Fucking Blackness: Explosions, Invasions & Predatory Niggas


Click, Smile, Click, Smile, Giggle,

I had smiled, at first

when I saw the children

running toward me with toothy grins

on mahogany brown faces, bearing hope of a

tomorrow I dreamt of for them but feared in the depths of

my suicidal, capitalistic, humanist heart would never come true.

We stood there as dream thieves catchers, so-called Social Engineers

from Amerikkka, positioning ourselves as the black embodiment of classist

bullshit, force-fed hot down the psyche of young black girls that knew

better than us

about the cost of being mahogany black, gifted and poor

gifted with IQ’s higher than bill gates, warren buffet or whatever other

capitalist jockeying WP you can find in the billionaire-class of modern slaveholders.

Shit was real,

I tasted the dust, dirt and yes, the bones (of a dog) in Capetown in

what used to be designated black district. It’s ain’t shit different,

it’s a hood with a different tongue,

same skin,

black-brown, blue-black, high yella, black niggas

hungry and starving

but making due like only

blue-black, black-brown, high yella, black niggas

can do.

Make believing like only high yella, mahogany brown, blue-black, black children niggas

can do.

Shit turned my stomach.

Na, shit took my stomach, flipped it upside down and churned

it like butter in big mommas wooden bin.

It wasn’t the poverty that killed me, tho

that shit cut. It wasn’t the stench of septic tanks

or the white folks touring black spaces to exorcise white guilt

on black faces or white prerogatives in black cunts and asses

that shit stank, the festering sore of white supremacy on flesh so beautiful and strong,

was,

sickening but it wasn’t that.

Na, it was the fucking clicking. The clicking and  the giggling. The clicking, the giggling, the petting zoo performed, orchestrated, and demanded of black people by black people from historically black institutions in a black nation to further their white supremacist understanding of a white supremacist world and legal framework so that they might engineer a way to join a system of plundering black(er) bodies with coin,

culture and

a vengeance.

They clicked that fucking camera like they were

hoping to click themselves away from the space and time

where these struggling black folks

looked like them

shared they blood

and knew them.

They clicked distance.

They giggled because they had found a way to be comfortable

being uncomfortable as the bastard offspring of the

of white, heterosexist, patriarchal, capitalism that require the souls

and flesh of their kin for fuel

and their skin for tools

to make it more palatable

because “Nigga we made it”

don’t mean shit, without the crumbs

and accutrements of the master.

That fucking clicking.

Stealing images of children playing in dirt roads

besides the toothie skulls of dead dogs

that had long since departed..

the invation of homes, interrupting struggling mothers

preparing meager meals for children and that fucking

click, smile, giggle

Shit was killing me. I sat outside and felt dirty. Even as

the mothers smiled and the children waved,

feigning happiness and hospitality.

Shit maybe it was real.

The poor are the realest, illest gifters of all that they/we have.

But this shit was sinister. It stank. It churned my soul. It was clear that they were being paid,

by a black tour-guide company,

and our enjoyment, delight and eroticization of their pain

was the only way African black folk

could access the gaze of black African-America niggas,

with pockets of coin, degrees on fleek and eye on master’s

mansion, whip and leash.

So they gave us pleasure,

they stroked us slow,

often,

gentle

then hard..

because maybe if we busted

the violence porn,

might just be enough.

Swear

Follow Tabias Olajuawon on Twitter @BlaQueerFlow. Like our page on Facebook at BlaQueerFlow & Tabias Olajuawon Wilson.

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