Monthly Archives: September 2012

Allowed To Be Victims (Are We Not Oppressed)

According to him, “everyone’s entitled to their own opinion”, for that was how he had to phrase/frame the situation; it is how they must. They must frame in it such a way to make it seem as if I am “unreasonable”; that I am denying people something they are entitled to; that I am looking for some special exemptions; that I am asking in excess. I could no longer speak to him. I cannot concern myself with why he did not get it; I simply had to leave him there. If I explain it him, seen as he didn’t understand it to begin with – as was demonstrated by his failure to observe the boundary – making it explicit will likely lea to refinement i.e. have the “correction” subsumed by rhetoric which feigns comprehension. People seem to only get better at disguising their true selves, and likewise, in the past, any time I have tried to explain my perspective, he has taken it on board only to throw it over. Again, the point is, sometimes its better to speak to sheep for five minutes than it is to speak to people, for at least after five minutes, you realise that the sheep do not get it.

If only it were more important to him; he might then demonstrate its significance. It mattered more, he would have paused and realised that I was holding a string, and that eventually, if he persisted in his lunacy, I would let go of this thread, and leave him floating rather than pulling him into the bay. Of course, those who do this are accused of “cutting people off”, or “isolating themselves”, of “self-sabotage”, which is all fine rhetoric which attempts to subvert the senses. Again, the supremacist mindset operates off of a total agenda of domination and will recruit whatever language has enough appeal for those targeted people to identify with. Sadly, the moment you buy into the spiel, the oppressors have you, and can resume colonising your being, whilst claiming they are relating to you all along. If you point of their behaviour, they deny it – defending themselves – lie about it, or attack you (which is still them defending themselves.) You can spend a lifetime trying to “explain” it to these people who just don’t seem to get it but that will be in vain because they cannot go to a new place if they do not leave the old one.

Being of the supremacist persuasion, their commitment is to domination, and so, anyone who does not belong to their cabal has to be reformed, even if their missionary zeal seems to be empathic. It is fraudulence, fakery and fabrication that the colonisers use to herd the others. In this case, he would have went on “learning” to “understand”, which really was code for trying to eradicate my options, and possibilities by “defeating” the alternative logic I might have otherwise presented. The idea is that once they can “relate” to all of your explanations, in leaving you with no more “conflicts” you can be “comfortably merged” with their worldview and dominant opinion, but if you see this in perspective, it simply means no more you. Stop, pull out, before you get swallowed, because this dead entity will continue to consume until there is nothing left to give in their world. We are not all the same; there are many people who threw in the towel long ago. Either way, I thought I was the vulnerable one; I thought I was the victim, so why should I be fighting with him; arguing with him; battling against him. I thought he was there to support; I was sure he was there to help me. It was not the case. He could only operate to make me become more like him; it was just the way he was. Farewell…old friend… we can no longer be together… so look for me in the whirlwind… I have nothing left to give

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Verified Vulnerable

We must stop the white dominators before they escape into the next generation of our children
Kamau

We cannot play on broken strings. There are no second chances here; you only get one shot. I cannot pretend anymore as I am exhausted. I have nothing left to give. For the longest time I tried to explain to him that he does not understand and yet, he persisted. He refused to give me space; he still wanted to suffocate me, and so, I pulled back, and let him fall without any effort to save him. It was either that, or I hold on to him whilst already clinging to a crumbling cliff. It is a hostage situation is many ways, and if true, it somewhat confirms my suspicion that many interactions are hostage situations which involve two people being at each others mercy. With some people, they tolerate each other for the longest time because they depend upon what the other person can give them, or they really have lots to give. I am not one of those people. I am someone who was finished before others started, just as my intelligence begins where that of many others ends. I haven’t the time for “foolishness” which tends to follow fakery and so, if someone does not get something, I am not the type to stick around to explain it o them. Most especially, if someone causes me pain and anguish, not hearing what I am saying, I leave, and keep my distance. This is a regular occurrence and a common pattern.

I once heard an interesting notion: that every person does things which please you and others that upset you. With people, it is best to assign these habits and behaviour percentages. Although typically, the things which upset are 9% compared to 81%, notwithstanding the unassigned remaining percentage, they do not share the same significance. This individual suggested that these percentages are not wholesome as they change when things are not going “perfect.” For this reason, they said to multiply the value of the upsetting traits and to diminish the value of the desirable habits, which themselves, if not appropriately applied, will become annoying behaviours. The point is, when determining the extent to which you will be able to tolerate people, start with the “flaws” of the other people and see these in perspective realising that things will not always be going well, and at those times, you will need people most attuned to you. Sadly, this has not been the case in my lifetime. In fact, considering that I experience existential crisis; daily turmoil, I am always on the verge; I live on the edge, meaning, I haven’t the currency for foolishness. Any time I have to use my intellect, it exhausts my deeper being which gets no chance to recover, or rest, within the context of this violent environment. (Many times I dream of a place where I did not speak at all.)

This means that although I might seem comfortably proactive, operating from a standpoint of disability, from the disadvantage of being incapacitated, in doing things otherwise above-average, I exert myself almost five times as much as a normal person would exerting themselves doing similar things. Having gone on for so long, this pattern has left me exhausted, meaning, when I look like I am getting better in advocating for myself, I am only going into further withdrawal. It has been the failure to realise this; this inability to make such a finer distinction which has been the cause of so much of the harm in this place; so much permanent, irreversible damage; people paying attention to a single side of an equation without realising that the other aspects are being drained by them. Eventually, when they do realise the imbalance they have created, it is “too late.” Their attempts to correct the situation from that point forward merely results in a case of digging deeper, damage done. People, if concerned, ought to have been concerned enough to make their life priority, finding out what causes harm to others and finding out how they can prevent this. Their mission should be to find out how to reduce harm but there minds are elsewhere, until the whole things blows in their face; at which point, they have the temerity to wonder “why did that happen,” but then again, I imagine one of these sleep-walkers will defend their non-consciousness, protesting, “everyone’s entitled to their own opinion.”

Surviving the Let Go

I am a bibliophile. I tend to plough through dusty archives trying to locate classics, realising that older books tends to contain more valuable information. If not that, they tend to be expensive if auctioned. I sometimes bury myself in bargain basements, ravaging boxes looking for a deal. I’m a fan of flea markets. I always like bargains, and often find myself in random charity shops and car boot sales trying to find a rare item. My affair with bikes began some two years ago when I was in Portobello, one Friday, when I was shown a handsome bike. At the time I had no concept of bike valuation, but seeing these thin tyres and sharp handle bars, left me impressed, only, I did not have enough money. This being so, I dwelt on the bike for the longest time wondering if the £130 price tag was worthwhile. The bike came with a helmet, a timer, and shoes; it had to be good, and besides, it was second hand, having originally been bought for some £280 on eBay. So it was, I was directed towards looking into bikes, and so one day, I returned to the shop ready to purchase it. It was going well; they took the bike down and the shoes seemed made for my feet, only, we were missing one shoe. The seller called his comrade to locate the other shoe when the news broke that the bike had already been sold. (Perhaps if I had left with one shoe, I might still have had the bike but I didn’t.)

Seconds later I went outside and brought a throwback. Defeated, after shameful loss, it was a means of restoring pride. I had spent £40 on something that was never worth £50, and something which probably wouldn’t even sell. From that day, my obsession with bikes was teased, and I investigated more, going on to learn more about “spin” which I instructing at the time. (It was because I coached spin in a gym that I was even interested in the bike to begin with.) One day, things changed when my brother, who was into bikes, sold me a bike for £100 (£30 off the selling price he wanted elsewhere.) It was an “Orange” bike with disc brakes, which would have cost around £250 second hand. It was attractive, and got me good looks. It spelt class, but I did not know its worth which is why when I locked it with a £5 cable, I was expecting trouble, which eventually came, when the cable was cut. Again, I was hurt, and again, I wanted to compensate. It so happened, I had some money to purchase a folding bike (circa, £500), however, having bought a knock off for £60 (which cost £230 brand new, online), I had lots of cash to spare. I wanted to make it better by buying a Cannondale Badboy. (This £500 pound bike was another reason I got into bikes as it was advertised by a youth worker who was proud to boast of its greatness.)

In the end, as much as it hurt, I let the bike go… in part. I did two things. I brought a bike off my brother (£90), and online, desperately compensating, I bought a Cannondale. (It had thin tyres reminiscent of the original one, but no disc brakes.) I did not know much about Cannondale but sensed this light bike (a reminder of the bad boy) was quality, meaning, expensive. I bought the bike off gumtree, and was delighted to meet a buyer that was a brother. My only disappointment was that the back tyre was punctured, which he had not advertised. I bought it anyway, and got him to knock £5 off the price. I paid either £125 or £135, but remember having to deny that I was not entirely happy. I therefore had three bikes: a ridgeback, a Cannondale and a bmw. I had spent the kitty. This situation had remained until a few days ago when I finally decided I needed to get rid of a bike in an effort to make use of property and possession. Furthermore, some time after my bike was stolen, I paid for a road bike, a Mongoose, for a brilliant price, which meant, I had in total, five bikes. With the Cannondale and the Ridgeback, I had invested £45 on tyres, which brought the total spend, on the three, to £315. This put the Cannondale at a deficit when I advertised it for £140 thinking I’d be lucky to get a quick sale using some smart advertising. The problem is, there was no problem. I had instant interest, to the point I raised to the price to £170…and then to £195.

Some months ago, my brother used the bike, without permission, and punctured the tyre, however, I’ve decided I’m going to patch this up and finally raise the price to £200. That’s a profit of £50, for a bike nearly a decade old, and at a time when ESA is suspended. Right now, I find myself reluctant to let the bike go, realising that it is in demand, and possesses a rare value, only, as much as I might fetch £230, I can’t keep it, despite letting go being so difficult. It gives me value; it lets me know that I’m valued; that I’m looked at. Imagine that.

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No Thanks To You

After all these years, people do not seem to have their priorities in order.

how can you judge and understand something at the same time
how can you help someone you do not understand
ask Carl Hailey, not Jake Briggance

An aged and wise Chinese once set out to visit a distant place. He sent a messenger ahead to tell the good folks of the house to prepare him no food save rice; but when he arrived, he found a many-course dinner awaiting him, for the good family felt that they must so honor his presence. The philosopher reproved them, saying, “I asked for rice, you have given me fish; I asked for rice, you have given me corn; I asked for rice, you have given me meat; I asked for rice, and you have given me sweets; and among all these things you have given me no rice.” Observing that the family was hurt by the words, the philosopher added: “I have lived these many years, and, after studying carefully this body which God has given me, I have found that it doth flourish nobly upon rice. It was with wisdom that I ordered rice; it was with folly that you insulted me by offering other foods. You say that I am a great philosopher, that I am wiser than all other men; and yet you did not think me wise enough to order my own mean.” In the same way, when our brother asks for rice, we have no right to give him meat because we think he ought to have it. It matters not whether the meat be physical or spiritual, whether the rice be literal or allegorical.

— Manly P Hall; Magic: A Treatise on Esoteric Ethics view

When my son was younger, I occasionally took him to Capitol Park where we’d walk in the shade of stately trees and feed the squirrels. Early one morning as we were strolling along, we came upon a dead squirrel whose stiff body had been squashed and smashed into the soft earth.

Becoming agitated, he demanded to know what had happened to the poor squirrel. I told him I did not know, that the animal could have gotten too old and just tired out, that maybe he had an accident and slipped, dropped and died after the fall, that maybe the policeman on the horse in the distance had accidentally stepped on him. It was impossible to tell. He asked me what was going to happen to the squirrel, but again I had no answer. When he asked if we could take it home to bury it, I told him that people don’t bury dead squirrels.

What I did not tell him is that some people look at dead squirrels and feel sad for a moment, but then they walk away and quickly forget about what they saw and how bad they felt. He prayed for the squirrel that night before he went to bed and he never mentioned it again. I’ll probably take him to the park again soon, to talk about father and son things. I have not looked forward to it, as I have always worried the day will come when I will have to admit to him that many of the things I told him were lies.

I told him the things my father told me, though I could no longer believe them. I always stressed to him that it does not make a difference what race or color people are, that we are all the same. I told him that if he worked really hard, he could earn himself an illustrious and secure life. I told him the police put bad people in jail and serve the interests of honest citizens. I told him that America was the greatest country in the world, and like most children, he believed everything I said without doubt ing for a moment.

So how do I tell him I deceived him and why? When do I admit I lied to protect his young heart, his precious sense of morality even as it developed; his innocence and all his potential for accomplishing good? How can I tell him that when he grows up, he’ll be targeted and persecuted for the rest of his life, that no matter how well he does professionally, he will be stopped and devalued by law enforcement who will never let him forget that he is a “nigger?”

 

nice uniforms

call it the Mandingo “swingers” club

Talking To Our Children