Derrion Albert, Gangs, and the Real Enemy

-amari

Lonely Lover

Oh, but if only i could steal a little more than the 4.7 seconds she affords me for greetings each morning!

“Hey, how you feelin today, sister?”

i’m fine, thanx.

“Gooooood.”

Smiling, always, in a neighborly way, fulfilling her neighborly duty and moving on to the day’s next task.  No pause in her stride.  No extended eye contact.  The whole exchange, warm, but…well, not exactly the temperature i’d like.

She doesn’t even know my name.  She: Kimberly.  Her favorite flowers are Marigolds, which she grows on her porch.  And Nefertiti better go somewhere if Kim decides to tuck one into her auburn-tinged hair.  Gliding, as she does, down the street like a Spike Lee scene—long, denim skirts perched on slim waist—leaving frankincense and desire in her wake.  A smile that lights up the whole block like springtime.

Kimberly, from which fruit stand do you pick your smiles?  i wanna bring them to you throughout the day!

But i can’t.  Because she got a man…if you can even call him that.

From afar

i was mesmerized as i stood there watching her perched perfectly in the 5^th story windowsill.   It wasn’t as late as the darkness would suggest.  The clouds had decided to chill for a while after hurling their contents onto the city like they was mad at the concrete or something, a summertime thunderstorm to feed the evening’s humidity.

More than alone, she was lonely, but comfortable in her solitude, carelessly or care-freely kissing a cancer stick and blowing carbon monoxide into the night.  Occasionally, she checked over her shoulder with a desolation, a familiarity that only experience could cultivate.  No expectations.  Just habit.  Caramel in a spaghetti-strapped tank top.  Long, black hair thrown in any direction away from her neck, which had to hold the scent of Canal Street perfume, sweat, and disappointment.

A solitary silhouette in a city full of shadows.

It all looked like a postcard.  One of them artsy kind they sell in the Village for $6.50 with corny titles like “Evening Blossom” or “Forlorn Flame.”  Mesmerized was me.  Feeling stupid, staring at a stranger who i could barely see.

And all i could ask myself was, “people still smoke cigarettes?”

-amari

Slavery Over?

-amari

Hunted and Penned in This Inglorious Spot

amerikan democracy has been the most effective tool for political disempowerment ever developed.  Originated in the caves of Europe, fostered in the theiving barbarities of Greece and Rome, and exported across seas to  stolen land fertilized in blood and tilled by kidnapped souls, this absurdity of a social-political system was never meant to serve anyone other than a limited group of spiritless bones, those who call themselves human yet habitually fail to exhibit even one of the traits that defines the term.

When combined with an economic system that rewards she or he whose greed is most insatiable and that childish religion of slaves, amerikan democracy succeeds in turning even a most virile people into a worthless band of impotents, not only incapable of defending their own existence, but voluntarily submitting themselves to the sadistic torture of the enemy.

amerikan democracy also projects a fabricated history, organized as a linear movement of constant improvement.  “Today is better than yesterday and tomorrow, better than today.”  So using explicit chattel slavery as the starting point, everything looks better.  Consistent with the “lesser of two evils” philosophy, our assessment of a situation is always comparative. “We’ve come so far.”  While it’s true that bird droppings may be preferable to dog excrement, it’s still shit.