Why America’s Race War is Only Going to Get Worse
The country is an utter mess. America the beautiful is basically the ugliest it’s ever been.
Or maybe that’s the problem. Maybe it’s time to be honest. Maybe it’s time to stop pretending that we loved each other when that couldn’t be further from the truth.
As I’ve gotten older — I have been tossed into the gauntlet of reality. I am basically fighting for my life.
I’ve lost a ton of friends because maturity warrants a certain level of fatigue that only allows the strongest to survive. I no longer possess the energy to pretend and make nice. Being a polite bitch has served me well but it has also cost me.
Being American used to be fun. It used to be swell. It used to evoke nostalgic airings of the dangerous kind.
The red light district is booming with reminders of why the land of my birth is now the zone of barricaded fodder.
Here’s a big secret and you can tell everybody.
When I heard about the sniper in Dallas and the murderous rage initiated by his disagreement with the law as it pertains to the decimation of his people — I was privately proud.
Yes. This is what I’ve been reduced to. I am now the person who approves of a killer’s instinct because he did what I could never achieve but kinda wish I could.
Yes, that’s despicable of me. What kind of human being celebrates the unfair and violent demise of the innocent based on a personal quest?
That’s just it. I’m sick. In the head. I’m also not going to protect the fact that violence in any form sucks.
So, I guess I’m still human.
But, I’m also sick in other places I won’t divulge — but the truth is that being Black in America can’t be dismissed by the triumphant call of all the reasons why we matter.
No, we are over the need to convince White people that they need to recognize the blatantly morose shit we have to deal with daily.
If you don’t get it by now — you never will and honestly we expect nothing less.
For those of you that actually refute the notion that you are better than us — let’s talk.
So, the reason why Black people are pissed to the point of no return is because of the challenges that come with constantly administering CPR to each other — as we accommodate big blows to our already plastered egos.
Freddie Gray was a fit guy in his mid-twenties. His whole life ahead of him — except there is no life when you’re a Black male in America.
There’s only chains, guns, broken limbs, shattered lips, a dented outlook and spinal injuries.
That young man should’ve been a White loser in Arkansas with a nasty drug habit and five kids hungry for ownership.
He would definitely be alive today.
Instead he was Black. And now he’s dead. And his killers are righteously inhabiting the earth with no guilt or assignment.
They are free!
There is a lot going on right now. We’re in the throes of another electoral season. And as entertaining as its been — the horrific aspect is never far from view.
Do you realize that we are in the middle of a race war?
Stupid question! Of course you do! The timing is scarily perfect.
Our Black president is on his way out — after dazzling us back in 2008 with the itinerary that read like the Black American Coat of Arms.
He defined an era that has now stretched past its allotted time.
I thought having Obama would flip the script and give my people the pride and audacity to dare describe themselves as American without the Black.
But that shit didn’t work.
What is working rather well is the assassination of our rights. Our ability to roam free like our counterparts without the restriction of monsters in badges who kill us in front of our kids — or tackle us until we literally can’t breathe or walk.
This is war America.
Enjoy the conventions and eagerly report the mayhem for the benefit of old and new followers.
It’s the best right! Our country is second to none and we sure know how to be assholes to each other in ways that sink the ships of retribution.
But where is our pay day? Nowhere.
That’s why being afraid for the months ahead is highly recommended.
I’m not militant and I’m not a shit starter but we are about to be dissembled as a nation.
Dear Mr. or Madame President — gather the firearms and prop the guns so it points to the site of where the colonial fairytale was conceived.
This is war. And I’m not dying for nothing.