Coffee Log, Day 258

Hi.

Coffee: Sumatra Medium-Dark, Trader Joe’s Brand

I can’t know what it’s like to be a black man or woman in America and see Gillum or Abrams lose. In their respective races, Gillum was accused of ‘monkeying around’ and Abrams was told it would be a ‘cotton-picking shame’ if she won. To those who don’t know, Gillum was the black male candidate for Governor of Florida; Abrams was the black female candidate for Governor of Georgia; they were both running against white men.

How long does it take to put out the fire of your demons? And can you, even?

I grew up in the era of ‘code-switching’ as some kind of prescriptive answer. In school, anyone who wouldn’t talk ‘proper’ was called out. This was nominally raceless – the country hicks would get mentioned for saying ‘ain’t and ‘y’all’ – but like many American institutions, it disproportionately targeted black dialect.

Then I grew up in the birth of the internet. The birth of the internet meant the birth of memes and so many of the early memes were funny at the expense of stereotyped blackness. The leprechaun song, anyone?

And now I live and participate in the dominance of hip-hop as the cultural standard for the country. That should be a humanizing expression of American blackness at a large, visible scale. In some ways, it’s exactly that. But look at the lyrics dissecting a history of black trauma and then look at the white kids listening to those lyrics and thumping their heads (myself included) and you don’t see a bunch of white fingers rushing to push progressive keys on the ballots. If you did, maybe we’d have a couple more black governors.

I think this is what’s been going on: the white liberal community wanted its court jester.

No, Mr. ’90’s man, Clinton voter, Democrat for life, you’re not part of the lynch mobs; yes, you have a few black friends in your monthly office steak dinners; but when push comes to shove – when you could give your voice to advance the cause of black Americans whose oppression your skin is responsible for – you can’t be bothered to vote.

You want to revel in the products of a disenfranchised community and pretend that when it dances, it’s only dancing for you.

Novel Count: 6,064 words

Currently Reading: Autumn, Ali Smith; Cherry, Nico Walker

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“It seems like a lot of black artists right now, at least from a critical standpoint, are forced into either bearing witness or putting forward an ideology through their work, which kind of reduces it to documentation or protest signs. But you seem resistant to both.

Nina Chanel Abney: That’s my goal, to resist that stuff. Early on, when I was doing more portraits, I had noticed how so many assumptions are put on you. If I paint a black figure, it’s already read a certain way. It’s going to be assumed that I’m trying to do something different by painting a white figure. So I just try to create dualities and mix the races and genders of the figures. That’s my way of giving myself the freedom of being able to paint whatever I want without it being for a specific reason.” – interview of Nina Chanel Abney (visual artist) by IndyWeek (link)

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Coffee Log, Day 248

Hi.

Coffee: Cafe Pajaro Extra Dark, Trader Joe’s Brand

I was in line for an hour behind a short, pretty, blue-haired girl and a family of three. The family was a dad and two girls. The girls were reading books and blowing bubbles. The sun was out. Everyone looked comfortable. We were all waiting to vote.

For sixty minutes, it’s like I knew America again: the friend who moved, your favorite lunch in Elementary, the windows in the old office where you could watch crowds going down to the Subway, everything plain and normal but lovely, unabashed composure, five cents until the dollar that buys bread, hope, grit, confidence, respect. Whoever saw me saw a dumb big grin and eyes that were going everywhere. The kids peeked between their father’s arms. Blue-hair was talking priceless on her cell trying to pawn off an old car.

I’m in love with America, that thirsty love that sees water in a desert. It isn’t healthy, isn’t often returned, but unlike with the complexities of another person – a man or woman you’re pushing too hard to fit your dreams to – America belongs to me as much as I belong to it. It’s a self-love, a vanity, desiring the world to look like me on my best days instead of lost or hungover, wanting to pick up and dust his shoulders when he’s gotten down, wanting to reckon him to all the mistakes he’s made. Like nights on a bender, America gets away from me. But every now and then I catch up.

Early voting’s drawn record crowds in NC. People speak when you push them hard enough.

Currently Reading: Autumn, Ali Smith; Cherry, Nico Walker

Support Relief for Family Suffering at the BorderRAICES DONATION CAMPAIGN

“Everybody can be great…because anybody can serve. You don’t have to have a college degree to serve. You don’t have to make your subject and verb agree to serve. You only need a heart full of grace. A soul generated by love.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.
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Coffee Log, Day 200

Hi.

Coffee: Sumatra Medium-Dark Roast, Trader Joe’s; Don’t know how much you miss something until it’s gone. I spent forty-five minutes this morning unboxing, washing, and testing the new coffee pot. It’s nothing fancy, but it makes a good cup.

A girl and her father went around the apartments sticking voter registration forms in everyone’s doors. When they got to mine, the girl looked in my window and our eyes locked. She’s thirteen, fourteen, pigtails only a kid could pull off. She had a blue dress. I was so surprised to see her I didn’t have time to smile so maybe that’s why she hid. It was comedy: I see her drop down below the windowsill; she’s walking like a prowling lion; two feet, four feet, ten – she’s at the door; I’m glancing over, trying not to spook her; she slips the registration form and runs away giggling.

When she was gone, I got wondering: was that an innocent fear – the kind that makes kids creep behind their parents’ legs in the super-stores – or was it something born of 2018, the kind of neighborhood fear that puts horns on pedestrians and ghosts in every window? I don’t know. It was pretty funny, pretty sad. I wanted to tell her ‘Good job.’ Hell of an American way to grow up, getting out the vote.

I’m already registered, was already planning to vote this November. Now I’m geared up again: let’s make a world where our kids feel safe and comfortable.

Currently Reading: Autumn, Ali Smith

Support Relief for Family Suffering at the BorderRAICES DONATION CAMPAIGN

“Elections belong to the people. It’s their decision. If they decide to turn their back on the fire and burn their behinds, then they will just have to sit on their blisters.” – Abraham Lincoln

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