Summertime, and the living is grimy, niggas dying and the tension is high
Your daddy’s rich and … your myths seep like treason… :
‘He thought of the white policemen and the money they made on black flesh, the money the whole world made.’
But she teaches us that voodoo was used, as a means, in slavery, for slaves to break free from the slave master, when the slave wanted to break free from the master, the only way to get out a lot of times was to die, that’s right, to die. But the family would be in and know that he’s not dead or she’s not dead, but we just faking out master, so we can get him off the land, so he can go get us some help, so we can break free from the plantation.
We trade our trauma for another spectacular séance, this summer. It’s getting tacky, like too much technique, to be polite about the power with through which our dead come back to life as the slicked down edges of our own jagged lines of subconscious experience. (Y’all read Worldstar lately). And so maybe the more effective ceremony is not a burial but an ever more persistent digging up. Our crafts have come from this and matter spews with excruciating beauty, into form, the deeper we dig, even as our sharpest two-way shovels are microphones. We still hear with our bones, and this last hidden myth of the black limitlessness we occupy wants sound as a form of propaganda to come true inside.
We want to re-imagine, though re-imagining is officially an overused trope, we want to confirm through its cycles of vanishing, Black Hollywood, as our masterful collective improvisation of the series of consequences exacted upon the heart mind body and soul, of any passive spectator. Bill Gates offered Young Thug nine million dollars to stop making music but who will anti up for our un consumption when the true cannibals pose behind cameras as a kind of panic button for how to turn our beauty against itself, who will say when the slant rhyme of scandalous fame is soul so that we may usurp our clichés by occupying them completely. In our good dangerous moods we nearly see freedom in the primitive slogans of movie posters and go to the tabloids for closure because the source is a baffled idea of itself too, just as well. Here’s what that sounds like, bodies amplified in a glorious diasporic purgatory, a people for whom even praise feels like siege and we thrive under it. (Part one of an introduction to the forthcoming book)
Rahsaan Roland Kirk
All the people who have suffered under White Supremacy
released August 21, 2015
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