Sunday, July 31, 2016

Friday, July 29, 2016

White Pussy Porn

We must never forget what we endeavor to forget          there's another one   bobbing   on my desktop   sent across spacetime     by a nigga, not mine, but      my   nigga   but not mine     claim   numb,  claim   no   one       next  he'll send  a ghetto  concerto    next   another  loop of a white man and a white  woman  fucking with foundation and mascara  all over their faces    both of them     vaseline on their  teeth, velvet robes covering the backs of their cloth and oak dressing room chairs   next    a blotted  ballad    dipped in his cum and stolen moments    and one gif titled  little nigger girl gets white dick     it is best to be literal about these things   no I won't vote for Hillary Clinton,   no I won't forget   how she must have suffered over her husband's love  for blow jobs,   not at all, she did not suffer, the other one suffered,  next an excerpt from red desert the movie, with english subtitles,  next a picture of me on my knees with his dick in my mouth, we are brown or something, golden, I glow here in the dark  on my knees and am needed  in the boardroom   to explain the role of mitochondrial dna in all this remembering, smiling enslaved africans carrying bales of cotton and the lady who played the gangster's wife  for so long and I,  hope to run this freedom off a cliff and let it wake up on the cross trapped in a sex tape looking for watermelon with black seeds all over LA. Bill Cosby went blind today. #ofabloodlessrevolution 

Thursday, July 28, 2016

Thursday, July 21, 2016

The ache in #cake

And the slave became Peter Pan in blackface

Wednesday, July 20, 2016

Plantation Hoppin

What makes   you think ?       What propels the electrical circuitry or circus / bent current  you call a mind. Kind soul please tell me.   These  trees  wrapped in 72 deadly magics    taste   like grapes  and cabbage    black  hearts   breaking, suicide leisure     What makes   you think         hedonism  is  anything     but suffering,    shut  up  and love watermelon    with me       


And as for liberation,        that chameleon Lincoln,    Plantations were large townships run by black slaves. Don't expect the movies to prove you. Are not famous. No one knows your slave name.   Angry beautiful  regal black African  slaves were the fabric holding the economy of the American South in place, and they  were killing  their pathetic captors in acts of brilliant retaliation    far before the Civil War. The so called owners, planters of an indomitable black seed,  were afraid, outnumbered, their avarice had backfired.

So Lincoln freed them, not niggas, not slaves and black saviors. He freed the ghosting planters, that was the role of what we named emancipation.    And as soon as black people left the plantation, the police force and the prison system were established to replace its aims. The goal has always been free labor without backlash. That labor includes entertainment, music, dance, literature, our most advanced technologies, which we sell in exchange for some mirage of progress. Now that we aren't tolerating that and robots are on the horizon, machines to do that undesirable work,  the goal of the prison system and the police force is quickly shifting from the holding captive of free black able bodied laborers, to genocide. They kill us and sell our organs and stem cells on the black market in effort to become more like us. And all of our artists are so preoccupied with outcry and vengeance that we enter into a numb frenzy of performed resistance. In both the conscious and subconscious minds of the white man it is known this American experiment is coming to an end. And when the small time crooks convinced they’re on a winning streak see you laughing by candlelight—

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Monday, July 18, 2016

Eugenics on Fifth and Lennox

We muttered the words  s u g a r   h i l l  until they made  a praise chant  

What are we celebrating?    

Slaves still in the swamp  harvesting   cane  today   Big Daddy Kane's bling is hollow   and wade in the water is still  a relevant lament.  More slaves  died for sugar than niggas die  for one another more slaves went under for sugar  than for cotton, you could pray over the cotton and program  it    safe    but  the sugar   water   alone  much less full of shit  and blood  and moaners  

Safety is a pathetic notion   to a black  body     the same boy who was rapping about roaches invading his generic cereal boxes in the projects last week, is in Soho this week claiming he's never  tasted the slaves who tasted the sugar they made of him  even as they whisper   mercies across his burden  
--
I am shrinking a heap of cherries   so shiny  and ruby    they   reflect  me    ,  glimmer   when I blink   a sudden puppy steals the seeds and crams them into the grass desperately   more will grow there and reflect   that  teaming     how  our black genome is  hilariously    impossible   to defeat    but every time  you crave  a  taste   of that white  powder  picked  in a field you can't see by a nigga you can't save    on an island you believe is  a resort   every time   you pretend  cake   is a casual  delicacy     and     smear  that blood into  parties  I wish   you   the deepest        enlightenment     Yoruba    you rub off     sweetawfulblues

Friday, July 15, 2016

Wednesday, July 13, 2016

The Attempted Lynching of Jasmine Richards

I am so happy  for   this       I    found a star   tree   leaf       the blond boy screeches running up to his obese   equally blond sister, he shows her the plucked green star,   she giggles, yeah!, and they  run off somewhere.      There's small lizard in the parched grass and a toy drone in the sky above it. Buzzing, swerving over some kinda fat camp congregated, playing freeze tag, whites, mexicans, and me in the grass in my tiny red bikini reading James Baldwin, God Save the American Republic.


Jasmine Richards, a young black activist from Pasadena, California has been charged with felony lynching. That's almost funny. But no. I caress my throat checking for rope. It was something she said. Something beautiful. Calling all hoods, gangs, and sets. That wet church on television with a bomb in the basement. Every black girl needs a diamond studded leotard and a flooded church. I carve out the headline and run down the red hill, past the fat camp and the blond ambition, in awe of my blunt innocence, mama, they wanted to see us fly like star leaves, collector’s items   us  black kites of empire/ even your daughter is a runaway slave, even me! She shrugs. Yeah! And turns up the volume on her Martin rerun. I am so happy for this     the blood in the grass is blue

Tuesday, July 12, 2016

Friday, July 8, 2016

Monday, July 4, 2016

Saturday, July 2, 2016

Dreaming and Responsibility

You wish to be responsible for everything except your dreams. What miserable weakness. What lack of logical courage. Nothing contains more of your own work than your dreams.