Asylum Rising: Aluta Continua…

“A culture can be likened to a quilt of intricate geometrical design in which all the many colored pieces, their shapes and stitches flow into one another, constitute the whole. This analogy is apt for yet a second reason. Often, the design on the upper side of the quilt is different from the undersurface pattern. Still, the undersurface design is essential for the outward surface appearance.” – Dr. Francis Cress Welsing, The Isis Papers(pg. 53)

 

The concern with simulated social environments is that practice over a digital medium is not exactly practice within an organic one. The major point of technology for Blacks shouldn’t be in attempting to be experts in doing that which they can do offline, but doing that which is being done by others that Afkans (Afrikan Amerikkkans) aren’t doing or can’t do in other spaces. I don’t very much need to watch Afkans stepping if I can walk around to the nearest pub or club and get lessons from a live source that will fundamentally be a better teacher. The mastery of technology for the sake of mastery over that technology should be the focus; not the further separation of humanity from humanity by means of technologically assisted socialcide. Even with my extreme affection for the technologically addictive, my world couldn’t function properly without offline interactions…

 

I suppose every now and again a thought crosses my mind…

The taste of a bitter wind passing through a blanket stapled over a window,

… the cringe of nerves as a police car passes mine from the rear;

… a sense of the obscure as thoughts of meals and places to sleep are left unanswered as the day passes.

How fast things can change when you place customs and conformity to the side for considerations of the faith based. No, I’m still Mr. ‘Tell Your God To Cough HIV Infected Organisms’, but a sense of the surreal and spiritual encompasses my life in such a way that I can’t deny the presence of a belief of loftier concerns than those attended by lesser minds. I lost my religion and converted to the faith of Black Man and Woman romantic relationships. I lost my religion and converted to the faith of human interaction beyond a screen. I did something remarkable with my hypocrisy last week: I actually acted on something I wrote about. I put my paranoia away and gave Love another shot at healing my wounds.

 

I didn’t realize how destructive my diet of sub sandwiches and chips had become over the last few months…

Or how much one can miss food when they haven’t been eating properly…

I can feel the chemistry of my body altering…

…the restoration of my Taqwa…

 

I know what the naysaying observers of those that live and embrace living will say. I’m not very much affected by the rumblings of the crowd when they boo my team as we grace the planet with our actions. When I find my Self at a loss for a word, I may scroll my Twitter screen up and down like one might twiddle their thumbs. It is fun to watch how fast empty words can become a blur at the flick of my thumb. As nothing is perfect in the eyes of a perfect being taught to swear by its imperfection, I do applaud my defense, and maintain a certain lock and key on the interactions of Owl and Brie. I’ve learned how to dance to the tempo of envious nights spent watering one’s soul with bitter updates and phone calls that leave ears aflame.

“So these powers realize that they’ve been pushed against the wall during recent years and the only weapon that they have against this force that has been pushing them against the wall is divide and conquer – the tactic that they’ve always used. So that, if I may finish, so that every area where you find people who have been colonized and oppressed today striving toward freedom, you find that whereas in the past they got along, today they’re fighting each other.” – Malcolm X, Bernice Bass interview December 27, 1964

Trauma: A deeply distressing experience. Emotional shock following a stressful event. From Greek, literally ‘wound’.

 

I sought reprieve from various corners and crooks. A fathom of imagination, a mistaken identity, an attempt to hold smoke formed in a bong…the elusive fumbles of a man not quite assured of what it is I sought exactly. The opaque yelling through the esophagus of a man buried in the caverns of his own mind can indeed by answered. I stand by the belief that a vibration is sent from the soul of hopes raped by insensitive liars in superhero attire to the outer realms of objective hopes inspired and actively engaged. Somewhere in a seedy coffee shop on St. Louis’ central west end, a poet saved my life.

 

I’ve thought a lot about the story, Owl’s Asylum. How do we tell it from here? How dark is my dark brown paint these days? How much brighter are my golden yellows? I’m not exactly sure how much darker I want the rest of the pages of Asylum to be. As we nurse Asylum back to health, I can see her smiling more. We’ve got many more authors to showcase, realities to expose, and Afkans to embrace. I’ve still got 99 million problems…but being without a home ain’t one.

 

“Functionally speaking, for the victims of white supremacy, this means to act in a s self/group-respecting and supporting manner in all areas of people activity, despite the specific conditions of racist domination and oppression. Submission to and cooperation with victimization and oppression are signs of individual or group mental illness or self-negation.” — Dr. Francis Cress Welsing, ibid.

 

When have any of our plans ever actually worked? We plan, we get there, all hell breaks loose!” — Harry Potter in Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows, part 2(2011)