We’re faced with a lot going on in our lives. Many of these things will transpire later and are potentially beyond our ability to influence. Therefore, it’s natural to feel a certain level of unease, usually in proportion to our cognizance of such matters. In the white community, we refer to this unwelcome sensation as “stress.”
Moreover, there are many actions we’d like to take, but must desist due to our innate orientation towards the future consequences such actions would incur. We simply can’t help ourselves in this regard. Ours is quite a stifling existence.
Often, I feel the self-imposed oppression on my life as an invisible force freezing me to the ground, preventing me from leaping towards desire. Frigid, like the blue blood flowing through my Caucasian veins, yet without the warm promise of renewal as it pumps once again through my heavy heart.
I often find myself opining on various matters: society, history, geopolitics, rhetoric, various technical topics, profound questions of good versus evil. What’s this really doing to lighten up my day? You see, my interest in all of these things manifests itself concordantly with my inability to live in the moment and take various actions as it would please me to do so.
If I was just doing what I felt like doing whenever I felt like doing it, I wouldn’t find myself mired in this intellectual morass. I would, however, find myself mired in prison, a hospital ward, or an early grave. Taking heed of potentialities, I’m incapable of squaring this circle.
If I was black though, such geometric abstractions would flutter around the ether beyond my consciousness. The cross-disciplinary inclination to apply pretty much any math at all to my journey through life would consist perhaps of simple arithmetic while I listened to the judge at my sentencing, such as could be imparted to me during my time at a warehouse school.
Again, as a black man, I wouldn’t bother much with the math. But still, it’d probably be interesting trying to link a present consequence to a past action without being able to grasp the mystery. Questions are easy but the answers instill doubt. You see, if I were to shoot a sandwich artist in the face at Subway over mayonnaise, I’d already know where I’d be spending the rest of my days. Where’s the fun in that? This form of prescience feels claustrophobic.
That’s why it’d be fascinating to ponder the quandary as if trying to identify a Lorenz Strange Attractor within an unfathomably complex system. Then, I’d shout “fuck you cracka bitch!” as hurled myself over the bench to pummel the judge.
She deserves it, so you act. Justice is the only concern. To quote T.S. Elliot:
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
This is actually an unbearably white inhibition. T.S. Elliot characterizes it for what it is, a shadow that cowers us in sadness. He shall not tremble in silence beside the banks of the tumid river:
This is why I delight in the levity of the African American experience. Below, we’re treated to the spectacle of a cafeteria confrontation. Metaphorically speaking, white school officials are supposed to pour cold water on such encounters. Moreover, white people know that insults are insufficient legal justification for physical violence. That’s why it happens mostly outside of bars in our context, with the belligerent actions being fueled by alcohol.
The student in the video below appears to be a connoisseur of legumes perhaps around the age of 13, although in terms of leaf blowers, age is just a number. Au contraire, age is more than just a number when a teacher attacks a student. The fact that a teacher beat a student can put decades onto what otherwise would be a scuffle in terms of incarceration. That number might be one to behold.
At age 27, one could be placed in a significant position of leadership. This is the average age of a captain in the U.S. Army, for example. Again, this imposes such burdens as leadership, forethought, and nuance. If you’re black, 27 is still young enough not to take disrespect from anyone. In many ways, that’s a better deal.
In that moment, which to them has the psychological dimensions of a tunnel, rules don’t apply. It’s simply the thrill of the pursuit. The honor both preserved and won through the epic struggle of combat. Again, this is me applying white idealism embodied in historical deeds like the charge of the Scots Greys at the Battle of Waterloo. We make things so complicated for ourselves.
Unfortunately, the African American impulse reaction results in a crime scene and a brief story on the evening news rather than a legendary painting by Lady Butler. How many times have we come across a story featuring “mass shooting” in conjunction with “rap concert“, “night club“, “block party“, “state fair“, etc.? They don’t even get acknowledged for being black, it’s always some euphemism.
If I were black, this would piss me off. Then again, black people don’t care about the news. Must be nice. Introspection is a burden all its own, I’d rather be looting. But, I don’t. I guess that’s for another article.
I’m proud to officially announce my candidacy for the office of Dogcatcher.
Really liked your invoking the divinely depressing T.S. Eliot. Here’s a few lines from the same author pregnant with much food for further thought:
“The endless cycle of idea and action,
Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.
All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,
All our ignorance brings us nearer to death,
But nearness to death no nearer to GOD.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
The cycles of Heaven in twenty centuries
Bring us farther from GOD and nearer to the Dust.”
Choruses from ‘The Rock’
A poem from a H.P. Lovecraft –
“When, long ago, the gods created Earth
In Jove’s fair image Man was shap’d at birth.
The beasts for lesser parts were next design’d;
Yet were they too remote from humankind.
To fill the gap, and join the rest to man,
Th’Olympian host conceiv’d a clever plan.
A beast they wrought, in semi-human figure,
Fill’d it with vice, and call’d the thing a NIGGER.”
We got a sad laugh out of this.
Pink Floyd : “quiet desperation is the English way.”
Yes … but not the Southern way. We must become active immediately if we’re to survive and the new south will have to be lily white.