Drugs

When an artist does a drug it’s mind expansion,
when old people take drugs it’s life expansion,
when poor people do drugs it’s a crime.

I stay away from people who tan themselves, there’s always something wrong with someone who deliberately cooks their skin to what they assume is a desired shade of cancer.

Sue

Violence against women. Sounds huge: violence against women, misogyny, these words bring up powerful pictures in all our minds, all different for each of us. Reading and watching society mull over these issues is like watching fourth graders try to discuss philosophy while giving each other wedgies. A lot of the problem is local; they’re people problems. A year ago an employee I worked with transferred to a different state. When I suggested to my boss that I had the skills necessary to take his job, and the raise that came with it, he stuck his crotch out and told me to “start sucking”. Women were subject to rape “jokes”, and an endless¬†barrage of shit that’s not worth repeating. His favorite story to share with us was the one about him physically throwing a young female manager out of his department. He was keeping count of all the people that left while was “managing”, and even though he burned through more than 18 people, all of which gave detailed reports–including myself–he was never fired, he was hardly spoken to at all about his behavior. That’s what these problems really are, men taking advantage people because they can, and they believe nobody will stop them. Would the government make laws against women if they made up more of the governing body? But here we are again at a scary, looming monster of a social problem, so here’s my advise: Sue. Ask family, church, friends, your union for legal help and take their money. Use it in a way that helps other women do the same thing, so they can take that money and go to school. People have mixed feelings about suing, but to people who only care about money, it speaks volumes, so much that eventually that sort is behavior will become to costly to tolerate and eventually men will stop, not necessarily because they’re suddenly good people, but because at the very least they’ll be punished for holding society back.

Casual Violence

I carry in my cells a long legacy of poor stress management, violent tendencies, and drug abuse. One evening, 44 years ago a family friend read aloud to my mother at the dinner table while her mom, my granny Leona, did dishes in the kitchen. That night, like almost every other, my grandfather Frank came home raging drunk. A stumbling, flustered, 200 pounds of Cherokee and German crashing through the kitchen. Everyone froze as he ripped his way across the house to the comfort of a sweaty, restless sleep. But just as the smell of booze and tension evaporated he calmly stepped out from the bedroom, disappeared into the kitchen, and returned to the table with the biggest knife he could find. Before the man could react Frank threw my mother off his lap, shoved him into the kitchen, poorly slit his throat, and threw him into the back of his truck. By poorly I mean Frank was too drunk to cut with any strength, or the knife was dull–either way, lucky fellow. He came back the next day and threatened to turn him into the police. Frank told him if he so much as heard a¬†siren pass through the neighborhood he’d kill him. The police never came, and nobody’s heard from him since.

As I was busing home from work, a man in his late thirties steps on board. Clad in soured khaki cargo shorts, a cheap Hawaiian shirt, and white Nike socks tucked inside scuffed white sneakers with no visible label. His hair had the familiarity of my childhood barber’s style, a Mr. S. Cuts; who upon my final visit attempted to make my ear and hair the same length. And of course the doucheglasses, a very special pair of sunglasses that warn young women to stay far away. This fellow scans the bus, acquires a target, ignores the eight completely opens seats–with no one around at all–and creepily sits beside the tall dirty blonde with ass-high jean shorts a seat up from me. He sits, gets comfy and says “Hey the-r-e…” to this girl who couldn’t have been older than 16. Did she reply? No. Did she look up and laugh at the asshole’s bad tan and handlebar mustache? Nope. She was iron (sadly, probably at the cost of dealing with this issue constantly), she didn’t a move a muscle, she didn’t sigh, it was the stonewall that stonewalls. He just sat there and looked around awkwardly for a minute before he got up and took a different seat. That’s when I stuck, with the most excruciating eye contact I could muster, and at that moment we both knew: he was a fucking loser. I got off the bus, and enjoyed my beer just a little bit more than most days.

“Where’s that smile at?”

“How many male employees do you ask that question to?” You ignorant fucking douche.

“Come on!” No one likes frowny-face titties.

*Half smiling. I have a nice big smile in my ass you can suck out.

“That’s better. Remember, you’re the first thing the customer sees before they start shopping.” How many times do I have to tell this bitch to smile?

“I know, sorry. I just need a cup of coffee.” Seven more hours of this.

“Alright, now, and remember, we don’t allow coffee in the counter area. OK.” BITCH.

Oh. My. God. “OK.” What a fucking asshole.

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.