Coffee: Maxwell House Master Blend, Office Coffee
I watched a video of an 11-yr-old crying while she told the camera her dad’s not a criminal. This was hours after her father was arrested by ICE (along with almost 700 other brown-skinned men and women in Mississippi). She was wearing pink.
Late last week there two shootings, one in El Paso, the other in Dayton. In Texas, at least, the shooter said he was aiming for immigrants. He called them an invasion. He shot a lot of people, mostly Latinos. He was white, they weren’t.
I read a review of memoir called ‘When I Was White.” The book’s by Sarah Valentine, an author raised white in a white family, but who had a black father, and was taught from day one by her white mother to detest blackness. The review goes into this idea that since the original sin of slavery, whiteness has defined itself by ‘purity,’ the one-drop rule, etc. Valentine finds herself discovering her blackness and losing her former identity in the process.
I met a man who tiles pools. He’s black, and said he has a partner who handles the marketing.
“Why?” I asked. He struck me as a grade-A businessman.
“Because I’m a big guy. And, you know. Around here, people get worried seeing someone like me knock at their door.”
I did know.
When Cortes crossed the ocean and met the Aztecs, he fancied himself a divine visitor. And over the next three years, he cut up all the brown bodies until there was no-one left to contradict him.
Currently Reading: Queen, Suzanne Crain Miller
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A 7-year old body becomesThe Fucking Cops, Aiyana
A monument to our excess aggression
On Sunday morning she became
An effigy to our excessive aggression
And our lack of suppression
And access to automatic weapons.
We didn’t pull the trigger
But we pulled the blinds down.