Thoughts on Reparations

Black people deserve reparations, yet I think it sends a mixed message: forgiveness can be purchased, and if that’s morally o.k. with everyone, then what amount of money can pay off hundreds of years of enslavement and abuse?

Remember when George Bush saved the economy in 2008 by sending us all stimulus checks. That’s how I feel about the government cutting people checks–they’ll either fuck it up, or do in such a way so it’ll only benefits those who don’t need it. It also raises murky questions: What does it mean to be black in America? We’re all of such varied cultures, and gene pools–how much DNA qualifies one for money?

White people are far from ready, we just voted in the fist black president and the government is collapsing because they can’t handle it. How are you supposed to squeeze reparations out of the people who don’t even think we’re entitled to good health, or even food.

I’m curious if reparations would force America to confront its racism and fix it, or if America must come to terms with it’s deplorable attitude before reparations become a possibility.

How far do we take it? How much do we delve out to first peoples we slaughtered, or women who we’ve treated like garbage the majority of history; how many groups are we paying off?

I don’t think the thing itself will stop, or necessarily curb racism, which I think is the actual root of the problem. If that barrier can’t be broken then there’s no way we’re going to convince a bunch of old white men to vote on anything that empowers the black community–they’ll just bitch about having to raise taxes.

It can’t be called reparations for the same reason that the Affordable care Act shouldn’t be called Obamacare (there’s more to words than their definition, a single word can conjure a thousand thoughts and feelings). Sadly the word reparations paints a picture that seems to scare white people for whatever reason.


Getting By

Some people can just do the same dead end shit everyday and smile about it, but I have no idea how to do that. I start thinking about life, another decade of scraping by, living paycheck to paycheck, sliding further and further into debt; standing in the rubble of the American dream. I know it’s all ultimately meaningless, and yet I stand with Atlas under the burden of an ignorant world–compelled by biology to just go along with the goddamned show–day after day. I was told I could achieve whatever I desired, all I had to do was try my hardest and my dreams would come true. But the reality is that maybe with some luck, a $20,000 paper framed on my wall, and the chance that my career is in demand, I might make enough to keep money in a savings account. Meanwhile, those who are supposed to make sure people don’t have to live like this are stuffing more money into their pockets, or are too stupid to know what’s good for the nation–either one makes it incredibly difficult for the handful of those who are really trying to help people.

A Thought About Lucy

An ad keeps playing on Spotify for the new movie “Lucy” with Morgan Freeman and Scarlett Johansson. In the movie somebody does something to Johansson’s brain so she can use more than the 10% us normals use, allowing her special abilities–there’s just one problem–it’s common knowledge that we already use 100% of our brain. The 10% myth comes from a misinterpretation of a lecture given by William James. So, I’m giving Lucy a preemptive thumb down; I’m sure it’ll light up the screen, but if you’re looking for something along the same vein and want the writing to be as good as the graphics, read the comic series The Invisibles by Grant Morrison. Same mind-expanding superherodom, but better because the plot isn’t based on a mistake some students made over a hundred years ago. Want to know what happens when Lucy reaches 100 percent? She becomes a regular person who can’t stop time or control matter. Great job Hollywood.

Summer Update

It’s hot. I swear I spend three quarters of the year waiting for these three months, and when they get here I bitch and hide in my dark, cool, apartment cave. I decided to take a break from school and hit it hard again come fall. I still have journalism in mind, but PCC teaches it at one campus which entails a two hour bus ride, so I’m putting that off for a few months for more math and writing classes.

I’ve started to accept that I’m going to be stuck cutting fruit in a grocery store for a while, so I’m really considering a grocery store blog, but not just to vent about customers; I’ve worked at a grocer for half a decade, and if I wrote about half the shit I’ve seen, thrown away, and sold, my company would fire me for it. But if I had a blog which other grocers gave me their stories or pictures then I could keep my job, vent, and show the public why they should treat humble, poorly paid workers with more respect.

This is part of the update where I usually talk about my stats, but we all know that’s just a bunch of bullshit that lights up a few neurons in the grey gas station between our ears. So here are more meaningful numbers: I quit smoking one year and seven months ago–my dick and doctor agree–it’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. My GPA and mother share a special number: 4.0, it’s more than a good start to school, it’s the number of months my mom’s been cancer free.

Thank you for following, more importantly thank you for reading–I know I don’t make it easy. I’ve gone through a few writing phases since I started this blog. I don’t plan on writing much anymore in the way of militant atheism, or poetry, but I look forward to the next chapter of my adventures in life writing, and I’m grateful for all of you who’ve joined in. If you have any thoughts on the grocery stories blog let me know, it would be great to find some writers and people to exchange ideas with before diving in head first.

Alter Egos


“G’ morning.” Except I’m bloated and my clothes feel like cling wrap.

“Hope you’re ready to hustle, we have a lot of work to get done today, and it’s going to be busy.” Jesus Christ your ass looks delicious.

Goddammit you’re not my fucking boss. “Yup, ready to work.” Jesus, stare a little harder at my ass you fucking creep.

“By the way, noticed you clocked in late the other day.”

“I’m sorry, the bus is almost never on time.” This is not worth 8 an hour.

“We talked about this.” Suck my thick management cock. “Take an earlier bus,” choke, “you know what time you need to be here.

From the guy who’s never set foot in a bus. “Sorry, it won’t happen again.” You’re going to find a tampon in your next cappuccino.

Goddamn right it’s not going to happen again. “Don’t worry about it, you’re doing a great job.” Or, I’ll fire your ass.

“So what’s first on the list?” Am I supposed to melt in your arms now? Jesus, I’m starving; first I’m cramping now I’m hungry. And when you fire me I’m going to sue for wrongful termination.

What’s obscene to me in these “modern” times is that throughout all of history a poor, stagnate, misguided empire has always eaten itself alive, any asshole with a middle school education knows that, and yet here we are sharpening the knives and preparing the appetizers.

Wealth and power have always funneled greedy psychopaths into the governing positions of society, while also quietly sidelining working-class geniuses from the process.