Darren Seals Died for You, Me and We
They are killing us. In plain view with cameras alighted for the tragic last breath. They are killing us in front of our loved ones and the young ones who ask questions that only the very brave and the very black can answer.
Don’t look dear child, this may very well be your fate if we don’t fight hard enough.
We are trying to seduce White America to accommodate Black America but this quest is even beyond the logic of our lifetime. No matter how tight the chains that transported us here and regardless of the metal chokers that quenched our ancestors — we remain tragically stuck in time.
These times are unbearably unkind.
Black men, women and children are being fucked with and the method of fucking is ordained by the laws of the land.
So stringent are these laws that even the most powerful man in the universe can’t save us. He can only watch and plea with words of mercy that are laced with political streams that recall nothing at all.
It’s been about two years since the apocalypse.
The rapture that we are told about isn’t a religious revolution. It is happening as we speak. Bodies and souls being taken without warning or reason. Names too many to count. No mercy for victims that deserved to be with us but had to go in order to reorganize the system — that has been crippled by the onset of a festival that sacrificed too many lives for comfort.
We know who they are.
The names ring a bell with every tweet and retweet. Essays have been coerced in their honor. We weep and highlight the sections that rub us the right way. The symbols of who they were before the gun fire hang over our heads. But, we can’t quite grasp the elements that surround their departure. This is because they left in the heat of a moment that amounted to a capsule of regret and disillusionment.
Darren Seals was killed because he believed in the freedom of Black America.
He was found in the most deplorable way. Wasted amongst the ruins of a burnt shell — sporting a gun shot wound.
Those damn guns! They get you every time.
He described himself as a “businessman, revolutionary, activist, and “Unapologetically BLACK, Afrikan in AmeriKKKa, Fighter, Leader.”
He was a cool dude with a serious bone to pick.
He held Michael Brown’s mother when she fell apart after the damning verdict that set her son’s murderer free was confirmed.
“And for Mike Brown’s mother to be right there in my arms crying — she literally cried in my arms — it was like I felt her soul crying,” he said. “It’s a different type of crying. I’ve seen people crying, but she was really hurt. And it hurt me. It hurt all of us.”
We all cried. Well, not all of us. Just the ones who are sitting on the edge of the cliff — looking down with crazed disdain. We accept this country. So great and proud. It will continue to let us down with no reprieve.
The heavens may reshuffle the playlist of our demise but we don’t need to be alerted because the results of this calloused dance won’t ever disappoint.
We already know what we fear.
More will die at the hands of the mental disarray that gives power to the legions of bastards — that were recruited to endorse the evacuation of anyone that dares to rise up and praise the Lords of unimaginable pain.
The pain hurts and sears through generational gaps.
The Darren Seals of this nation are poised to replace him — but who will rise above the rubble and delight in the victory — that could never have been realized without the faith of us and you and we?
And what about the White bastards that live and populate? How do we slow that process?
How do we reward Darren Seals?
We do it by being unapologetically black.