My previous words, typed yesterday, reflect my pain, fear, and anger. They’re reactionary. I’m human. I make mistakes. It was a mistake to address all police as if they’re not individuals.
I’ve slept a few hours recently, and have listened and read the thoughts of others I respect. We’re all individuals and are not automatically subject to vilification based on the actions of others.
While some indeed earn their vilification through action, I cannot allow their criminal behavior to decide the type of person I am. I choose anti-racism, anti-violence, and reject hatred.
Only I have control over how I behave. My anger, pain, and fears are valid, but they don’t give me a right to lash out in rage blindly. I want justice for murder and criminal behavior perpetrated by those granted power and employment intended to protect all citizens from harm.
Rage is violent, uncontrolled anger. It leads to destruction, not change, or significant growth. It interferes with progress and serves no purpose. Embracing it makes you part of the problem. If you’re unable to control your actions, you’re in crisis and need to seek professional therapeutic intervention.
Instead, I will continue to view others as worthy of my love, kindness, and respect. When I encounter people who choose to mistreat me, I will walk away knowing their misbehavior may change in the future.
I know firsthand racist behaviors and beliefs originate from training. I grew up in an all-white community and experienced the same systemic influence that taints our nation to its core.
I’ve spent decades exorcising white privilege from my mindset. It’s unfortunately named in my opinion, because it affects everyone, not just white people. It’s a thought plague, and nobody is exempt from its disease.
Even the vile actions by the murdering police who kill citizens in cold blood are symptoms of this thought plague, taken to the extreme. I also know firsthand racism is reversible. I’ve witnessed it multiple times in my life so far.
I believe education, discussion, and a willingness to change are helpful tools in overcoming this plague. A useful conversation doesn’t include rage. It involves listening, compassion from all parties, and letting go of the lie; we’re individuals, not hive minds.
It requires forgiveness for reactionary behavior in the heat of the moment because we’re all human. It requires accountability for the theft of life. It’s time for us to grow away from old ways that don’t serve us as a species.
It’s not easy to change, but we do it every day. We’re alive because we’re good at adjusting, (even though we hate it.) Adapting is a survival skill. It’s far more effective than building an arsenal of weapons and ammunition, which more often leads to suicide than safety.
I’m a survivor because I can take a deep breath, get a little sleep, and rethink my knee-jerk reactions before transforming them into action. I choose to live my values sincerely. Not as a performance in an attempt to influence how others view me, but for real.
I refuse to lie to myself or buy into the delusions of pretenders in exchange for my self-esteem. I’m not for sale. I won’t invest in the fakery because it’s a scam. I live in reality among real people, and we’re all going to die one day.
I’m willing to do the work to grow and adapt because I know I get to choose what type of person I am. When I mess up, I’ll apologize, adjust, and get back on track to being the best person I can be.
I want my last breath in this world to be free of self-loathing because I worked on growing into someone I truly admire. ✌🏽💜
I gave up resisting the urge to crawl back under that rock. I’m still amazed I made it to age 50. Though 51 is very close, I’m not holding my breath. I wish I could muster a fuck to give, but nope. Overall, I had a lot of fun and laughed my ass off, and those are the memories I’ll cherish with my remaining time; because there’s a Thin Blue Line around my neck, and I can’t fucking breathe.
I can’t erase the target on my forehead because it’s comprised of my body. I was born with it, live in it, and can’t escape it. (This code monkey tried, yo.) I’ve been black for half a century. I’ve experienced life in other nations, but racism is universal and all-pervasive. The only time I got a respite was while serving my country, (which is some Dave Chapelle-level irony.)
I’m spending most of my time making use of my life’s work. As usual, I struggle with the ethics of AI. Fortunately, I no longer feel bound by the mythology of the masters. I threw away childhood tales and observed reality. The mismatch makes me sad. We’re the only animals who think something will save us from our depravity. Delusion seems to be the strongest trait that separates us from other species.
My dead man’s switch was set to automatically share my legacy with the children who deciphered my internet scavenger hunt years ago. Some of them are technically adults now. They’re from all over the planet, and their brilliance almost frightens me as much as it excites me. Unfortunately, when the switch is triggered, my legacy will instead be automatically destroyed.
I’m space dust, and that’s my gift to this world when I finally reach the finish line. Come at me, state-sanctioned murdering cowards. Your master can’t wait to tweet about your allegiance to his infantile ego. Show the world your complete lack of self-mastery during your troglodytic, hate-fueled tantrums.
I’m tired and will enjoy egging you on. Git’ ‘er done, Jim Crow-bots.