“Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in
which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.” -Mark Twain
“Anger … it’s a paralyzing emotion … you can’t get anything done. People sort of think it’s an interesting, passionate, and igniting feeling — I don’t think it’s any of that — it’s helpless … it’s absence of control — and I need all of my skills, all of the control, all of my powers … and anger doesn’t provide any of that — I have no use for it whatsoever.”
The following is an example of me barking at or up the wrong tree…read if you have time to waste.
The two Cooper story. Amy and Christian, showdown at dusk. Bark bark.
“Hey, Mr. Black, you can’t be here while I’m taking a break from doing asana!
Didn’t you get the memo sent back in 200x? Even though I’ve only been in
New York since 2017…Didn’t you get that memo? It says, ‘We are making
America great again…New York City …’”
I was reading that story and knowing on some level what was going on. That
was something started way before “Make America Great Again” It was post-911.
It was white America pissed off and gang-buster. It was Bloomberg and Giuliani.
It was that “collective unconscious”. It was capital greed and hi-tech. It was great
food, but only for the elite. An elite, not as described by the 99 percent. An elite
more like 65-75%. It was the roaring 20s or actually the 1950s going backwards in time.
It was be crazy. Did you ever wonder what you were all tapping into? Like not a black hole.
More like a white hole. When I think crazy, I think some valley girl who’s daddy called
her a princess growing up, then moves to the big city and works in advertising or fashion. Has
a bunch of friends who are more or less the same. They promote the agenda, something like
a clubhouse built on excessive use of the word love. Law and order. Rising middle class. Love
pink. Gentrification was real. It has many outcomes. The Cooper’s in Central Park was one.
New York City and perhaps other similar venues became quasi-apartheid. Your rights and
our rights. That’s where it stands.
If what happened to Mr. Brooks in Atlanta was somewhere else, like say New Jersey,
the cops would not be in such deep shit. That’s simple. Because Atlanta is very
black. But Georgia is not I assume. So that tells me that the local law takes shape.
Especially in a big city. New Jersey is a state, but what if that happened in Newark?
I don’t know depends I guess.
There is a power. The strong have it and privilege along with.
They use work as a force to wield power. Power is equal to Work divided by time.
Those who do work have more power. Power is good right? Work too right?
Money is good, because life is good. Good at making money. Good knowing
the law is on your side.
I just know that without an incentive wrong word, without
ability, creative ability there can be no opportunity for doing
the kind of work that seems appealing to me. And I don’t, no longer,
have a creative component in mind.
Now for more free. Like when I was fresh.
And word was just black on white. I have that goal.
It came and went. Art is ground swelling and honest.
Honest telling of the goal. Making exit. Making black
door and leaving the white house. Rubber ducky.
Why can’t alcohol be my fuel for being?
Why must it fuck the living-bejesus out of me?
Why in excess? But not sure when that is?
Why does the inner-demon haunt me?
Why not straight the path? Why misery?