If I could believe in God I would and that confession is an indication of the turmoil that rages in a mind that’s been overloaded with never ending clips of a rough cut of the horror flick — that’s currently playing to sold out shows.
The tragedies that are occurring in a nation that’s ailing and bordering on terminal make the climate even more potently incapable of summoning the fortitude to move in a direction that’s reasonably tolerable.
As the country reels from yet another senseless killing performed by a White terrorist who stormed a synagogue, and while spewing out anti-semitism jargon, proceeded to shoot up the scared space— we are once again confronted with the active issues of our discontent.
When Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida was under siege by the murderous wiles of another White male — hearts were broken on a day when hearts were supposed to be filled with love.
The unspeakable tragedy was vile enough to necessitate the resurrection of the ultra-sensitive issue of gun control, and how if precious children were able to be blasted in their classrooms by another White terrorist using a high powered weapon — back in 2012 with no justice for their fragile lives — we can’t expect that to ever change.
President Trump proved his acting chops when he met with the Parkland survivors and the families of victims — as he callously sat with nonchalance as fathers wept on behalf of dead daughters and teens wept on behalf of their forever broken dispositions.
America showed its true colors during that period of great confusion, that was paralyzed by the sickness of greed and how politicians were pathetically proving how and why the NRA will never stop reaping the rewards of blood money.
It also demonstrated why we’re stuck in the dangerous bubble that is rolling aimlessly without leadership and with the authority of how Whiteness dictates the temperature of our health and possible death.
The midterm elections is a house of Horrors that’s playing out without an end date. It’s the reboot and spinoff from a franchise that’s enjoyed quite the run due to the seamless narrative of White supremacy and how those characters are classic enough to be reborn.
As we mourn the loss of those who were mercilessly cut down for the crime of identifying with a particular faith, there’s also the matter of how Black lives never seem to carry the same level of reverence.
We’ve become so accustomed to the news items that furnish yet another image of Black people who were either gunned down by cops, Tasered to death by cops, or simply killed by a White supremacist in a fit of rage after he tried but failed to break into a Black Church.
As a Black woman the fear and disillusionment that accompanies every breath I take and every step that propels me to the other side of the street or into the corner store — is beyond expression.
You consider how those two Black faces with smiles that have now been silenced by White rage, could’ve been my mother and father or even me and a friend. And somehow their deaths aren’t handled with diligence and care by media outlets — and the crime isn’t being classified for what it really is and those in power aren’t using their influence to denounce and decry the climate that ended their lives.
But the pressure to go out and vote is now the soundtrack to our existence.
We hear it blaring through every speaker and we see it splashed all over timelines and it hangs on structures that hold the historical residue of how even our best intentions won’t save us.
I don’t believe that you believe that the midterm elections will do us any good.
That it will somehow produce the results that will make us human again. That it will remove the stigma that pollutes the definition of being American and how that pride is dying from lack of basic nutrients.
Who are we voting for and why?
Yes, we desperately need to clean house or better yet, rebuild the foundation and remove the crud of dysfunction and replace it with sturdier benefits that our anointed party will provide once the site is ready for priming.
But how about assessing the damage before removal and peeping how and why the symbolic righteousness of White supremacy, and the privilege it brandishes with stoic evil — isn’t being thwarted by those who swear to a Bible when it’s upside down.
The so-called warriors who pretend to breed more of their kind, have failed to showcase their astute adherence to the lawful creed and intolerance to the insolence of a mentally ragged figure — who uses his Whiteness as the currency to fund the horror show that still has enough spinoffs to spinoff a lifetime of hits.
We can vote and be heard and change things and give generations something to thanks us for because we vanquished the devils who incited regression and employed angels who flapped their wings to progression.
This highly conscientious competition is worse than The Apprentice and American Idol combined.
But at least those shows exhibited the spirited pursuits of realizing dreams that are too vibrant and purposeful to remain dormant.
The American Dream was just a myth rooted in the traitorous pre-production of principle photography that scoped out and conquered the breathtaking scenery that belonged to blessed indigenous masters.
This deadly practice of societal extermination will not end regardless of who dominates the House of Representatives or who comes on board to rescue the ideals that are frigid from rejection.
Voting is the word of the moment, the trend that binds us, the movement that sports a full bandwagon of retweets and shares — and the competitors who dare to embody thankless roles that won’t make lifelong extras jealous.
The horror of watching attempts at quick fixes under the minstrel audacity of a toxic administration that’s shifting on the axis of hostility — and how that power will never be challenged — and will continue to permeate thorough the shafts of formulated desperation is terrifyingly graphic.
The elections will be the event that will come and go with the equipped expectations of gawkers who are able to pick out who will die next based on past victims and future trepidation.
We vote. We all voted down here.
The surfacy goodies that are clogged in gutters and drainages that sprout out waterfalls of flesh and blood can’t congeal into the promises of candidates that learned from the worst, but swear the best is yet to come.
We can vote. We can all vote.
But what if there’s no one left to vote when voting becomes the everlasting display of Trumpism and how Whiteness will be the mandated erasure?
Who will poll that nightmare?