down, but hey, I guess. He loves Mama Africa, but ask him who he wants to date and it's white Latinas. Ask him where he'd like to go in the world, it's Madrid. No mention of any reclamations of roots lost in the dark continent. But all of this aside, he continues to appeal to myself and my friends as if he's one of the brothas, just another black kid because his hair is kinky and he likes Gucci Mane.
Amazing. I once asked a mutual friend of ours if he overemphasizes his Latinismo with their friends as he tries to do with his blackness with my friends. This mutual friend answered back with a resounding yes. The mutual friend even exposed him for not knowing fairly simple and common things Latino that transcend international borders, and so aren't nation-specific.
I can say John, don't try to be black because you're with the niggas. We know who we are, we know who you are. You're spending too much time trying to be us. We're not right because we think the way we think, see the world how we see it. We're right because we stay true to ourselves and our principles. Find yourself. And you'd be amazed how much clarity you can gain from just reading. Stop being a generalisation of your race and heritage. Stop using youtube videos to gain cultural perspective. Read. But no. No dice. I would say to him to emancipate himself, but he'd never know from whom or what.
Icarus ... cuidado ...
This poor bastard has even come to me and said, "I don't know what I want to talk about, but I feel enlightened right now." I asked if he finally read something. Of course not. Doesn't that sum up everything in a nutshell.
Maybe I should shut up. I can only tell Icarus to watch out so many times.
His political insights are amazing. For someone who just wants to marry his "girlfriend" and have a nice family life, who comes from such humble stock, you would think he digests Rush Limbaugh with many of his opinions. But he thinks he's liberal. One night, he came to me like this: I think I figured something out and it could really work. What if we cut taxes everywhere and let the rich keep their money? Then they'll spend it more, hire more people for jobs, and these dollars will flow all the way down the economy. I'm like, and you really think you invented this? His response was he's never seen it anywhere else. This damn kid thought he invented trickle-down theory. Reading is fundamental. And even still, I'm sure that idea came from someone else he had a discussion with; he then retooled it, repackaged it, and passed it off as his own.
Oh Icarus, so young.
I know, this episode is loosely structured, but if you knew him, it would make so much sense. When you rail on the kid, so much just flies out in disgust or in rage, it's impossible to keep it centred or formulate it to a specific pattern. Talking with him is like beating your head against a wall. It's pure, utter pain.
I can't stop though. It's my cross to bear. Sometimes I think he has a chance to wake the fuck up, to free himself, but just when I think so--BAM! Head into the wall.
John, you may think this blog is just to roast you, but no. It's to put how silly you sound in one location so you can see some gripes in one place. And if you need clarification, don't just go to me. You know my other friends who know you. Ask them. You really could become something great, but you're so mired in bullshit to realise that. So much potential energy, just none of it turns kinetic.
Oh Icarus, I tried to warn you.
Unlike my arch enemy blog, Episode 3/Season 1, I'm not withholding names. His name is John. John is 19, of mixed race and with Dominican heritage on his paternal side. He's an odder looking fellow. He's not the ugliest bastard in the bar, but if there were 10 average men, I don't think he'll be in the first four you're looking to attract. He's socially awkward. He's clueless to most things, be it sports, history, politics, music, religion, and beyond. His opinions are usually second and third hand. There have been numerous times he has spitted out what he feels on an issue and it's often close to verbatim to what myself or one of my friends have told him. He claims to be a stud in history but he hasn't read a book in over three years.
That's just the tip of the ice berg.
For some reason, I talk to this kid a few times a week. I don't know what I get out of it. It's often torturous. Sometimes, we chat about soccer. I give my input on the same six questions he always asks, he says "I see," I expose him for a fraudulent fan, he admits it, and we'll have this conversation next week.
Recently, the kid can only talk about his girlfriend. Now granted it's his first girlfriend ever, and to wait til 19 to finally have a relationship--Christ. I contest that the girl is indeed his actual girlfriend, regardless of her committing herself to him. For months, all I ever heard from him is how she's so great, she's the hottest bitch ever, how she can make him feel like a man two days a week, how she's so curvy, how she's the perfect embodiment of a white Latina ever, or at least fairer-skinned, how her body is a wonderland, how he's so great at eating her out even though it took him months later to realise that clitoral stimulation is a key aspect to cunnilingus. O yeah, this is John.
I can say John, relax. It's your first relationship. It's not the girl, it's a girl. He was never able to understand that last sentence. I had to explain to him he's gone all of his teen life seeing friends date while he was taking girls out to movies and dinner and getting nothing at all. So now some strumpet comes along and pretends or maybe even has some reciprocated interest in him and he shoots off to the moon ready to marry her. I say, kid, look around at all the people you know. How many marry their first loves? But no, fuck that, I'm 28 and wrong. He's 19 and still breastfeeding but he knows best.
Smash-cut to the last couple months, and he finds out that she may have had a fling in a tropical location, she may have had a date with an older guy from her church, and that she isn't always there when he thinks she should be. I'd say to him all the time, no one likes to date down. If you're an eight, you don't like dating sixes. Now this girl isn't any dimepiece, but she's a decent five-and-a-half, six on a great day. Either way, she's quite too good looking to be in this relationship. So I'll say John, she's dating down and she knows it. She will wake up and see that no one is jealous of her relationship and she'll want out. Oh no, I'm wrong though. But ask him about the guy he's most jealous of and it's the early 20s, college-educated lad that's in her church. Sounds like a girl who knows she can date at her level or up.
Now all he can tell me is how shaken his trust is, how he doesn't know the real woman inside of her, how he's over all this shit. But tell him to break up with her and he's not having it. Of course not. This woman is the only reason he lives. And no, that's not exaggeration nor hyperbole. To prove it, he says if this relationship fails, he has to move out of Tallahassee immediately.
Icarus. You're flying too close to the sun. Cuidado.
As I said earlier, John is of mixed race. His mother is African, gonna assume African-American, but definitely Africa. His father is mestizo from Dominican Republic. Apparently, he doesn't see this though. All he sees is that somewhere in his father's family tree, someone came from Spain. Some conquistador or poor bastard emigrated from Spain and landed on Hispanola. Because of his pure Spanish roots, no matter how watered down before it gets to John, he feels a kindred connection to Spain. At the same time, because myself and my friends are so into the effects of Maafa, he tries to appeal to our senses by boasting his love for "Mama Africa." His words, not mine.
I don't know if you need a history lesson in Spain, but like a lot of the European nations, their relations with people of colour, sketchy at best. We can show him folders of evidence to suggest that his own mother would be a second, third class citizen if she were over there, but that means nothing. This kid has Spaniard blood! It should be celebrated.
At the same time, he identifies by heritage, as do most Latinos, not by race. That's cool. But his notion of Latino is so contrived and stereotypical, that as a person who can trend Latin myself, it's offensive. It's like for him to validate his notion of Dominican, he has to fly the colours on his wall, go blast merengue, and praise bachata as the world's greatest music. Oh, that and say, hey Rafael Trujillo, he's not so bad. If you need to know about the atrocities of Trujillo, I can sum them up in one action. President Trujillo once had his army forces go to the river border and just slay thousands of Haitians. The number killed was so large that their blood flowed down the river, turning it red, and ever since, the river has been named Massacre. But then again, his grandfather liked Trujillo, so he's great! (Second-hand opinion, again.) By the way, did I mention that Trujillo was part Haitian and even painted himself with make-up to appear white? Yeah, great guy.
Work with me here, I'm bringing this full circle. The nature of race in Dominican Republic is touchy. Most of the population has African in them, but their census would do everything to dispute this fact. So I understand the complexity involved. But then again, the kid is from here and with an African-American mother. So his head shouldn't be so fucked up.
So again, he loves the throne in Spain, he also loves Mama Africa. Seems slightly contradictory when you boil it down, but hey, I guess. He loves Mama Africa, but ask him who he wants to date and it's white Latinas. Ask him where he'd like to go in the world, it's Madrid. No mention of any reclamations of roots lost in the dark continent. But all of this aside, he continues to appeal to myself and my friends as if he's one of the brothas, just another black kid because his hair is kinky and he likes Gucci Mane.
Amazing. I once asked a mutual friend of ours if he overemphasizes his Latinismo with their friends as he tries to do with his blackness with my friends. This mutual friend answered back with a resounding yes. The mutual friend even exposed him for not knowing fairly simple and common things Latino that transcend international borders, and so aren't nation-specific.
I can say John, don't try to be black because you're with the niggas. We know who we are, we know who you are. You're spending too much time trying to be us. We're not right because we think the way we think, see the world how we see it. We're right because we stay true to ourselves and our principles. Find yourself. And you'd be amazed how much clarity you can gain from just reading. Stop being a generalisation of your race and heritage. Stop using youtube videos to gain cultural perspective. Read. But no. No dice. I would say to him to emancipate himself, but he'd never know from whom or what.
Icarus ... cuidado ...
This poor bastard has even come to me and said, "I don't know what I want to talk about, but I feel enlightened right now." I asked if he finally read something. Of course not. Doesn't that sum up everything in a nutshell.
Maybe I should shut up. I can only tell Icarus to watch out so many times.
His political insights are amazing. For someone who just wants to marry his "girlfriend" and have a nice family life, who comes from such humble stock, you would think he digests Rush Limbaugh with many of his opinions. But he thinks he's liberal. One night, he came to me like this: I think I figured something out and it could really work. What if we cut taxes everywhere and let the rich keep their money? Then they'll spend it more, hire more people for jobs, and these dollars will flow all the way down the economy. I'm like, and you really think you invented this? His response was he's never seen it anywhere else. This damn kid thought he invented trickle-down theory. Reading is fundamental. And even still, I'm sure that idea came from someone else he had a discussion with; he then retooled it, repackaged it, and passed it off as his own.
Oh Icarus, so young.
I know, this episode is loosely structured, but if you knew him, it would make so much sense. When you rail on the kid, so much just flies out in disgust or in rage, it's impossible to keep it centred or formulate it to a specific pattern. Talking with him is like beating your head against a wall. It's pure, utter pain.
I can't stop though. It's my cross to bear. Sometimes I think he has a chance to wake the fuck up, to free himself, but just when I think so--BAM! Head into the wall.
John, you may think this blog is just to roast you, but no. It's to put how silly you sound in one location so you can see some gripes in one place. And if you need clarification, don't just go to me. You know my other friends who know you. Ask them. You really could become something great, but you're so mired in bullshit to realise that. So much potential energy, just none of it turns kinetic.
Oh Icarus, I tried to warn you.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
1.3 -- Mortal Enemy
I used to read comic books, and a lot of them. Somewhere there's shoeboxes of comics, some in sleeves, some not, but all of them read and read a few times. Every good comic had a protagonist and antagonist. You can't have the Fantastic Four if there's no Dr. Doom. Now I'm not taking this analogy as far as Samuel L. Jackson's character in "Unbreakable" (which I think is a pretty good M. Night movie, but whatever) but needless to say, we all need a mortal enemy. We need that person who is such the antithesis of yourself that it keeps you grounded in reality. I have mine.
Coincidentally, like in comic books, we started off on decent footing. Not to say we were best friends but let's just say we go quite a few years back and know each other fairly well. We had our issues, our disagreements, but no major rifts. Said person has his ideals and ideas, I had mine. They rarely matched or even overlapped. Then suddenly, nothing. One day, all communication broke down for good. Nothing I'm saddened by, said person is a complete moron, but I keep my tabs on said person because again, keeps me grounded in what I believe.
For the purpose of this blog, let's call said person Zed. Zed suffers from delusions of grandeur, Joneses' syndrome, and high insecurity. This isn't just my biased opinion, this feeling has taken roots in others as well.
Let's start with this. I'm no Christian. I'm Catholic, yes, but I don't subscribe to the God and Christ shit, and haven't in a while. So I don't believe in predestination and "His plan" and this isn't to slate anyone who does, but Zed goes beyond this. Zed believes that their god has decried Zed great and will do mammoth things in the course of their life. (I use their to remove the gender-specific pronouns.) Now, I know Zed. I know Zed's idea of great and Zed has done nothing close to great. So either their god isn't listening, never ordained this shit, or doesn't think much of Zed.
My biggest complaint with Zed is that for someone from humble beginnings and humble present times too, Zed has grown to be such a faux black elitist that it's quite sickening and shines light on the other bad side of our community the world over. Sure, we all know that Africans everywhere are labeled as goons, thugs, murderers, violent criminals, ignorant and unable to utilise their brain power for anything analytical or worthwhile, but then there's the other side. There's the black elite, who went to the right schools, the right churches, the right summer spots, whatever. So on one side we have "niggas" and on the other "coloureds". And then we have a smattering of niggas who believe they're coloured, the faux elite. These no-good motherfuckers come from lower middle-class to middle middle-class backgrounds, often not from the right areas of the right cities, didn't go to the right schools, but at least went to school, didn't go to the right churches but waved their pompous piety in your face, and wouldn't know whether Links referred to a golf course or a woman's organisation. Zed is one of the latter. To me, these people are the absolute worst of African communities. I mean niggas, sure they're fucked up, but they also are victims of a society that has done everything to immobilise them. Coloureds, although deplorable, you can still sense they sometimes care about all of the community. But these folks in the middle, who come from close to nigga beginnings but aspire to coloured endings, they all but forget their roots and trade everything in for a fantasy.
I know, I know. I'm a bit revolutionary in thinking. I believe that the world can be fixed through armed struggle of the third world and the proletariat against those who control capital. I believe firmly in the economic principles of Marxist theory to establish equaliy and justice. So any red bastard like myself, who bleeds for the poor, the misers, the forgotten, would think anyone who aspires to big mansions and Benzes in the driveway is a douche bag and should be terminated on sight. But this isn't the case. I know I live in a capitalistic economy and commercialism and consumerism rules our culture. Do you. If you like that shit, go for it. But this Zed, I can remember a time where the person wasn't creating such a false foundation
Zed used to care about the common man, used to care about the course of the African-American community if not the African community worldwide. Used to care about doing something special, about affecting the lives of many. Something switched in Zed. Now, some friends and myself speculate he read quite the unintentionally divisive book, "Our Kind of People" which details the inner workings of the black elite from someone who hovered between fringe and accepted member. There are people like myself who read this book and just couldn't believe what they were reading. Then there are the people who read it and prop it up like a motivational guide, a "Who Moved My Cheese?" if you will. I believe Zed is one of those idiots who read it and took it to be an aspirational guide.
Problem here though, the book highly details who can be that kind of people and who cannot, and Zed ticks every box on the cannot list. So what does a person like Zed do? What else? You legally tie yourself to another who could be on the fringe of the fringe of this world. Sure, they don't tick every box on the can list, but there's a few ticked a least. But then this leads to a bigger problem. The person Zed ties to has way more going on for themselves than does Zed. And Zed, remember, is destined for greatness and glory. I highly doubt that Zed ever figured destiny would mean having to attach yourself to another. Greatness and glory through symbiosis can hardly be called great or glorious, right? Poor bastard. Ah well, what can ya do?
Another problem with Zed is they come from the school of "Talk Loud and Draw a Crowd". If you know Al Sharpton or Jesse Jackson of today, or your average black pastor, you know this. Hell if you know Ray Lewis, you know this theory. You whisper or announce certain words with thunder so they catch the desired ears, you say nothing of substance but because of how you said it and the people you're trying to draw in, it seems as if you just delivered the meaning of life. When I see Zed on twitter and Zed's lame followers, you would think this person had all the mysteries figured out by the amounts of retweets and cosigns sent in reply. None of these people are people I respect nor like and it's no coincidence that they all aspire to the faux elitist lifestyle or some semblance of it. You're saying nothing Zed. Your opinions are often bullshit, your life is drowning in consumerism, and face it, you're a nobody like the rest of us nobodies.
If you want proof of how not-elitist and never will be this douche is, here is in a nutshell. Zed is the kind of person who goes to another person's house for a spirited game of SPADES and brings their own wine coolers. Wine coolers. Spades. Wine coolers and Spades. That's the dichotomy of this fucker in a nice package. Zed will rub in your face their "refined palette" while trumping you with his little Joker and collecting a book. Zed is a ham hock nigga trying to be a filet mignon coloured. Shit just doesn't mesh. But it's so much fun to watch.
Bitch.
Coincidentally, like in comic books, we started off on decent footing. Not to say we were best friends but let's just say we go quite a few years back and know each other fairly well. We had our issues, our disagreements, but no major rifts. Said person has his ideals and ideas, I had mine. They rarely matched or even overlapped. Then suddenly, nothing. One day, all communication broke down for good. Nothing I'm saddened by, said person is a complete moron, but I keep my tabs on said person because again, keeps me grounded in what I believe.
For the purpose of this blog, let's call said person Zed. Zed suffers from delusions of grandeur, Joneses' syndrome, and high insecurity. This isn't just my biased opinion, this feeling has taken roots in others as well.
Let's start with this. I'm no Christian. I'm Catholic, yes, but I don't subscribe to the God and Christ shit, and haven't in a while. So I don't believe in predestination and "His plan" and this isn't to slate anyone who does, but Zed goes beyond this. Zed believes that their god has decried Zed great and will do mammoth things in the course of their life. (I use their to remove the gender-specific pronouns.) Now, I know Zed. I know Zed's idea of great and Zed has done nothing close to great. So either their god isn't listening, never ordained this shit, or doesn't think much of Zed.
My biggest complaint with Zed is that for someone from humble beginnings and humble present times too, Zed has grown to be such a faux black elitist that it's quite sickening and shines light on the other bad side of our community the world over. Sure, we all know that Africans everywhere are labeled as goons, thugs, murderers, violent criminals, ignorant and unable to utilise their brain power for anything analytical or worthwhile, but then there's the other side. There's the black elite, who went to the right schools, the right churches, the right summer spots, whatever. So on one side we have "niggas" and on the other "coloureds". And then we have a smattering of niggas who believe they're coloured, the faux elite. These no-good motherfuckers come from lower middle-class to middle middle-class backgrounds, often not from the right areas of the right cities, didn't go to the right schools, but at least went to school, didn't go to the right churches but waved their pompous piety in your face, and wouldn't know whether Links referred to a golf course or a woman's organisation. Zed is one of the latter. To me, these people are the absolute worst of African communities. I mean niggas, sure they're fucked up, but they also are victims of a society that has done everything to immobilise them. Coloureds, although deplorable, you can still sense they sometimes care about all of the community. But these folks in the middle, who come from close to nigga beginnings but aspire to coloured endings, they all but forget their roots and trade everything in for a fantasy.
I know, I know. I'm a bit revolutionary in thinking. I believe that the world can be fixed through armed struggle of the third world and the proletariat against those who control capital. I believe firmly in the economic principles of Marxist theory to establish equaliy and justice. So any red bastard like myself, who bleeds for the poor, the misers, the forgotten, would think anyone who aspires to big mansions and Benzes in the driveway is a douche bag and should be terminated on sight. But this isn't the case. I know I live in a capitalistic economy and commercialism and consumerism rules our culture. Do you. If you like that shit, go for it. But this Zed, I can remember a time where the person wasn't creating such a false foundation
Zed used to care about the common man, used to care about the course of the African-American community if not the African community worldwide. Used to care about doing something special, about affecting the lives of many. Something switched in Zed. Now, some friends and myself speculate he read quite the unintentionally divisive book, "Our Kind of People" which details the inner workings of the black elite from someone who hovered between fringe and accepted member. There are people like myself who read this book and just couldn't believe what they were reading. Then there are the people who read it and prop it up like a motivational guide, a "Who Moved My Cheese?" if you will. I believe Zed is one of those idiots who read it and took it to be an aspirational guide.
Problem here though, the book highly details who can be that kind of people and who cannot, and Zed ticks every box on the cannot list. So what does a person like Zed do? What else? You legally tie yourself to another who could be on the fringe of the fringe of this world. Sure, they don't tick every box on the can list, but there's a few ticked a least. But then this leads to a bigger problem. The person Zed ties to has way more going on for themselves than does Zed. And Zed, remember, is destined for greatness and glory. I highly doubt that Zed ever figured destiny would mean having to attach yourself to another. Greatness and glory through symbiosis can hardly be called great or glorious, right? Poor bastard. Ah well, what can ya do?
Another problem with Zed is they come from the school of "Talk Loud and Draw a Crowd". If you know Al Sharpton or Jesse Jackson of today, or your average black pastor, you know this. Hell if you know Ray Lewis, you know this theory. You whisper or announce certain words with thunder so they catch the desired ears, you say nothing of substance but because of how you said it and the people you're trying to draw in, it seems as if you just delivered the meaning of life. When I see Zed on twitter and Zed's lame followers, you would think this person had all the mysteries figured out by the amounts of retweets and cosigns sent in reply. None of these people are people I respect nor like and it's no coincidence that they all aspire to the faux elitist lifestyle or some semblance of it. You're saying nothing Zed. Your opinions are often bullshit, your life is drowning in consumerism, and face it, you're a nobody like the rest of us nobodies.
If you want proof of how not-elitist and never will be this douche is, here is in a nutshell. Zed is the kind of person who goes to another person's house for a spirited game of SPADES and brings their own wine coolers. Wine coolers. Spades. Wine coolers and Spades. That's the dichotomy of this fucker in a nice package. Zed will rub in your face their "refined palette" while trumping you with his little Joker and collecting a book. Zed is a ham hock nigga trying to be a filet mignon coloured. Shit just doesn't mesh. But it's so much fun to watch.
Bitch.
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