VOGUE copyright Conde Nast
© 2014 h2omeloncholy@blogspot.com
© 2014 KM Fikes
Thank you, PEW Research Center, thanks eva so.
H2Omeloncholy™ is socio visceral - the phantom of an Ism. Or should one type, 'zombie'? Phantom implies a crossing over or passing - of sorts. Dare one utter: 'post'. A 'zombie', howeva, is the undead. Pre not; post not. Some nuisance due to its existential nuance. Substantively stuck, i. e., H2Omeloncholy™.
In this week following Ferguson po po's six-bullet-shooting death of unarmed teen, Michael Brown, one had yet to experience the thematic phenomena of this blog - H2Omeloncholy™. The PEW 'findings', alas, slice thru our beleaguered gourd, splattering pink juice as if cutting a vein squirting chronically anemic plasma.
Too dramatic, gentlesoulfolk? Nay, think not. Nah.
Your blogger finds herself in the throws of one, shocking H2Omeloncholic™ episode that may bode intervention. May the inkwell suffice therapeutically.
According to the latest PEW research, 18 percent of the homezgentry view 'race' as framing the Brown slaying - too much - in contrast to 47 percent of Dominant Cult agents (61 percent if raising thy trunk in the Grand Ol' Party). Look ye out fo' dat black melon seed, my good peops. Lest it fly into thine eye. I and me - in all of my Du Bois twoness - nod my H2Omeloncholic™ napps towards the 47 percent! True dat.
Indubitably, 'race', i. e., Other-ed Ismry is the exhaustive topic of the day. Why? Dominant Cult decided we be Post. In a committed Post lifestyle, race is evaded in discussion. In moments where the polka dot melon in the middle of da room can no longer be avoided, national discourse is inundated. Ad nauseam. One affirms Dominant Cult's sense of some bombastic bombardment. Although, this blog differs in the recognition that that very inundation is an indictment. Sum'in's absent, yo. That sum'in ain't allusive; it is acquired Ism enlightenment. Anything acquired most oft requires some semblance of daily discipline.
Sho' nuff, conversely, the homezgentry is bruised from incessantly bandaging invisible microaggressions. Sanity is challenged in this futile effort. Our search becomes compulsory - surveying our epidermis for the mark that reflects our insular wound from insidious interactions in Postopia. Ad nauseam.
How, my good peops, is this possible - how the skin can miss such a discernible diss? Dominant Cult does so ev'ry sunrise n' set. So adept - are they - in the practice of Oblivion, that when macroaggression occurs - six bullets strong, Dom Cult is willing to acknowledge uncontextualized tragedy. But then - and key, now... Prompt, if'n ya please, return forthwith to Post.
One concurs that dire crises can burst at their seems with racialized consciousness. Relevance is diffiCult to decipher in the midst of a tragic moment. Sans a balanced view, Ism estimation leaks integrity to underscore the 'con' in confounded. "Too much attention" Now results from 'too little focus' Then. And regretfully, predictably...After. Poli-correctitude mutes what Matters. The construction of race - built up prior to being shunned speechless - is unaccustomed to the spotlight. When sniffing its fifteen minutes of Meaning, Other-ed Ismry seizes the lone opportunity that is publicly afforded: the blurred chalk outline of a black boy slaughtered. The PEW poll well charts the polarity of Postnessity - gagging pundit mouths who can only regurgitate impotent epiphanies from Trayvon last summer or Emmett from the summer of '55.
If, perchance, a (w)holistic race awareness was freely articulated in our common discourse, Dom Cult - and dissOrientalized me - would not feel overwhelmed, or worse, inconvenienced by an otherwise democratic dynamic in a virulent void which - granted voice or not - shapes Encounter to create our collective experience. If racial spatiality cannot trip off the tongue with the ease of its primary act - Oppression, 'tis mo' just to leave the subject be. Alone. Suffocating the ill-prepared with the consequences of a conscience could prove irresponsible, if not quasi cruel.
Denial serves a purpose; awakening too soon is hazardous to the perks of Privilege. Prince Hamlet's melancholy is the precursor to Hamhockuse' H2Omeloncholy™. The canon of Shakespeare (1564 - 1616) is older than 'our' empire (1776 - ). In dog years, 'Merica is a zombie. In empire years, 'we' are but a petulant adolescent with a fragility too green to absorb how much the past informs our present. Eager to age yet reticent to evolve, some open-carry a convincing, fake ID. Onward, Post...
Silenced. Zombies rarely speak; they never progress - except in their increase of the living's dread. Postness implies, at the very least, continuity. How can dialogue be a fait accompli?
One frowns whilst inquiring about this supposed, retired conversation: Where 'race' been? What 'race' done? And pray thy pardon for missing what 'race' said. Might it then be inferred that Dom Cult is weary most, not of 'race', but Reality. Zombies incite fear, not some façade of Ism-ed finality to protect a weak 'constitution'. Therefor, Postin' defies that category. Fictive Postopia is unique amongst horror shows. It morphs into an animated caricature of itself - grooving hard to the beat of a looney tune. Cultivators of Dominant Culture woo, or betta yet, 'court' Postness. An unrequitedtale tail - notably, striped in black and white...and bushy - chases itself round n' round. When its own harassment is confronted, in defense of itself, an odor is emitted that smells like death.
H2Omeloncholy™ is socio visceral - the phantom of an Ism. Or should one type, 'zombie'? Phantom implies a crossing over or passing - of sorts. Dare one utter: 'post'. A 'zombie', howeva, is the undead. Pre not; post not. Some nuisance due to its existential nuance. Substantively stuck, i. e., H2Omeloncholy™.
In this week following Ferguson po po's six-bullet-shooting death of unarmed teen, Michael Brown, one had yet to experience the thematic phenomena of this blog - H2Omeloncholy™. The PEW 'findings', alas, slice thru our beleaguered gourd, splattering pink juice as if cutting a vein squirting chronically anemic plasma.
Too dramatic, gentlesoulfolk? Nay, think not. Nah.
Your blogger finds herself in the throws of one, shocking H2Omeloncholic™ episode that may bode intervention. May the inkwell suffice therapeutically.
According to the latest PEW research, 18 percent of the homezgentry view 'race' as framing the Brown slaying - too much - in contrast to 47 percent of Dominant Cult agents (61 percent if raising thy trunk in the Grand Ol' Party). Look ye out fo' dat black melon seed, my good peops. Lest it fly into thine eye. I and me - in all of my Du Bois twoness - nod my H2Omeloncholic™ napps towards the 47 percent! True dat.
Indubitably, 'race', i. e., Other-ed Ismry is the exhaustive topic of the day. Why? Dominant Cult decided we be Post. In a committed Post lifestyle, race is evaded in discussion. In moments where the polka dot melon in the middle of da room can no longer be avoided, national discourse is inundated. Ad nauseam. One affirms Dominant Cult's sense of some bombastic bombardment. Although, this blog differs in the recognition that that very inundation is an indictment. Sum'in's absent, yo. That sum'in ain't allusive; it is acquired Ism enlightenment. Anything acquired most oft requires some semblance of daily discipline.
Sho' nuff, conversely, the homezgentry is bruised from incessantly bandaging invisible microaggressions. Sanity is challenged in this futile effort. Our search becomes compulsory - surveying our epidermis for the mark that reflects our insular wound from insidious interactions in Postopia. Ad nauseam.
How, my good peops, is this possible - how the skin can miss such a discernible diss? Dominant Cult does so ev'ry sunrise n' set. So adept - are they - in the practice of Oblivion, that when macroaggression occurs - six bullets strong, Dom Cult is willing to acknowledge uncontextualized tragedy. But then - and key, now... Prompt, if'n ya please, return forthwith to Post.
One concurs that dire crises can burst at their seems with racialized consciousness. Relevance is diffiCult to decipher in the midst of a tragic moment. Sans a balanced view, Ism estimation leaks integrity to underscore the 'con' in confounded. "Too much attention" Now results from 'too little focus' Then. And regretfully, predictably...After. Poli-correctitude mutes what Matters. The construction of race - built up prior to being shunned speechless - is unaccustomed to the spotlight. When sniffing its fifteen minutes of Meaning, Other-ed Ismry seizes the lone opportunity that is publicly afforded: the blurred chalk outline of a black boy slaughtered. The PEW poll well charts the polarity of Postnessity - gagging pundit mouths who can only regurgitate impotent epiphanies from Trayvon last summer or Emmett from the summer of '55.
If, perchance, a (w)holistic race awareness was freely articulated in our common discourse, Dom Cult - and dissOrientalized me - would not feel overwhelmed, or worse, inconvenienced by an otherwise democratic dynamic in a virulent void which - granted voice or not - shapes Encounter to create our collective experience. If racial spatiality cannot trip off the tongue with the ease of its primary act - Oppression, 'tis mo' just to leave the subject be. Alone. Suffocating the ill-prepared with the consequences of a conscience could prove irresponsible, if not quasi cruel.
© Castle Rock Entertainment
Jack Nicholson, A Few Good Men, 1992
RIP
Michael Brown
1996 - 2014
rose memorial lining the street where Mike Brown's corpse lay unattended for four hours
Aug. 21, 2014
Aug. 21, 2014
Photo by Amanda Sakuma for MSNBC
Silenced. Zombies rarely speak; they never progress - except in their increase of the living's dread. Postness implies, at the very least, continuity. How can dialogue be a fait accompli?
Been there/ done that/ 'nuff said.
One frowns whilst inquiring about this supposed, retired conversation: Where 'race' been? What 'race' done? And pray thy pardon for missing what 'race' said. Might it then be inferred that Dom Cult is weary most, not of 'race', but Reality. Zombies incite fear, not some façade of Ism-ed finality to protect a weak 'constitution'. Therefor, Postin' defies that category. Fictive Postopia is unique amongst horror shows. It morphs into an animated caricature of itself - grooving hard to the beat of a looney tune. Cultivators of Dominant Culture woo, or betta yet, 'court' Postness. An unrequited
a clever as compassionate critique
on the implausibility of
POSTness
Til our next 'post', feast upon produce in season...
© 2014 KM Fikes
© 2014 h2omeloncholy@blogspot.com
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