STAGE
a white space exists with no face only defacement. a throne exists where the grey race sits.
ACT 2003:
if yr
attitude be leased
can you make th' monthly payment?
by credit card and cell fone
from yr throne on
the slave ship?
feed the dead to the sea or bury them in your basement-- feel guilty for dancing cool or doing a hand jive
ACT 2005:
throw us a rhyme at 100 beats a minute we's sit around and smoke and pretend y' didn't take it. because that's what being white is. anti identification. may be a father keepin' a slave ship in the basement, or a mother who hated her old neighborhood or a neighbor that burns crosses on your lawn a cop brother, a rich sister, a big anger--
whenever it touched you first it hurt and when you look at it this way there never were ever any good old days nothing has changed cept' now we're all sposed to be the happy maroon and we are all the slaves and the war is class but there's money to be made
the names on the bank accounts have changed but the launderers, the hidden executioners, the pockets,
these are all the same.
get militant, escape to nowhere, or be despondent--
fight and die trying or wind up chopped & processed.
this is just a short play at a coffeehouse no one cares much about. it's dragging on for decades and the audience and play are full of short-tempered children acting increasingly depraved. the curtain seems to be a germ some will call jesus. and all because of the whiteness we found from a false throne upon the slave ships.
"what happened to your concience?"
"they dragged it out of the car and beat it to death. four or five, knees and clubs, wasn't much left."