April 19, 2015

Forsaken.

50 Muna 232 Valadian.

Don't cry---I said as I gazed into the heavy skies---the watery eyes of a God who in His perpetual absence on earth can only show His emotion to me. I cry for thee. Though my heart had long hardened to the thought of crying for what truths I discover---truths that others will never encounter, lest they be an odd creature like me. They---young black people---came into my store---one---after another---like a nightmare that would not cease. The manner in which they conduct themselves, how they speak, how they act---irrationality, illiteracy---belligerence. Society has wrongly classified me. White, black---these ethnicities are not fitting of me. Human, I might appear as such---but beyond physical characteristics there aren't any notable similarities. A woman, a well-versed poet, and wonderer---like myself, assured me tearfully that love will come to me one day.

I don't believe her.

I rescind ever claiming to be a black man. If this is what black is, then I am not that anymore. The term "mixed" has enough ambiguity to refrain from ever having to insult myself by claiming something that I have never been. I am a displaced spirit in your world of misery. Never call me, "black." Never call me that. Do not give me a place in your terrible world, if all you intend to do is leave me alone to suffer in it.

April 18, 2015

Nothing.

49 Muna 231 Valadian.

I could barely bring myself to awaken from a long sleep. I anticipate another night of being inundated by the infestation of thugs---hood rats, prostitutes, and ghetto looking, raunchy women at the store tonight. In my interactions with them all, I notice that my attitude has changed considerably toward them. The standards that I held for prospective men had been completely abandoned once I realized through No. 45, that love was a futile cause. We no longer live in a society that accommodates that sort of tradition anymore. I have come to terms with that---finally. It has caused unintended consequences by which no measure of the senses could hope to make sense of. It seemed like just yesterday, I harbored this aversion to black men and this unbearable desire of white men. Now I am hopelessly confused, ignoring white men altogether and finding some of the least compatible black men attractive. What does this mean for me?

Nothing. We no longer live in a society that accommodates love anymore. So what's the point?