“Elliot what is it about society that disappoints you so much?”
(dialog begins)
“Oh I don’t know, is it that collectively we thought Steve Jobs was a great man even when we knew he made billions off of the backs of children, or maybe it’s that it feels like all our heroes are counterfeit? The world itself is just one big hoax, spamming each other with our running commentary-bullshit; masquerading as insight. Our social media faking its intimacy. Or is it that we voted for this? Not with our rigged elections but with our things, our property, our money. I’m not saying anything new; we all know why we do this. It’s not because Hunger Game books make us happy, but because we want to be sedated. Because it’s painful not to pretend because we are cowards. Fuck society…”
“Elliot you’re not saying anything. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing”
This is the dialog from the video “What Is It About Society That Bothers You?”.
Disclaimer: this piece is a literary spoken word in reference to the choice of living sedated
Let’s break this down, take our time, and try to empathize, comprehend, and fathom the ideas behind these words. I want to stop saying nothing... And quit filling a void with endless something;
pretending to not know the value is empty and the ideas are hollow. (Stop choosing to look away hiding behind privilege.) Knowing others are beneath our heels, choking for air, as we walk our every-day lives. Don’t look away. Face your reflection, and understand that for you to have your choice, someone else had theirs removed. Acknowledge that even if “mistakes made” were not your own, to reap the benefits and do nothing to amend the wrongs. The sin is still on your hands.
“Got my own, I'm a grown man with a home…”
Car. Bed. Food. Head... the best has yet to come.
Drive down the street and what do you see?
Johnny 5.0 parked with distance to spare. A smile spreads my face and a gentle nod tips my head.
Pause. Riddle me this batman... Am I black or am I white?
Police killed at least 102 unarmed black citizens in the year 2015 (There are 52 weeks in a year). Now let us put this into perspective. If two killings per week were a statistical fact, then the death toll would be 104. So the difference of the average is plus or minus two.
Too undignified to stand head high forced to the ground to be gunned down. (Ashay Mike brown)
“Got my own, grown man with a home”
Car. Bed. Food. Head... The best has yet to come.
Parked on the side of the street
I wait for jokers and harlequins
Who think the law can be beat.
A man drives by and eye to eye we meet
Smile on face. Head on straight. Somethings not right so I will take chase.
Stop. Let us understand the mechanics of the coming pain.
Research shows that there is a correlation between police behavior and authoritarianism (a form of government with strong central powers and limited political freedoms). Police officers are required to maintain a 70 percent accuracy to be considered highly trained . Robert W Balch states in his article,"The Police Personality: Fact or Fiction", that majority of police officers are characterized with certain traits which vary in name but not in meaning (suspicion, conventionality, cynicism, prejudice, distrust). If emotions were math, and this was an equation... fear would be the sum. (Ashay Tamir Rice a Cobblepot before his time)
The lights are asunder my mind torn, maybe a light or simple routine a hope for the positive, unaware of the negative.
“Hello officer…”
“Do you know why I pulled you over?”
“Not quite…”
“You had a broken brake light; license and registration.”
Slow down one moment and let us listen a bit closer. These are the things we know his mind says.
“I pulled you over because you looked suspicious. It could have been your dirty face or your lying race, hell it could have been the stereotypical statistical average of how many of you I have put away.”
Content in mind communication Devine I reach for... Ashay Philando Castille Ashay to the father brother and son taken so young
We arm men and women functioning out of fear, riddled with stereotypical conservative thoughts, and prejudice minds. This is not a war, but a slaughter, for we are damned if we do and damned if we don't. So Ashay to the brother and sister, father and mother, son and daughter who smiled that day the bat swooped in and took his prey, for on that day death took reign and innocence slain.
We are expected and reminded to trust our protector but our protector is our killer. We are forced into submission. Round after round fired into our minds of meaningless battles fought on e-the-real ground. Our balance askew and our spirits acute... For if we are too obtuse, there's no telling what we harlequins can do.
Now let me restate my question.
Riddle me this... Am I black or am I white?
Not once did I say a race, not once did I describe a face… But maybe its state. But as you read what did you see? Was it the skin of a king or the flesh of the devil? Did you see someone that looked like you being wrong?
Let me ask another question... Who are you?
The simple fact that without a name or without a face, we identify a people by statistical insinuations shows that the crime has no name and can fall on many shoulders for blame. We identify ourselves as victims, not individually but as a whole. Have you ever wondered why? Let our history be truth or fiction. We have created damsels in distress; pleading to unknown entities or quitting all together on any type of hope. In reality we are what we create.
For the fruit was forbidden representing choice, the ability to sway in the breeze and lose track of our ground, dismantled by the sin we found. But the Serpent's tongue did not lie. The truth in the fruit was not the lows and highs, but the freedom it rained. The fruit was forbidden to us that is clear but why? Is it possible for a second that our father/our mother knew? For when lessons must be learned, a path must be laid. We as man, stained in sin, are victims of our own ignorance, and slaves to our own deceit. For we created hell with the knowledge of forbidden tastes as we choke on cores and values. If we can create our hell why could we not birth our heaven? The secrets we keep the demons that feast on our minds and bodies we create. Constantly, birth forming and sculpting this negative connotation of heavens bereavement to our sin; We beg and plea saying God has left us and we must find the most high again. Look at us creating again. Creating distance and loss where none is to be found. Creating absence and darth when light is beneath ground. For we grow, do we not smile and cheer, love and hope. Let the sun bathe our skin create beauty in words paint pictures of worlds we do not see.
We have become afraid, breeding fear in our hearts. This is why we feel unsafe. For we know the world we created is ours alone. The most high never left and there's nothing to find. Simply understand our lessons and leave the poison behind. Accept our deeds and grow anew, for God created gods that create and give birth a new.
Listen so closely you can hear a child be born, breathe a little softer you can feel the warmth from the storm. The lessons to learn are not that the fruit was sin but that we partook in a world we knew not about unprepared for the unknown.
Open your mind, open your eyes and see this is Eden and we created our sin. Be grateful to the fruit and thank the serpent's tongue, not for the deceit, but because now you know, as you take your seat next to the most high, it's with choice and smile. For you've traveled to hell and back and in your heart our creator will always win.
Children of creation understand to be a God is to comprehend. Empathize with your world and know how they began, for when it's time for the next creation we will be able to teach them through their sin.
This sin we bare and refuse to let go is not the act but the idea that we don't even know. So when you look at the stars or find beauty in the land, just understand that it's Ellywn reminding Eden is within.
