Words From The Midwest XXVIII

Good afternoon, all platonic; all trifle of sin; all forgotten playthings. Welcome to Words From The Midwest.

It is my hope, in writing so close to the previous account of my thoughts in mind, that I should will upon you the most hidden, albeit somewhat open, reel of my very true and, therefore, gladly unsurreptitious view of peace and violence in our time.

Perhaps that isn’t much of an introduction, but I’ve been reading Salinger, and, therefore, have so much to say in prose brought forth that I simply must – read: Must – write and write and be damned with the reader.

I have said and will continue to say that violence for violence’s sake is simply asinine; violence for the sake of peace, counter-productive; peace for the sake of an end to violence, a plain and unguarded prayer unanswered. But after watching The Nightly Show’s piece involving members of both the Bloods and the Crips eating together, talking together, joking together, and completely and utterly declaring peace between them – at least in Baltimore – I must take a moment (a moment, just) to speak of the outcome – both literal and, fuck, literal again – of another black man being killed at the hands of a fucked up police force.

The charge is murder, as it is. And this cannot be simply entitled Good, because that would trivialize the subject, the Man deceased, and the unrest in Baltimore and across our country. But it is true, it is Justice, perhaps; it is Something if not very little – if nothing at all – in the eyes of the general public looking on.

I digress into pedantic whim, perhaps, but I simply must express my very indifference to the charge of Murder – involuntary or otherwise.

It is good; it is Justice, absolutely, for the family and the community at large, certainly, for the members of the Baltimore police force to be charged with crimes in this plain and unadulterated bullshit of a case. But in simply charging – and, God willing, convicting – a number of officers with the death of an unarmed Man, Black, white, Red, Green or torquoise, I think, to a certain extent, we lose sight of what is really on our hands: and that is that a gun in the hand of one may lead to death of another. Period. White supremacy aside…and, perhaps I shouldn’t; perhaps this is the very thing we are faced with…no, I cannot believe it. Because people die every day because of the wish of a few, or the conviction of some, or the insanity of one…etcetera, I suppose.

Etcetera is all I have.

But: Weapons For All Occasions, Goddamnit! Weapons across the board. White men in uniform kill Black men with or without; Men…Women. We shoot to kill…

Ah, but we also hit; we strangle…

We sever spinal cords…

What belief in human life can we as People will upon each other? What can our religions teach us but to Love or to hold or to…NOT KILL EACH OTHER?

At this moment, I’m simply not sure. And as long as we continue as a human race to seek death in some sort of Ratings bloodlust or ideolistic formality, I will not and cannot be comfortable in this Reality. And if someone today or tomorrow or next week kills another unarmed Black Man without cause and is charged with murder and convicted, I think that I will still believe in a larger Truth: That with color of skin aside, the Human Race is fucking doomed, in a sense. And, in a sense, We have been doomed for centuries: Doomed in life and after-life, I suppose, to live another life unhinged; another reality where we drop bombs on nations thousands of miles away; another plane where unarmed ANYONE is brought to their knees by the hands of ANYONE. Another dimension of coldness and hypocrisy, rationalizing our fears and prejudice with fists of fury…guns, bombs, knives.

A man not so long ago preached that we Love our enemies.

Can we?

I’m not sure.

But I’m not alone in thinking about it.

And if these officers are convicted (and they will be) will we not seek some arbitrary penalty of death upon them?

Let us not.

Please.

If Bloods and Crips can be alright with each other…

Ah, but perhaps that is too easy a finale in this disaster of a writing. Perhaps it is too easy to say that if enemies can be friends…I dunno. I’m out of words on the subject. I could go on but I would in circles around you. But at least I’m fucking talking.

And not holding a pistol to your fucking temple.

Regards,

Michael

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