It was not a question of judgement and expectation that they be better because they were white,

but rather the hope that they would be better because they were white, in the expectation that this realisation would bring some semblance of clarity and understanding to the meaning, expression and experience of being black.

The very fact of these white people being, was a ray of unexpected salvation from the burden of ethnicity and its shades of differing benevolence and vitriol in equal measure.

So in order to step behind the vale of privilege, one had only to imagine the vale out of existence.

A tact that worked swimmingly until, the over scrunched wrinkled taloned eyes of bigotry and hate would cut a swath of citric reality to delusion and remind one of ones place in the pecking order of shit shovelled loathing and the rouge coloured neck of a staunchly true blue voice of middling mentalities.

I would, with all of this in mind say that it is our brilliance of blackness that is contrasted starkly by a zealously expounded whiteness. The us and them, so boisterously uttered, receives no brow of raised object of virtu. Such talk garners no whisper of disdain unregistered to the sense dead. For feeling and empathy, for wrath and pain, to rack and ruin and tumultuous ends, do we of colour conspire. Calling upon ourselves the gaze of those with whom murmurs precede and by whom all qualities are measured. I wander an empty parade of ghouls and shades that tread the halls of acceptances among the betters of us the lesser.

They walk their heads so highly with their necks as leashes, tethering the precious thing that one will murder with the very care that eyes profess and tears conclude. Balanced reasoning never knowing that beyond the edge of equality is a tilted truth that the middle ground could never perceive, like the wish behind the rainbow and its golden hoard.

The tempted distraction of doing, knowing that the seeing will record and the truth not be seen to have that opportunity for remembrance. Time will not record the outrages of our angers, the robbing of our ignorance to the hate in your blood. Nor will it reveal the lines those rages of passion trace through history.

By what authority do we judge such pains? By which measure must we concede to qualify as noises of note? As voices are risen to the beating of tattoos, the marching of the hobnailed boot across the cobbled pave. The uniformed, starkly contrasted against the barest of feet leathered and unkempt. In step with natures hum and contact with the inner self for seeking respite from mans disdain and ugly gazes. Sexes, shapes and sizes, colours, thoughts and manners, geographies of births. The worths we guard and care, nurture trade and barter, squander and reject. Despise, disappear, relinquish all for fears and the mirrored meanings of nobodies. We hide and burden ourselves with shames that feed the darkest of tones in harmonies of discord.

Lamentations will not placate the congregations demands for blood. The justices of religious furthers are passed off as divine in origins and inspiration. Red clotted trails of colonialized rape. Lust driven visions of Shangrilá, the El Dorado that turn the eyes in on themselves, into their sockets to swim amidst the visions from filled veins pulsing away the heats of madness. The engulfed empathies of human and his link with nature part ways like waves before the staff of command. The unproclaimed, the crownless monarchs resting upon their birth given spoils know little of the debt in due and to whom it shall be paid, for the blessed be await their true. The meek in soul and spirit-light commune with source and bring the truth to bear upon the marked, for they are stained with dyes of cost unmeasured. The hall awaiting the first shrill call of woe that will across eons echo and be measured as reward, are promised in kind to the violated and abused. The nature of nature will upon the wheel of reckoning be shown and to the cares of the ignorant she shall particularly attend.

They made us black and made us slaves to make us what we are in fault and all its glories of vilification. The obvious “told you so” mentalities prognosticating the most seeable of disasters with “them” as the main course served in a broth of ghetto stew to satisfy the hungry little pickaninnies. Such inevitable ending needs be averted and thus we grant the right to our fears, to sever the demons head and hope that two other heads will not sprout in its place.

From where comes this hate that so defines the miseries of difference. From which dimension is loathing cultivated and scattered? How is it that, reason has found no bounding of termination, to call the floundered thinking of the fickle minded concluded. We the afflicted, shadow box with difference and call the victimisers by our titles of respect and honours unearned. We elevate their meanings and value their traditions as though our own do not qualify to be compared as worthy. This is not our thinking this is the bad programming.